Many of you may have heard that my wife, Jean Marie Colohan Hudson, went to be with our Lord last week.
I will admit that as of this writing, I remain in shock. I wake up every morning expecting the sounds and smells of her cooking up a storm in the kitchen; there have been a couple of times this past week that, out of habit, I sat outside in the car waiting for her slow behind to get everything she needed before we headed out, only to be yanked back into the reality that she wasn’t going to emerge from the house.
Everything is a reminder of Jeannie, a reminder that she is no longer here.
At first, I was reticent to write about Jeannie’s death; but, I figure, I have bared my life and my struggles with cancer with you, our readership, with the hope that perhaps someone I have never met might find solace in reading my words and come to the understanding they are not alone in grappling with a disease that slowly chokes the life out of you like an unseen anaconda.
I suppose this is no different.
My wife’s story is a tale of tragedy, redemption and selfless service to others, and I want you to know just what an incredible human being my Jeannie was.
Jeannie and I met 25 years ago. She was the ex-wife of my best friend at the time, John “Stoney” Cannon, and I must say that I was a bit smitten with her the first time we met. We became instant friends, and I tried to work up the courage to ask her out, but didn’t.
We remained close even after I got married and Jeannie and Stoney got back together. Then tragedy struck.
Stoney and Jeannie’s daughter, Alexis, who called me “Uncle Scott,” was killed in a head-on car accident. It was an accident that could have been avoided. The man who caused the accident was an Alzheimer’s patient who managed to find his car keys and escape the watchful eye of his caretaker.
The way that Jeannie composed herself at that man’s trial for vehicular homicide was a testament to her character. The poor man didn’t remember the carnage he caused, and Jeannie let go of any animosity she harbored and petitioned the court to show leniency toward him.
Several years later, Jeannie would be involved in a serious car accident herself, which left her in continued pain from having rods placed in both legs.
I never could figure out why, after that accident, she refused to drive anything that wasn’t a convertible. Her rationale was that she wanted a 360 degree view of everything around her. I guess that made sense.
Unlike most other attorneys I have met, Jeannie was truly empathetic with her clients, if a client couldn’t afford to pay her fee, she would reduce it to fit their income. She also became a mentoring force for young, upstart attorneys.
You have likely seen billboards and TV ads featuring my younger brother Christopher advertising his firm. Once upon a time, despite the fact that Chris graduated top of his class at Mercer Law School and was an editor for Law Review, no one in Augusta would hire him.
I introduced him to Jeannie, and she offered him the use of an office the size of a closet in her building for free, gave him free use of her conference room and took him down to court to show him how to “troll” for clients.
Most attorneys are too territorial to do that, but Jeannie was cut from a different cloth. There are quite a few attorneys that owe at least part of their success to Jeannie.
Not too long after we married, I discovered a terrible secret Jeannie had been harboring.
The continued pain from the car accident left her somewhat dependent on pain medication and, later, she began convincing her psychiatrist to keep upping the anxiety medication.
One day when she returned from taking her mother to bingo, I noticed that she seemed completely out of her head, she was talking to me, but not making any sense; I worried she was having a stroke and I went into her medicine cabinet, something I had never done before. It looked like a pharmacy. Her psychiatrist was unaware of the scope of the pain meds she was on, with even her dentist getting into the act and prescribing narcotics like they were candy.
Jeannie agreed to go to rehab, and her mother and I lied to everyone during the three weeks she was in the hospital, saying she had flown off to Las Vegas to attend a conference.
However, once the pills had been taken away, Jeannie turned to alcohol. At first, she was good at hiding it, until, again, I saw the car swerving wildly coming down the street towards our house and I searched the house until I found her stash.
She had replaced the pills with booze.
I reminded her that if she continued day-drinking like that, she was going to end up doing exactly what that man with Alzheimer’s did to Alexis. Only, she wouldn’t be able to blame her actions on a medical disease. In her case, it would be a moral failing and, likely, there would be no one other than me who would be willing to stand before a judge and ask for clemency.
Something in Jeannie snapped.
Bright and early the next morning, Jeannie went to AA, and she never stopped going several days a week for the rest of her life.
Jeannie replaced the alcohol with her commitment to helping others. Her sponsor at AA visited with me yesterday and said to me, “You have no idea how many people she helped. She was candid about her alcoholism and how it hurt the ones around her. She made people understand that coping without using alcohol is not only possible, it was preferable. They felt like ‘if Jeannie can do it, I can too!’”
Jeannie was sober as a judge for seven years and during that time she helped countless people find sobriety.
When I got sick, Jeannie went into action.
During my first chemo treatment, which takes about six hours each time, she asked me if it would be okay if she left me alone for a while. I said yes, not knowing what it was she was intending to do.
Later, when I got home, I saw where she had redecorated our bedroom with art that had reminders for me like, “Never stop dreaming.”
Jeannie was with me at every doctor appointment, surgery, blood transfusion, radiation therapy and chemo sessions. If we got a call that my medicine was ready at the pharmacy, she hopped in the car immediately to go get it, and if I told her I was craving a milkshake, one would magically appear 20 minutes later.
I remain convinced that God granted me a miracle in curing my cancer, but it was his angel, Jeannie, that kept me going day-to-day. There is no question in my mind I would never have survived that ordeal if not for her.
Some of my Christian friends have likened the struggles I have had to cope with to that of the Biblical character of Job; a man who God presumably allowed to go through losing everything he loved until he proved his faith. That is not me.
I don’t believe that God “allows” things to happen to us, and to my recollection, Satan has never taunted me or forced me to question my faith in exchange for anything. No, I believe the tragedies that have befallen me are random.
My understanding of life and faith is that God is here to help us through the incredibly hard times that pretty much everyone on earth eventually will have to deal with. Just knowing that so many people were praying for me gave Jeannie and me strength.
Honey would not taste as sweet as it does if not for the occasional bee sting suffered fetching it and faith is simply that conduit for communication with Him, the balm that soothes the ache.
Let me leave you with some lyrics from my favorite band:
“And now the party must be over, I guess we’ll never understand
The sense of your leaving, Was it the way it was planned?
And so we grace another table, And raise our glasses one more time
There’s a face at the window
And I ain’t never, never sayin’ goodbye,
One by one
Only the good die young.” -Queen
Scott Hudson is the Senior Investigative Reporter, Editorial Page Editor and weekly columnist for The Augusta Press. Reach him at scott@theaugustapress.com
