162. Life--and death--go on

Gail Swart passed away last week. Cancer that she beat back years ago—teaching school while she fought it—came back. She was still teaching piano just weeks ago, and her own children were able to gather round her these last weeks. A visitor just two days before she passed remarked on her humor and her smile. 

 

In my mind’s eye, Gail always has a smile, and often a chuckle. And that often at her own expense. And her long and fruitful life brought that smile to children and grandchildren, and hundreds—no, thousands—of piano students and Enterprise elementary school students over decades.

 

It’s easy to stay with superlatives, remark on the long and good life, and grump that Covid came along and stole the chances for people to spend time with her these past weeks. I didn’t make my way up to her house at the lake, but know that if she thought of me at all, it was with a warm heart. And a chuckle.

 

The first time I remember meeting Gail was shortly after we moved here and Judy was working for Children’s Services. It was a Wednesday or Thursday night of Chief Joseph Days week, and my then-wife and I were enjoying a beer at the Gold Room in Joseph when she got paged. Sheriff Duckworth had a mom under the influence and an infant he had to do something with as he put mom in jail. 

 

Judy called Gail Swart, her number one foster mom. No one checked our alcohol levels as we drove to the courthouse, picked up the baby, and went to the Swarts’ house. Don was at the door, and had pulled an old crib from the basement. Their kids—all beyond crib age, were asleep. He and I put the crib together while Judy and Gail got acquainted with the confused baby, and we left them in charge. We didn’t go back to the Gold Room. 

 

And then Gail was teaching school and we had a second grader who wasn’t much of a singer. No problem. Gail put him in a Santa suit and gave him “Ho Ho Ho” lines for the school Christmas play. 

 

Years later, Gail and her sister Nancy made generous donations that allowed Fishtrap to buy their childhood Coffin home. I “lived” in Gail’s house for years. She played a recital to a full house there once, and she and her children and nephews and nieces visited with their own memories 

 

I remember most the music and the smile, the piano playing and the storytelling. It was a wonderful life. 

 

It’s easy to say “smile” and “wonderful.” But I wanted to chase my own life back to those precious instances when the smile and wonder were for and with me.

 

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