Joan is survived by her devoted husband of almost 63 years, Francis Ogilvie; her loving children Nancy Ogilvie, Beth Ogilvie and her partner, Susan Straghalis, and Ken Ogilvie and his wife, Sue Anderson; many cousins, nieces and nephews; and a wide circle of friends. Memorial services will be held at 2:00 pm on October 24, 2013 in the Hanson Room at Glacier Hills, 1200 Earhart Rd., Ann Arbor, MI 48105.
Joan was born in Atlantic City, NJ to Tom and Beth Husselton and grew up there. She studied hotel management at Cornell University, where Francis was also a student, and they were married in 1950.
Joan will be remembered fondly by many friends in the communities where she and Francis lived over their long and devoted marriage. These include Washington, DC; San Diego and Berkeley, CA; London, England; Ann Arbor, MI (the first time from 1967 to 1982); Boston, MA; and Tucson, AZ. They returned to Ann Arbor to live at Glacier Hills Senior Living Community in January 2010. She was an ardent fan of Michigan football for over 45 years.
Joan was a full-time homemaker for most of her life, devoted to caring for her family. She was a gracious hostess to many social gatherings associated with Francis' role as a department head at The University of Michigan and later MIT. She also served as the church-school secretary at First Congregational Church in Ann Arbor and volunteered as a bookkeeper at the Poor People's United Fund (PPUF) in Boston.
In addition, her life was an unfolding spiritual journey, taking her traveling through every major Protestant denomination except Lutheranism over her life. She contributed her beautiful soprano voice to many choirs and otherwise generously volunteered her time at church, in her children's classrooms, and other nonprofit organizations. She completed a 2-year course entitled "Education for Ministry" through Grace St. Paul's Church in Tucson.
Memorial contributions may be made to either of the following organizations, both of which were near and dear to Joan's heart:
- Poor People's United Fund (PPUF -- see http://www.ppuf.org) an organization in Boston that provides a voice for poor and homeless people and advocates for change in current policies, programs, conditions and perceptions to alleviate the pain and suffering they endure. Joan volunteered in their office during the time she and Francis lived in the Boston area.
- The Society of St. John the Evangelist (SSJE -- see http://www.ssje.org) is a monastic order of the Episcopal Church in Boston with a ministry of hospitality offering silent retreats at two retreat houses. Joan's spiritual life was enriched by participating in a variety of retreats and developing special connections with many of the brothers. It was SSJE and their worship services that led her to become an Episcopalian.
Oh my dear dear Joan. I just learned that you have gone to be with your maker. Thank you so much for all the unconditional love and caring you shared with me while you were in Boston. The many hours we spent talking about issues and about our lives will remain precious to me.
ReplyDeleteYour generosity to Poor People's United Fund was incomparable! We still don't have anyone to do the books like you did! Say hello to Kippy for me.
Thanks, Fran... I'm sure Mom and Kippy are kicking up their heels!
ReplyDeleteFrom The Rev. Curtis Almquist, SSJE:
ReplyDeleteI first met Joan around 1990 at our monastery in Cambridge, Mass., and it has been my honor to have occasions over the years to share conversations with her. I always regarded Joan with such admiration and respect. The dignity and faithfulness with which she anticipated her death seemed so in keeping with Joan as I have known her over the decades.
I am relieved for Joan that her suffering is ended. Death is the ultimate healing, and that is how my brothers and I are praying for her now: that she be restored in every way to the fullness of life. This has all been a part of the church’s understanding of “the hope of the resurrection.” We pray for healing for Joan in death; and we pray for healing and for consolation in life for Francis and Nancy and other loved ones.
From Carolyn and Paul Zeiger:
ReplyDeleteOf course, we remember Joan best as one of the intrepid Academy Village Pioneers--specifically, as she and Francis joined us in the Gang of Six who relentlessly pressed the developer to create a community that was responsive to the needs and desires of the unusual group of seniors who had signed on early for this adventure. We all got pushed to the limits of our patience, creativity and emotional endurance, and in the process became good friends.
We also joined her in her spiritual adventures. I particularly remember driving with her to Grace St. Paul's for a Christmas Eve service, where we were quite taken with the power of the service and the beauty of the music.
