Thanks to all of you at this difficult time

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This past week has been a long, emotional rollercoaster since my wife Gillian passed away on Aug. 21.

I did not want to let any more time pass before thanking those of you who have reached out with your condolences and support.

It is a reminder of this bond, this trust that sometimes develops between writers and their readers. It is like we are all one family. We don't always agree, but we support each other. I certainly felt that way this week.

I'm going to take the rest of this weekend to spend quality time with my son and brother  as I try to get my bearings and will back writing for The Front Page on Monday.

On Wednesday night, we honored Gillian with a Christmas Eve candlelight service and ended the service with "Silent Night." It was nice to get to spend one more Christmas with her, but I suspect she never will be too far away.

For those of you interested. My eulogy from Wednesday night is below, and yes, I was wearing a Santa hat.

It's long, but after a 45-year relationship there was a lot to say.

Thanks to all of you for reading and treating the Tingley family as a members of your family.

Aloha Gillian.

---

Gillian R. Tingley

Aug. 5, 1958 - Aug. 21, 2024

Gillian was a life force that cannot easily be measured. She was so many different things to so many different people.

When Sterling Goodspeed was DA he found a committed, diligent professional to get the office running in an orderly and efficient fashion.

For new mothers at Albany Medical Center, she was a godsend as she showed them how to effectively swaddle their newborn and finally get their babies to sleep.

For the elderly patients she visited at home while working for Warren County Health, she was someone who brightened their day and assuaged their fears, especially after a devastating diagnosis. More than once, she became a friend and confidante, explaining procedures, sharing her own experiences and even taking them to their doctor's appointments. None of that was in the job description.

What was not obvious was she was fearless.

When she was 20 years old at the University of Kentucky, she had an internship with the National Forest Service. Her job was to collect water samples from creeks and streams near strip mines in rural parts of Kentucky, Ohio and Pennsylvania.

All by herself.

One day in 1979 while she was on the road, she dropped in unexpectedly to see me at my first newspaper job in Ashland, Kentucky.

That changed everything. Not that day, but eventually.

Her love was total.

For her family.

For her beloved dogs.

And fortunately for me, too.

She often told the story about traveling around those rural backwaters for the forest service and how she made a stop in Ohio and found a puppy sitting on a stone wall.

As if she was waiting just for her.

She got out of the big station wagon, greeted the puppy and noticed she had no collar, no tags. It was obvious someone had dumped her.

Gillian went about her business, collecting her samples and when she returned to the car, the little dog was sitting in the front seat and wouldn't get out, although I'm not sure Gillian tried very hard.

That's how we got Sadie. She would never be alone again.

Years later, I was away on a sports assignment and my newspaper ran a story about an abused black lab that they were trying to find a home for. Gillian immediately called. Many other readers called too, but they gave that dog to Gillian. On the way home, the poor abused dog could barely sit up because his legs were so badly mangled, yet he rode all the way back to Queensbury with his head resting on Gillian's shoulder.

That's how we got Xander.

The experts believe our canine friends have a much better measure of a person than we humans. I think that applies here.

Finally, while visiting one of her acquaintances, Gillian was introduced to this cute little Cairn Terrier. Her friend told her how she was going to breed the dog and make all this money selling the puppies. Gillian did not like the sound of any of this. When her friend was distracted, Gillian picked up the little dog and left. I did not find out until years later that my wife was a guilty of dog-napping.

And that's how we got Poppy.

Those passions extended beyond her canine companions and for those of you who were recipients of that love, you always knew where you stood.

And when Joseph was born, that completed her. It completed us.

We all had a unique sense of humor grounded in the comedy of Monty Python. If you are not familiar with the English troupe from the 1970s and 1980s, this next part you may not get.

If one of us suffered a cut or an injury of any sort, Gillian would immediately mimic the high-pitched voices of Eric Idle or John Cleese, "It's just flesh wound."

She could not walk through a garden center without beginning the bit from the Holy Grail where the Knights that go Ni demanded, "We want a shrubbery."

And I would respond, "One that looks nice."

And Joseph would add "But not too expensive."

The number of quizzical looks we got over the years was too many to count.

Yeah, we got each other.

Gillian found her calling later in life. After being fired from her job, she went back to school to become a nurse. Taking chemistry and biology courses with kids half her age, she graduated and landed a job in pediatrics at Albany Medical Center where she took the overnight shift working 7 to 7 surrounded by a one-hour commute at each end.

She loved taking care of the kids, the babies.

And then the cancer came. That was 13 years ago.

She was 53 years old and the doctors said it was 50-50 she'd make it 3 years.

  And then the chemotherapy started.

Remember, Gillian was fearless.

