KISMET
On Friday, September 19th Cat clinched her teeth while I was feeding her breakfast. We had many discussions about her desires and her Health care directive clearly stated that she did not want feeding tubes. As her power of attorney, I was to do whatever was necessary to prevent sepsis from bed sores or aspiration pneumonia. Either would disqualify her from donating her brain for Alzheimer’s research.
That afternoon I booked a flight from St. Kitts back to Atlanta for the following day. The last Delta flight had left two weeks prior, so as an alternative, our route back to Atlanta was through St. Thomas on a tiny commuter aircraft. That flight only operates every other day.
It took the single pilot and the baggage handler about 30 minutes to figure out how to accommodate the eight passengers, our bags, plus the Adult-Size Jogging stroller, The CatMobile on this aircraft.
Cape Air Cessna 402
Everyone involved in getting us back to Atlanta went above and beyond in their respective areas of expertise to help. It was so heart-warming since I knew this was going to be her final flight. Cat was on her, “A” game, since I told her multiple times that we would be traveling and the familiar sights and sounds were a very pleasant reminder to her. As always when we took off from both St. Kitts and St. Thomas I held her hand and whispered in her ear our mantra, “On the road again.”
I alerted everyone of our plans for arrival. This included the Northside Chapel Funeral Directors where she was to be cremated. The University of Miami Miller School of Medicine Brain Endowment Bank, who were to recover her brain for Alzheimer’s research and, Vitas Hospice Care, which we had used for two years when she was having seizures.
I picked a Marriott hotel near Brookdale Senior Living Facility where we lived for 2 years before our departure to St. Simons Island for a month in May and St. Kitts for 3 1/2 months. Little did I know at the time that the hotel was adjacent to a beautifully landscaped paved trail.
On Monday, September 22nd, the Hospice nurse advised us that if everything progressed, per usual, it would be a couple of days. I knew Cat had other plans.
I needed to turn Cat every two hours in her final days so she wouldn’t develop bed sores. On Friday, September 26th, at 1 am, I asked her not to leave me while I slept. We haven’t had a meaningful conversation in two years, but I still talked to her all the time.
At 3 am I did the same and reminded her that Family and friends will be getting up soon and they would like to be able to say goodbye. Later on around 8 am after I dressed her I told her that the hospice nurse would be coming by soon and that I would take her for a walk in The CatMobile, at the adjacent, beautiful Alpha Loop Trail.
I took her for my last run the day before. All during that run I told her that I would not run anymore since it was something she brought into my life. That would be something I will forever hold sacred.
We all gathered outside for the walk and I told Cat, “that we were now outside on this beautiful morning and that she could go now.” We all kept checking on her and she was breathing like she was running a marathon. She had been doing this both day and night for the last several days. Sometimes stronger like she was going up hill and sometimes softer like she was going down hill. She had none of the expected difficulty breathing. No congestion or the dreaded death rattle that occurs near the end. We got to the end of the trail and turned around about 3/4 of a mile down the trail.
We all observed a large Barred Owl fly overhead and perch in a nearby tree. They are nocturnal creatures, so to see one flying at 11 am was highly unusual. I checked on her once more as we started heading back to the hotel.
I witnessed her last breath and all others confirmed that she was no longer breathing. I then slowly jogged with her back to the hotel. I had to chuckle since Cat was now having me run one last time.
My last run with Cat
This is what my Microsoft AI, called Copilot had to say about that moment.
I called it Kismet.
In this moment this sacred, final walk with Catherine—the word kismet feels like a quiet thread woven through the entire experience.
It’s not just that her passing happened during a walk, in the CatMobile, surrounded by Love. It’s the owl. The timing. The breath. The tree. The sky. The years of marathons that led to this last, slow procession. Kismet speaks to the sense that this wasn’t random. That something larger, more mysterious, was at play. Not fate as a cold inevitability, but destiny as a kind of grace.
Here’s how kismet fits:
• The owl’s arrival—as if summoned by the moment—feels like a symbol of transition, a witness from the wild. In many cultures, owls are seen as guardians of the threshold between worlds. Its presence could be seen as kismet: a sign that her journey was being honored.
• The walk itself—a ritual of movement, echoing the marathons you shared. That her final breath came not in stillness but in motion, in rhythm, in the open air, feels destined. That’s kismet.
• Your role—pushing her, guiding her, holding space for her departure. After years of running beside her, you carried her across the finish line. That arc, that symmetry, is kismet.
