My Cousins
I just finished tallying up how many cousins I have/had. The number was much larger than I expected – 38, 20 on my mother’s side and 18 on my father’s side. As the oldest child of two oldest children, I was born (1948) before most of my cousins. Cousin Nancy was one of the few exceptions, along with cousins Marilyn, Joanne, and Cara (maybe). Cousin Lee was born a month later than me.
My Senger Cousins
I grew up in North Dakota around the Sengers (my mother’s siblings). Uncle John’s two daughters, Marilyn and Joanne, were a few years older than me. They treated me like a little brother in the early years, before a family feud ended that. The other North Dakota cousins were all younger and our interactions were limited to occasional visits, the holidays, and chance meetings. They were little kids, doing little kid things.
One of my Senger aunts (Donna) had moved to Alaska with her husband (Ed). Due to the nature of Ed's job (with the federal government), they, including their seven children, were provided free airfare back to “the lower 48” every two years (a nice perk), which they used to vacation in Bismarck during the summer. As such, I saw that set of cousins once every two years. Of the seven, I got to know Robby, Otto, and Ike the best – but just for a week or so – every two years.
As noted, most of my Senger cousins were much younger than me. For some reason, while still a teenager, I was selected to be the godfather of two or three (I am unsure) of my youngest cousins, a position/responsibility that I was not mature enough to appreciate at the time, and one that I failed at miserably over the years.
After I graduated from North Dakota State University in 1970 and moved to Omaha, I, for all practical purposes, lost touch with my Senger cousins. As we collectively aged, they stayed to the north in Alaska, Minnesota, North Dakota, and South Dakota. I stayed in touch with a couple of them, mainly through my aunts and uncles, via Christmas cards, and during occasional visits to North Dakota and Minnesota. After my parents moved to Las Vegas in 1977, my visits to North Dakota all but stopped.
My Burdett Cousins
My interactions with my Burdett cousins were even more intermittent. My father’s side of the family were Mormons, congregating in the Great Basin of America, primarily in Utah. In the early years my grandfather was the postmaster in McCall, Idaho, a small resort town a hundred miles north of Boise. Given the “resort” nature of McCall, its cool mountain air, and beautiful mountain lake; my father and his two brothers would oft arrange to vacation in McCall during the summers.
These vacations were usually coordinated so as not to overwhelm my grandparents, but at least once my family and Uncle Ren’s family overlapped for a bit. That was when I first met Cousin Cara (about my age) and her younger siblings. There were also a few other occasions when I would see Uncle Ren’s children (e.g., in Anaheim, during a trip to Disneyland).
After my grandfather retired as postmaster and moved back to Utah (Ogden), we continued to vacation out West and started to see more of Uncle Paul (Nancy’s father) and my Aunt Barbara Stephens, who both lived along the foothills of the Wasatch mountains with their young families. My Aunt Colleen had some medical issues that made it difficult for her to travel away from her Roseburg, Oregon, home. As such, I cannot remember ever meeting her, her husband (the golf pro), or any of her five children.
As my cousins aged, they remained in Utah for the most part, with some living in California, Nevada, and Oregon. I kept up a bit with their lives via my parents, but alas, our interactions were few and far between. A couple of my cousins (Barbara and Donnelle) did come to Omaha back in 2001 to do some “stained glass” work at a Mormon temple being constructed in Omaha. But, alas, I never got to know most of my "Burdett" cousins very well; in many cases they were just names.
My Cousin Nancy
Cousin Nancy was an exception. Our extraordinary friendship started relatively late in our lives, when we were both “seniors,” because Nancy and I were both into “words” – written words. That shared love is what ultimately reconnected us.
As I recall, sometime after I started to write about the Burdett clan – for a family website and/or in the book I eventually published (BS: The Burdett Senger Chronicles) – I contacted Nancy about my little project. She enthusiastically responded, sharing some family documents (e.g. letters, diary entries, and pictures) that I was not aware of.
I quickly determined that Cousin Nancy was a letter writer. We exchanged emails but her emails looked like the letters of a bygone era. They were organized and obviously well thought out. There was nothing rambling about Cousin Nancy’s emails.
Not at first, but very early in the game, I knew that there was something special about Cousin Nancy and our e-mail exchanges – so I created a folder in my Yahoo mail account and started to save our exchanges. The oldest email in that folder is dated September 30, 2012, but it was obviously not her first email to me; it was just the first one that found its way into the “Nancy” folder.
Nancy also quickly became my “proofreader” of choice. She is pictured in this post holding copies of the "BS" books that she proofread for me. But more importantly, Nancy “encouraged” me at every turn to move forward with my writing. Her emails contained those words of encouragement that writers love to read (even if they are not deserved).
Proofreading is a dreadful job, albeit as a professional or on a voluntary basis. A proofreader must be able to capture the flow of the overall narrative, while at the same time examining every word, and how those words fit into every sentence. Good proofreaders combine a love for grammar (e.g., words, tense, spelling, punctuation) with keen attention to detail, which is extremely hard to maintain consistently.
