Dear Imagine friends and family,
Cindy Cooper passed away on March 17. Her passing was not before her time but she means a lot to us and will be missed. This month’s edition of the newsletter will be dedicated to Cindy with just a little bit of news.
I do want to acknowledge first, though, that we have some important news and if we didn’t feel protective of Cindy and the solemnity of her passing, there would be things to report. Most importantly, we have two new members of the Imagine family today, Daniel and Leigh Ann. They deserve a full spotlight and will get it a month late, but not before we tell you that they are wonderful and welcome. If you know them or meet them before we get around to the formal introduction, please treat them to your warmth.
You will find photos that are not of Cindy and Malcolm and it is worth explaining that we had a Spring Into Fun Party at Imagine on March 28th. The Monkey Band Planned and the Easter Bunny towered over everyone just like Eileen does. Alan invited us to his birthday party and everyone was there who wouldn’t risk missing it. Even tragic months are good months when you spend them with friends.
Connecting through Cindy: There are remembrances of Cindy below from her last two Facilitators. I was excited to find the photo above of Cindy with Hale, a long-time Lead Staff for Cindy when we only thought she was near the end. That was one of many in a sequence of fellowships Cindy developed with generations of Imagine Staff.
Tlayeli and Jessica B are likely the longest-serving of Cindy’s care team at the end. But alongside them, Christian, Rocio and Sylvia may have been with her for three years. Her newest staff wept on the day she passed. Cindy’s Circle of Support taught us that every currency of human connection- conversation, humor, pain or pay- is symbolic. Cindy earned love because she was human and her team gave it because they are.
There have been many caregivers and Facilitators who have come into my thoughts since Cindy’s last days. Cherice, David and Charlie who were Cindy’s Facilitators, entirely dedicated, for years. Many caregivers who gave her years of their youth in her decline. I am writing this on Easter and that is just right. Cindy lifted us up as she fell. Wherever you are, to all those who shared Cindy with me, I hope you are all well and hold on to life as stubbornly as Cindy showed you how.
My story: Cindy’s ultimate half month began in a less novel way. She was observed by staff struggling to breathe. Alarmed, they called the ambulance. Concerned, Cindy’s whole circle worried for her. Then the pattern of the last half decade reasserted itself. She started to mend. The pneumonia suggested by one doctor failed to show up in x-rays. The virus suspected by another failed to show up in tests. Her fever fell. Her breathing got easier. (Her caregivers stayed by her side.). Never bet against Cindy Cooper.
A couple days later, the medical team’s best guess was that she had aspirated on food. They were deliberative about how to get her nutrition and while they kept her hydrated, Cindy went a day without eating. When they restarted feeding her, they found her appetite gone. She came home to hospice care and our care and Malcolm’s care without nutrition. The night she came back was the day after the doctors said “some time today.” As we prepared her vigil I said to Jessica O, “She might spend a week at this.” She made a fool of me again but only by a day.
As Executive Director, I didn’t see Cindy often- at parties or in crises. In her obituary, I mentioned that while she was still verbal, each meeting was new to her. “I’m Cindy Cooper and this is my boyfriend, Malcolm.” “I know you, Cindy Cooper.”
After she lost her balance and most of her speech, my recollections mostly come in phases. I remember pushing her wheelchair around Dominican Hospital when she was silent for an hour. I remember pushing her up and down the sidewalk on Soquel as she alternated between laughing and crying and I was trying to help by singing or talking or keeping quiet.
But here is the memory I’ve spent the most time with since Cindy passed. It was the evening of the then-annual Imagine beach bonfire and she came with Malcolm. Already in a wheelchair, her caregiver Kate pushed her across the sand. She greeted me with “I’m Cindy Cooper, who are you?” When the party had ended, Kate told me her knees were hurting from pushing Cindy across the sand and could I help getting her back to the street. I pushed Cindy across the sand and she peppered me with questions while the sand and wind and heat salted my answers. The real trick was keeping the speed up so the wheels didn’t sink. We finally reached the sidewalk and Kate went to get the car. I stood up next to Cindy and stretched my sore back and legs. She looked up at me and said “I’m Cindy Cooper. Who are you?”
Further down, this month’s newsletter includes the following:.
Our usual stuff in the columns around advocacy, self-determination and Transparency.
And more and more about Cindy, Malcolm and their care team.
As ever, I am at your service. If you have any questions, feedback or concerns, please don’t hesitate to get in touch. You can write me here. I look forward to hearing from you.
Gratefully yours,
Doug