It’s the kind of word that doesn’t explain the mystery—it simply bows to it. It says: This mattered. This was meant. This was love, arriving exactly as it needed to.
We adorned her in a beautiful floral dress we got in Hawaii back in 2016 along with a blue sweater, a pearl and a jade necklace. Her daughter and sister braided a section of her hair that I had cut off a year prior since she insisted on taking all of her hair with her.
This picture was taken on a Windstar Cruise ship in Portugal on July 6, 2019.
I was amazed by my response to her passing which was for me to simply stare into her bright dazzling blue eyes.. The same ones I had fallen in love with. She had not been able to say, “I love you” for several years, at this point, but her eyes said those words loud and clear.
I am sure I will always struggle with the loss of my forever love. I will try to honor her in everything I do moving forward and know that we embraced Early Onset Alzheimer’s as a team effort and together our experience was as close to perfect as possible. She taught me so much over the 26 years and I will always hold dear those teaching moments moving forward.
I still talk to her often and ask her to give me a sign of where her unyielding spirit is now. For my mom who passed away in 2013, it was Hydrangeas. It was her favorite flower so every time I would see a Hydrangea bush I would stop and ask her for advice.
While visiting friends in Niagara Falls, I opted to go see the Butterfly Conservatory. With the owl and a purple bush I saw in Charleston that was covered in butterflies and her passing which once again gave me the opportunity to take flight I was drawn to this exhibit.
I was immediately captivated by the Blue Morpho butterflies. At first I thought it was because of the beautiful blue color of its wings. The same color of Cat’s eyes. The Blue Morpho’s wings are a marvel of natural engineering. Unlike other butterflies that owe their color to pigments, the Blue Morpho’s coloration comes from the microscopic structure of their wing scales, which reflect and refract light to produce the vivid blue we see.
Something else I noticed was that instead of them staying in one place like all the others the Blue Morpho would gently glide around the entire enclose area. Their flight is as unique as their color, a gentle and seemingly unhurried flutter that belies the efficiency and purpose of each movement.
It was nearly impossible to get a good picture at first. It was just like her gliding effortlessly from one place to the next never really wanting to stay in one place for very long. The only sculpture in the entire place was of this particular butterfly.
Morpho Butterfly, Morpho Peleides
Like the Barred Owl, the Blue Morpho butterfly has a poetic symbolism. The Blue Morpho butterfly holds spiritual significance in many cultures, symbolizing transformation, new beginnings, hope, and healing.
I wanted so badly for one to light on my hand as so many other types of butterflies were doing to many people at the exhibit but only one with a damaged wing was willing to rest for a bit on my hand. Just as Cat did in her final days.
So I was able to find my sign of where her spirit is now and of course I had to buy some items from the gift shop. One being a necklace depicting a group of those particular butterflies and the attached card read. Free to fly. Let go of everything that holds you down.
On the flip side of the necklace it simply had one word, SOAR. Which is what I am now able to do as she did when she was alive.
The following poem, “The Race Isn’t Over,” was written by Tammy Davis. She cared for Cat with deep compassion over the past three years and, through that time, became a close friend to both of us. Having lost her own husband to the same illness, she understood our journey in a way few could.
The Race Isn’t Over
Don’t be sad — I have not left you.
Don’t look back — I’m not there.
I’m in the air on your skin when the breeze caresses it.
You’ll hear me in the laughter of a child, in the hoot of an owl,
or the chirps the birds make in the morning air.
Don’t look back — I’m here, in every sound that greets the dawn.
You’ll see me in the flutter of a bird’s wing, or as a butterfly alights on a branch for a taste of nectar.
Feel me when the sun warms your face.
Don’t waste precious time looking back — I walk with you in the light.
Our journey together gave you all you need to find new meaning in this next chapter of your life.
I will always be with you.
I am a part of you.
Our journey helped shape the person you have become.
You carry me with you —
in your heart,
and in your memories of our life together.
I’m the quiet voice in your head, urging you on —
Come on, old man… the race isn’t over.
Don’t look back — I’m not there anymore.
I can’t be found in the past, only in the life you continue to live.
The finish line isn’t a place I occupy—it’s every step you take, every mile you now walk
every joy you find along the road ahead.
Adventure and life are still waiting for you.
The memories we made, the life we shared —
they will lift you, guide you, and help you create a future
as full and joyful as the love we knew.
So don’t look back.
Keep setting goals, keep moving, keep living —
and let the road ahead carry you toward every finish line yet to come.
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