Aunt Jean, 92, was an independent single woman who had lived by herself all these years, far from her relatives, in a small Tucson, Ariz., garden apartment with a view of the majestic Santa Catalina Mountains. She resisted every entreaty to move closer to family members or to enter into any kind of retirement facility.

Aunt Jean's fierce independence had been both a strength and a weakness. She was able to add meaning to her life by not depending on others. On the other hand, she had not allowed help when she needed it. Because she was of sound mind, no one could, or would, tell her what to do.

My wife, Kate, served as her power of attorney; we tried our best to be long distance caregivers. In this mobile 21st century, many of us live miles from our older relatives.

Here is a case study of one family's experience:

In Tucson, neighbors, friends from the Catholic Church, visiting nurses and home health care workers did their best to help Jean stay in her apartment. But Jean refused to see doctors and definitely did not want to go to a hospital. She feared she would die if she ever left her apartment.

But two weeks ago, Jean's resistance evaporated. Back in Frederick, Md., Kate and I received the call we had long awaited: Jean was very sick. She was rushed to the emergency room at St. Joseph's Hospital. The diagnosis: terminal cancer.

Fortunately, there was an adult care placement service in Tucson — as there is in virtually every city — that would help us find the right place for Jean. We took her to a new assisted living facility, the Villas at La Canada, in the foothills of Jean's beloved mountains. Hospice workers came regularly to comfort her.

And she was allowed to bring her two cats, Mistie and Sandy. Jean never married and those cats had been like her children. Fortunately, many forward-thinking places, such as the Villas, have realized that animals play an important role in comforting severely sick patients.

Jean knew the end was near. She had all the facts about where she stood.

What was in her future? At the hospital, she had asked for the news, no matter how bad. We told her that she had cancer and, sadly, there was no cure. The disease had spread throughout her body, but we were going to take her to a place that would care for her.

Jean received the news quietly — she said little. As long as the cats were coming with her to the Villas, that was important. And someone should take care of her car; there was a special garage she used.

Jean had a pleasant room where she could look out at the mountains. A home for 10 residents, the new building was presided over by a tall woman named Rebecca Redhouse, who looks a lot like Ava Gardner. All of the workers acted as if Aunt Jean was part of the family.

Each afternoon, Jean had her own little "happy hour," where she was allowed a scotch and water. Doctor's orders. Why not?

Her room was full of pictures of the important family members of her past. She had outlived just about all of them.

How long did she have?

The hospice worker said, "It could be two weeks or two years. The only one who can say is not at the table."

The answer came quickly. Jean died peacefully on Oct. 23, three days after she arrived at the Villas. Her family and her beloved cats were nearby.

E-mail Joe Volz at volzjoe2003@yahoo.com or write to 2528 Five Shillings Rd, Frederick, MD 21701. To find out more about Joe Volz and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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