Beverley Thompson passed away peacefully in the early hours of May 27, 2021. Bev was born to Roy and Ruth Topham on March 13, 1940 in Owen Sound (the good people and the good place that made her and were forever in her heart) and graduated from OSCVI (which she fondly remembered as Owen Sound’s Collection of Various Idiots). Bev turned heads bombing around in her grandfather’s ‘37 Ford (stray boys in the rumbleseat), was the first girl to show up to class in jeans, and twisted the nights away listening to Elvis.
Predeceased by too many of her oldest friends and closest family, Bev is survived by her loving husband of fifty-eight years, James Thompson, and will be forever missed by their children, Dave and Ruthann; their spouses, Krista and Dan; and her grandchildren, Kennedy (Zachary), Mallory, Ryan, and Adam. She is also survived by her sister, Susan (Alex), and many cousins, inlaws, nieces, and nephews. Bev and Jim met in London in 1961, married and raised their children there, before finally moving to Cambridge in 2018 to be closer to their family. Bev worked several jobs over the years but was most famously known as the “Walmart Jewellery Lady”, where her very favourite thing was to hear a small voice calling out “Grannnny” across the sales floor.Bev loved to talk and to laugh, to play cards and go to coffee with her friends, to read paperback novels (hardcovers were too heavy and bonked her nose when she fell asleep reading in bed); she loved dogs and crime shows, watching NASCAR and going on fast motorcycle rides; she wore purple shirts and Skechers shoes and never left the house without her lipstick on; she spent summers growing up at Sauble Beach, enjoyed family dinners at the farm, and was rewarded in retirement with warm winters in Florida. Bev was not wealthy in goods but never hesitated to share the riches in her heart: there was always a place at her table for someone who needed dinner or company; she could always find something appropriate to donate to strangers in times of emergency; she was a warm, bright light who will continue to shine in the hearts of all she touched.
Bev’s family would like to thank the staff of Hilltop Manor, who took fond and respectful care of her in her final months; we appreciate, in particular, how hard their jobs became over the last year of lockdowns and it is a comfort to know that Bev was in such capable hands. Due to COVID-19 restrictions, there will be no funeral at this time. In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Alzheimer Society of Canada in the name of Beverley Thompson.
*****
I suppose this has been a long time coming — I've been writing about my mother-in-law's health issues since the beginning of this blog — but the finality of death is a shock even when it's not exactly a surprise.
Bev moved into long-term care in December of 2019 and we couldn't have anticipated that her 80th birthday (in March of 2020) would be the last time our entire family would be able to get together due to pandemic restrictions. The staff at Hilltop were wonderful — the facility had no deadly outbreaks, unlike too many other Ontario nursing homes — and we were able to enjoy distanced parking lot visits when the weather was fine and had weekly video calls throughout the year. Caring to a fault, Rudy was able to get herself designated an essential caregiver and was eventually able to visit her Mom in person several times a week. Bev needed a blood transfusion in February of 2021 and we were informed at that time that it likely meant her colon cancer was back; as the Alzheimers was also progressing, the difficult decision was made to not pursue treatment for the cancer (as per Bev's wishes from back when she was able to communicate them).
Over the past few months, the dementia and the cancer seemed to be growing — to the point that she would be squirming and moaning in her chair, but unable to articulate what was wrong — but still, Rudy, and then her Dad (the second designated caregiver) were able to visit and advocate for Bev. And then it was discovered that Jim had a mass on his kidney, and after some fretful weeks of noncommunication from his surgeon, it happened so quickly that the mass was removed and Jim was sent home to recuperate.
It was a lucky thing that Ontario went into another lockdown around this time — my work was closed and I was able to spend my days hanging out with my father-in-law — and at that time, Dave was able to get himself declared the second essential caregiver for his Mom, finally sharing some of those duties with his sister. But when Jim developed an infection and had to be hospitalised, Dave became his designated visitor, trying to juggle visits with both of his parents while working full time and dealing with COVID-related stresses at the plant.