And we so enjoyed becoming friends with her wonderful children--all of whom we miss, and are invited to come visit us in Denver should Cutherbert, or another incarnation of Cuthbert, be travelling across country.
Joan and I met at AllSaints Church in Belmont, MA during which time I was caring for my parents. We took four years of EFM (Education for Ministry) together, led by Jean Manners, went on many retreats in New Hampshire and at the Society of St.John the Evangelist along the Charles River. After Francis retired and they moved to Arizona, they returned to M.I.T. for the annual lecture series in honor of Francis, and stayed with us in Belmont for those occasions. Joan has always been a very important part of my life.
ReplyDeleteFrom Young Shen:
ReplyDeleteBack in 1969, you invited us to your house for a dinner party. My wife Carol and I had a very warm conversation with Mrs. Ogilvie on that night. Mrs. Ogilvie was such a gracious lady that the whole evening we (my wife and I) felt like we were in our home with our own parent. I never forgot that evening.
Young and Carol Shen
From Neal Persky, M.D., Joan's doctor:
ReplyDeleteJoan was always a classy lady, sometimes difficult to elicit complaints from so I could attend to her, because she really didn’t like to complain as you well know.
To the Ogilvie family,
ReplyDeleteI want you to know what a special person Joan was to me. She was so warm hearted, genuine, kind and considerate. When she came to dinner, even when we both knew she was dying, she always grasped my hand as I went by.
She will certainly be missed.
Ruth Steinicke
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ReplyDeleteWe met Joan and Francis when we first arrived at Glacier Hills three years ago.
ReplyDeleteAt dinner together we would reminisce, sharing our experiences of 80 plus years, discuss our interests, learn about our families, laugh a lot, and Joan and Francis would tenderly hold hands. Joan was a gracious and caring person, concerned about others, lovely in every way. We shall all miss her.
Aimee and Henry Weis
Final Gifts, Part 1by Nancy Ogilvie -- written for a local journal in honor of my Mom
ReplyDeleteFunny how one phone call can change your life dramatically in an instant.
On Thursday, May 30, 2013, a doctor at UM hospital called to say my mother had been diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. That was enough of a shock, and then he added the prognosis – she likely wouldn’t live through the summer. I was stunned; there had been no forewarning whatsoever, and she was never a smoker.
There’s nothing quite like knowing you’re about to lose someone you love to make life crystal clear. I had been in a time of questioning and doubt about my life, confused about what was next. I was immediately compelled to spend the rest of my mom’s life with her and my dad. It took me a day to tie up the loose ends of my life in Santa Cruz, CA indefinitely, and I was on a plane to Ann Arbor on Friday, May 31.
That Saturday, my mom and I were sitting in her room in assisted living at Glacier Hills after dinner. At a lull in the conversation, she said to me: “I’ve been thinking about the adventure I have ahead of me and wondering what it’ll be like.”
Being slow to catch on for a moment, I suggested that we could start making a list of questions for the doctor. She smiled and with a twinkle in her eye replied, “Oh, so you think I should ask the doctor what heaven will be like?... I don’t think so.”
So two days after the shock of learning she had a terminal illness, two days after deciding not to seek treatment but to enter hospice care, she was thinking of herself as starting an adventure! And she sustained that attitude through the rest of her life – living to her fullest capacity; demonstrating extraordinary courage, curiosity, and faith; clearly at peace with her life – and death. These are the final gifts she left me.
Witnessing her through that “adventure” was full of “final gifts” from her that I will treasure always. My aim in writing this essay is to highlight a few of those gifts, to pay tribute to this amazing woman who was (and in a different way, still is) my mother, and to share her story in hopes that it will be inspiring to others. 385
Final Gift #1: Living Life Fully
Even knowing she was dying, my mom found the courage to continue showing up fully for life. Our days were filled with the people and activities she loved: we celebrated my brother’s birthday with take-out from the Gandy Dancer; good friends visited from Massachusetts and we had a picnic at Gallup Park; we read her favorite mystery writer, Ruth Rendell, and listened to choral music she had sung over her lifetime. Most evenings, I helped her get ready for bed, tucked her in, and prayed with her.
