Jan - my beautiful Irish/Italian lass
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.
Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare
Was I thinking of Jan, as I idly mused in the swing under the apple tree during a visit to Anne Hathaway’s Cottage at Shottery? Hardly, for we had yet to meet, but the Bard’s words came to me in a rush shortly after I laid eyes on this apple-cheeked beauty, the only child of what used to be known as a ‘traditional’ New England marriage. For Jan not only had beauty, but a fine brain to match. A graduate of Vassar, one of the Seven Sisters, it mattered not that I had held high positions in several UK museums, I had to ‘pedal faster’ just to keep up with her!
After Vassar, Jan had chosen a career in broadcasting, including a stint with the 50,000 watt KMOX (she was a contemporary of Jack Buck, Joe’s father). Following a divorce, she returned to Connecticut, where her daughter, Jessica, was born. Eventually, Jan settled down in Wellesley, within a stone’s throw of another of the Seven Sisters, Wellesley College.
When she accepted me into her life, I became the luckiest man alive — don’t even think of disputing this fact with me, please; just take it as gospel. We built a life on shared values, a regard for others, and a devotion towards Jess, her husband, Michael and their wonderful ‘small human’, Luke. She was a rock in the sea of life which surrounded us, and supported all my aviation endeavors, on both sides of the Atlantic. She encouraged me to take a Board position with a UK Registered Charity, and gave sound advice whenever I asked for it (and even, sometimes, when I did not, which is one of the ‘planks’ in a sound marriage).
The illness which took her away from us was shocking in its swiftness. One Sunday she was at home with me, the next day admitted to a cancer ward at the local hospital. It was here that Otteray Scribe and Sockpuppet — my two wonderful friends — and the Community stepped in, with the gift of a magnificent quilt (seen here on her bed in the hospital) and constant support.
Although she was discharged after a week or so, Jan was taken dangerously ill at home shortly afterwards. A dash to the ER by ambulance was followed by life-saving surgery, for the primary cancer had perforated her transverse colon. Her doctors and nurses did everything they could, but a rapid decline set in. Jan fought to ‘come home’, and Jess and I managed to get this done, under the auspices of The Good Shepherd Hospice and their nursing staff. Jan’s pain was managed, and she slipped away just before midnight on Saturday 17th October, in the room in our condo with the balcony view which she loved. Far better this than four sterile, white hospital walls.
Jessica was devastated, as you would expect, and we were both flung into that maelstrom of grief, condolences from strangers, and the endless paperwork which is the lot of those who survive.
My beloved wished to be cremated, and her ashes scattered in her native Connecticut. As it happens, I had recently bought a 1/4lb of American Wildflower seeds (over 20 varieties, including many blue flowers, which she adored) for the balcony planters next Spring. The quantity was far too great, but I wanted the largest number of varieties I could get. Now, these seeds will be mixed with fine loam, and scattered over her ashes, to mark the spot.
There will be one more permanent mark of remembrance, this time in my ‘native land’. My fellow Board Members at The People’s Mosquito — www.peoplesmosquito.org.uk — have informed me that one of the 55 foot long fuselage moulds being used to build the WW2 aircraft will bear the permanent inscription, ‘In Memoriam — Jan Bottone’ .
As for me — my heart has been shattered, and the shards flung to the four corners of the Universe.
Consider Matthew, Chapter 5, Verse 13 (KJV, of course; do try, ‘Proofs of Holy Writ’, Rudyard Kipling www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/...)
“Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.”
I am moved to tears by the least, most unexpected, thing. I can be conversing, quite calmly, with someone on the telephone and yet feel the tears rolling softly down my cheeks. Sometimes, in the echoing cave which is now our condo, I find myself absent-mindedly starting a sentence, “Jan, did we…...”
The loving kindness of the Community has been immeasurable, and I shall treasure it. This is, however, my last diary.
As the Bard said, “The rest is silence…………….
Love, deep and abiding, be with you all
Ross
post scriptum
On the passing of three years……
It was three years ago — to the day — that Jan was taken from us. The Community was right; the memories are still there, as is the pain, but that has dulled a little. The condo was sold, and I gave half to Jessica. As a surviving spouse under Massachusetts law, I could have had a bigger portion, but that did not sit well with me.
I tried living alone in MetroWest, but the loneliness was crushing and I saw Jan simply everywhere I looked. I received medical advice (from my oncologist) to return to my homeland.
I grew up close to the Peak District National Park in the North of England (the first National Park in the U.K.). Property prices in that area are simply fierce, so I compromised. I live about an hour east of the Park boundary, in a city where I used to be a denizen of the nearby RAF Officers’ Mess. I still have friends here, and I can reach London by rail— if needed - via the East Coast Main Line in 1 hr 45 mins.
My moiety from the condo allowed me to purchase a 1950s brick-built duplex, with garage and garden front and rear. Not only that, but there is a magnificent 60 ft sycamore just off the property, which the city arborists look after (while I just have the joy of it). There is a stubbornly sterile apple tree in the back garden, but a magnificent Conference pear, which yielded over 80 plump fruits this season. I am reverting to type (my Uncle Clarence was the last Head Gardener at Butterley Hall, before it was sold off, and Pops was a member of both the Royal Rose Society and the Fuscia Society). I have successfully grown tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes (in a half whisky barrel) and a surprisingly large marrow this year.
All this is therapeutic, as are my latest fun projects — a complete electrical survey and modernisation of the house, resulting in a new power circuit to the garage, and the outfitting of a new utility room.
My work with The People’s Mosquito continues apace, and I will shortly become one of the Vice Presidents of a new US 501(c)(3), the North American Mosquito Aircraft Foundation. I have also resumed my activities with Aviation Heritage UK, and managed to slip in a lecture to the Royal Aeronautical Society at Loughborough University.
No, I have not forgotten the loving kindness of the Community, but I have thrown myself into my work, to both honor Jan and to ease that all-encompassing pain.
May you all be blessed and loved by those that surround you!
Much love,
Ross