Over the past couple of weeks, Bev became less and less responsive, and the longer Jim remains in the hospital, the more the stress and lack of proper sleep have made him confused, and sometimes, delusional. When Bev stopped waking up in the morning, her doctor moved her into palliative care, and that meant that any of her family could visit (we didn't even need the rapid COVID testing), and I was able to go for a few visits, as did most of us — but her own husband couldn't make it (as of today, he's been in hospital for five long weeks). The last evening that Bev was alive, Dave and Rudy had a long visit with her, knowing that they were at the end. Bev passed peacefully just a few hours after they left.
When Dave got the news the next morning, he broke down crying, saying, "Thank God." Bev's body knew that it was done — she spent the last few days of her life refusing nutrition and hydration — and although she went quietly in her sleep, this was the welcome cessation of pain and confusion that we were all wishing for her.
Dave arranged to have a funeral home collect her body and Hilltop told us that they would have an "honour guard" to see Bev off if we wanted to join them. When we arrived at the home, there were a couple dozen residents and staff standing outside the front door and a solemn man with a black suit and bowed head stood sentinel behind a gurney; my mother-in-law's diminished body barely making a lump under layers of colourful quilts. As we approached the line, an ancient woman in a wheelchair — in a high and thready voice — was singing the Our Father (which was not exactly in keeping with what this secular family would have wanted at this moment, even if Bev herself would have recognised the social convention), and as soon as she had warbled out Ah-mennnnn, she started in on singing the Hail Mary, too. It was a trifle surreal. The Head Nurse cut off any chance at a third song and read out her own prayer and final farewell, and as the staff hung back to offer us their memories and condolences after Bev's body had been driven away, it was obvious that Bev had been a sweet and joyful presence in the home.
Next was the hardest part of all: Dave was able to get special permission from the hospital to allow him and his sister to visit their Dad and break the news, and I can only imagine the scene as it had been described to me: each of them holding one of their Dad's hands, valiantly holding back the tears as they explained that their Mom had passed overnight, trying to determine if he was following along (he was). Dave and Rudy were able to get their Dad's permission to have their Mom cremated, and her remains will be waiting for us when we're all able to get out to the gravesite. How doubly sad and triply complicated to have COVID restrictions and the illnesses of others interfere with what we would have wished for Bev's final days (even her sister, Susan, had been in hospital herself at the time after a series of small strokes left her loopy with vascular dementia; so few had an opportunity to say goodbye and now there won't even be the opportunity for a viewing.)
The last time I visited Bev, the night before her last night, I kissed her forehead as I left and brushed back her hair and for the first time that evening, she made a small effort to raise her head from her pillow, even though her eyes remained screwed shut; there was the barest passage of breath through her throat that may have been an attempt at speech. I believe she knew I was there and that we had our goodbye.
Dave hasn't stopped crying since. He has said many times over the past few years that with the Alzheimers, he had already lost his mother and had said goodbye a while ago. However, having her actually, permanently, gone has struck him hard. We were at the Sauble Beach property over the weekend — Bev's favourite place on Earth, and I do believe that she understood that we got it back into the family last summer — and Dave was throwing himself into landscaping in the hot sun, and he asked Rudy to massage his painful jaw (apparently the recent stress has had him clenching and grinding his teeth, causing microcracks), and he proceeded to pass out; sending the rest of us scrambling. And on a related note: Bev had apparently written letters to Dave, Rudy, me, and the girls back in 2005 (the first year they went to Florida for the winter) and had left them with her will: the girls' were sweet messages about how proud their Granny was of them, mine said that she couldn't have asked for a better daughter-in-law, and Dave's said that he works too hard, looks so tired, and needs to learn to take it easy. After passing out, he says he's going to listen to his Mama.
There has been a huge display of love and memories after the announcement of Bev's passing, and Dave is a little upset that most of it has been on Facebook and through private messages; he would have loved for people to post on the funeral home's site so that everyone would see the hundreds of other messages. Dave says that his Mom confessed to him more than once that she wishes she had done more with her life, and she might have been surprised to see the outpouring of love that we're seeing now: Bev made the world a better place with a huge and loving heart; sharing that love with others is the most that anyone could hope to do with this brief and bewildering life. This world is poorer without her, but as Dave said, thank God the suffering is over.