She continued the long-time ritual of cuddling on the sofa with my dad while they watched the evening PBS news. Witnessing the deep love and affection between them after almost 63 years of marriage was intensely bittersweet.
As the disease progressed, she of course became weaker and increasingly dependent on help. She had more days when she just wasn’t up to getting dressed – although very few when she stayed in bed. Even when she began to lose control of her “bodily functions,” she kept her grace and dignity and continued to engage in life as fully as she was able.
Final Gifts, Part 2 by Nancy Ogilvie
ReplyDeleteFinal Gift #2: Accepting the Truth
Rather than bemoan her fate or fight the inevitable, my mom chose to accept the truth of what was happening. She used her remaining time to deepen an already deep and abiding faith.
We had many conversations exploring her original curiosity about what heaven might be like. We read books about angels and the glimpses dying people give into what’s after this life. She was certain she would be reunited with people who had gone before, and looked forward to seeing them again.
She had a long phone conversation with an Episcopal monk who had played a significant role in her spiritual life and development. She asked a dear friend who’s a minister to help plan her memorial service. She told me more than once that she wasn’t afraid to die, but that it was horrendous to contemplate leaving her family behind. Those were the only times I ever saw her sad or distressed.
At one point, she said to me, “I know I’m going on a long trip soon, and I feel like I should be packing, but I know I don’t need to pack for this trip.” 830
Final Gift #3: Simply Fearless Love
The end came abruptly, with no warning whatsoever. One week-end, Mom was going about living her life as fully as she could, accepting the truth of what is. She had been able to go to the dining room for dinner on Saturday, and my sister-in-law had taken her to Big Boy on Sunday for supper.
The following Tuesday, she had a dramatic downturn, and spent most of the day in bed. When the hospice nurse saw her around 5:00, she told me Mom had started her end-of-life phase, and that she likely wouldn’t see the week-end.
My brother and sister and their partners assembled, and the five of us began sitting vigil around the clock at Mom’s bedside, taking turns sleeping on the recliner or love seat or floor in her room. My dad joined us frequently.
Five very different adults sleeping in a single room together with their dying mother/mother-in-law for 7 days and nights could have been disastrous, but the room was so filled with simply fearless love that we never exchanged even one cross word. My sister-in-law expressed it best – the love Mom had given us so freely for so many years was circulating back to her as we held her in love through her last days.
As word started spreading that Mom was in her last few days, a parade of friends and Glacier Hills staff who had cared for her began coming to pay their final respects. Her minister friend called every day, and I’d hold the phone to my mom’s ear while she spoke words of love and comfort.
On Wednesday, Mom was still relatively alert and aware – enough to ask, “What’s happening? Why are all these people coming to see me?” When my brother told her they were saying their good-by’s because it seemed like she wasn’t going to be with us much longer, her response was, “I know. I’m not afraid.”
By Thursday, she no longer had the energy to speak, but continued interacting with us by raising her eyebrows or smiling or squeezing a hand, or occasionally frowning in mock disapproval of what we were saying. Words weren’t necessary to express the love that was so palpably present in the room.
That evening, we were gathered around her bed sharing stories, laughing and crying together while Mom slept. She woke up, clearly wanting to join the conversation, and tried to speak, but just couldn’t. Yet she stayed engaged with us without words. The grief on her face was poignant. I realized later how much energy – and love – it must have taken for her to wake up and be so present, even nonverbally.
ReplyDeleteFor the next few days, Mom was clearly “between the worlds,” seemingly talking with loved ones who had gone before her. She called out “Daduh,” her name for her father, and “Bampi,” her grandfather, at different points. In one of those conversations, she said clearly, “Not now,” like she was telling someone she wasn’t ready to cross over yet. Several times, we thought her death was imminent, and several times, she surprised us.
She died peacefully on Tuesday, August 20, at 10:40 am. The time between her breaths simply got longer and longer until there were no more.
From start to finish, and especially when my siblings and partners joined in during Mom’s final week, our journey together was a profoundly sacred experience for me. We saw beyond our humanity to the spiritual Being that lives in each of us. I beheld her divinity, and she mine, and we were expressions of Divine Love in our interactions with each other. This was Mom’s final gift: simply fearless love, that quality of Divine Love that is ineffable and self-renewing. This Love never ends.