It was two hours each way on the country roads of

Vermont to get the poison poured into her body. We often said nothing on those trips. We sometimes talked continuously like those early days when our only connection was late-night long distance phone calls. But it was never about doom and gloom. It was never about what might happen next. It was about that day, that time and we became closer than ever.

That became the way she lived her life.

One day at a time.

One trip at a time.

Time was not something to be wasted.

When she returned to the pediatric floor after chemo wearing a head scarf to cover what was left of her hair, every single nurse on that floor was also wearing a head scarf so she would not feel out of place. I don't think she ever felt more loved.

While treating kids with cancer, and later seniors, Gillian could relate because she could compare ports where they poured in the chemo and the lack of any hairstyle.

She made every swim meet, every theater production, orchestra concert, the junior prom and the senior semi-formal and she was there to not only see high school graduation, but college and grad school too.

50-50 odds be damned.

Along the way there were setbacks and there were challenges, but she kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Each day was not a chore, but another opportunity.

She was not so much a cancer survivor as someone willing to walk with it and push it aside when she needed to. 

Once or twice I wrote about Gillian's experiences, but not often. She did not want to be the latest inspirational cancer survival story. She just wanted to keep on being a mom and wife.

So many of you have commented on Gillian's staying power in recent days, the inspiration you derived from it and I can assure you she had no idea. She never would have imagined that the way she lived her life was out of the ordinary or that it might have helped others. She would be shocked by all this.

Susan Andrews wrote this on Facebook this week about Gillian:

"Gillian’s impact alone on all the Drs., nurses and her other health care providers over the last 13+ years will prove invaluable in enhancing their capacity for believing in the power of the human spirit, regardless of what “odds” and statistics usually dictate in their traditional diagnosis and treatment plans."

Not a bad legacy.

Connie Bosse was a reader and acquaintance from my days at the newspaper who served on our editorial board. Recently she received her own cancer diagnosis. After hearing of Gillian's passing, she told me this:

"Gillian's strength through this battle has been a life lesson in determination, attitude and approach. I was diagnosed with endometrial cancer in February and have just finished my six rounds of chemo, with surgery planned for September. During my painful journey, her story about the way she approached the awfulness that is cancer and recovery spoke to me. I invoked the thought, `If Gillian Tingley can fight through this Connie, so can you.' She was my role model in persistence. As you know, when you get this diagnosis, you discover a lot about yourself. Are you a fighter and if so, what are you fighting for. Gillian is a fighter who focused on the importance of the love of her family and the joy of her work giving back to others. That will be her legacy."

That is comforting to hear this evening, but for those of us who were close, Gillian's legacy will always be Christmas for us.

More than once I arrived home late from work at the newspaper to find Gillian and Joseph totally enthralled in The Muppet Christmas Carol.

It was July.

Including just a month ago.

The depths of her love for the holiday knew no bounds, especially through her decorating. More than once we joined Bob, Mavis and Josephine here at St. Mary's for the Christmas Eve candlelight service.

So here we are again.

One more time.

Those of you who have been to our house know what I am talking about. Her creativity was unparalleled. In recent years, Christmas decorating not only pushed Thanksgiving to a back burner, but Halloween as well.

In our basement right now, we have 15 four-foot by two-foot plastic tubs filled with Christmas decorations. That's the small stuff. The Christmas storage area measures some 30 feet from one end to another.

One year I got a call to immediately bring the SUV down to the old antique shop on Glen Street. My enduring memory is the stares and amazement I got from blocked motorists as I attempted to load two life-sized stuffed reindeer into the SUV with Gillian smiling nearby.

Those reindeer still occupy our basement for 11 months of the year and for one glorious month they welcome our guests into the most amazing holiday fairyland.

I can't help but think our family was just a little bit different than most of yours and I credit Gillian.

Those good times have buoyed us these past few days.

Going through the photo albums reminded us of the multitude of experiences of a life lived well.

I can only give her life the proper context with a reference to our favorite Christmas movie - It's a Wonderful Life.

When Clarence the Guardian Angel tells George Bailey:

"Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

What I've found these past few days, from you and so many others was that Gillian's life touched so many beyond what I ever realized, probably more than she ever imagined as well. And we are all just realizing what a hole that will leave.

But Gillian is giving back to us even now. Like her sister, Gillian has requested we distribute her ashes in Keauhou Bay from an outrigger canoe on the island of Kona while singing traditional Hawaiian songs. One final adventure for all of us.

---

Gillian and Ken Tingley were married on September 25, 1982.

Ken Tingley spent more than four decades working in small community newspapers in upstate New York. Since retirement in 2020 he has written three books and is currently adapting his second book "The Last American Newspaper" into a play. He currently lives in Queensbury, N.Y.