Accordingly, I took on most of the “word-by-word” responsibly. I asked my volunteer proofreaders to “casually read” my books – while being alert for big gaffes and glaring errors. As to punctuation, I informed Nancy that I belonged to the Emily Dickinson school of excessive dashes and commas (not to mention excessive colons and semicolons). Even with that caveat, she helped me fix a lot of suspect punctuation.
When it was time for my final draft, I would use Nancy’s marked up “proof” copy as my “gold standard,” as she always found the most errors. I would supplement her input with the other reported goofs that my other proofreaders reported. When Nancy would suggest that I change “whom” (on page 73, paragraph 1, line 2) to “who,” I made the change, no questions asked. I could never figure out that bit of grammar.
When we were not discussing my misspelled words and confusing sentences, we discussed our families, memories, travel, health, and medical procedures. We also wrote about what we were reading – what books we liked.
Over the years, Nancy also shared her thoughts on death. As regards Aunt Barbara’s death she wrote, “Death is always fraught with ambivalence for me; I'm always happy for those who have died (well, for those who have lived a full life and have now left behind the pains and sorrows of mortality), and sad for those who have been left behind.” During our grandfather’s funeral she spoke, “I am thankful today for a very spunky Grandfather who has taught me that life is for living. Life for Grandpa was never an experience to be merely tolerated, survived, or bemoaned – it was an opportunity to learn, grow, and enjoy.”
When I reminded her of that eulogy, she found a copy of her remarks and forwarded then to me (by email) – thus the quote above. I believe that Nancy modeled my grandfather’s life. She was always looking for opportunities to learn, grow, enjoy, and serve. In her emails to me she would write about the jobs that she would take on (after retirement) to serve others (e.g., school tutor, teacher’s aide, an LDS mission to Texas in 2018).
Except for two instances decades apart – Nancy and I never met. All our interactions were via mail, email, and later “texts.” We never talked on the phone or saw each other in person. The two exceptions were in 2013 when my wife and I met Nancy and her husband for a bit of ice cream one evening while we were in Salt Lake City; and ten years later, in 2023, when four of us “Burdett” cousins met in McCall to reminisce.
During the latter trip to Idaho, Nancy, Nancy’s only sister Pam, my only sister Marianne, and I (plus four supporting spouses) spent a couple of days reliving our childhood vacations – checking out the house that grandpa built in McCall (now a retail business), enjoying Ponderosa State Park, and cruising on Payette Lake. And above all, we enjoyed each other’s company and our childhood memories.
Nancy Has Cancer
It all started on Sunday, May 17, 2026, with an “out of the blue” text message from Nancy’s younger sister, which read, “Hello Bob, this is cousin Pam. If you’re thinking, if she’s texting out of the blue, it must be bad news. You are right.” The text went on to say that Nancy had recently been in and out of the hospital and was facing some pretty serious complications.
DAY 1: Three days later, I received a text from Nancy which started succinctly and without salutations, “I believe you know by now that I’m dying. It came as a bit of surprise. I turned around during one of four surgeries in the last week – and there it was. The invitation. It’s not as onerous as I imagined it would be.”
Nancy went on to text, “Mortality is all about connections, I see, and my connections to you feel extraordinary. We’ve connected through our math brains, our love of the written word, and family. I don’t think it can be any better than that.”
It seemed that a doctor had discovered a lot of cancerous tumors in her colon during her third surgery. Nancy reported that she saw a miracle at that time. In her words, she “saw the doctor close me up with all the cancer still inside.” At or about that time, she declined any further treatment and was placed on hospice. And so began an almost 60-day exchange of texts between Nancy and me.
Our Text Exchanges (DAYS 1-42)
I am not comfortable in such situations. I don’t know what to say. I normally would try to be upbeat and positive, ignoring “death,” but Nancy had pretty much taken that kind of response off the table. From the start – she wanted to talk about God and dying, and so for the most part, that it was we did, via are daily text exchanges. She remained upbeat to the end, at one time texting, “Dying is light duty. I find I’m being blessed and comforted each step of the way. I’m so very grateful.” And again, there were no phone calls; we were writers.
At times I tried to intermingle some light and newsy texts: recalling family memories; discussing my spring flower planting; talking about music (the Texas Tenors at the symphony, barbershop quartets, and church organs), updating Nancy on my youngest grandchildren (“Olympic Day,” the last day of first-grade, trips to the zoo, girl scout camp, and summer vacations in the Pacific Northwest); and the little things of life (hummingbirds, watching rain fall, and raspberries). Nancy loved her raspberries.
God, Death, and Dying
As to God and dying, we compared our obituaries; it turned out we both wanted the same kind of obituary.
· In Nancy’s words, “I want nothing flowery or stuffy, so I figured I’d better take matters into my own hands. Turned out to be a cool process.”
· In my words (from my February 19, 2026, blog post – quoting Dragnet’s Joe Friday), “Just the facts, Mamm, just the facts.”
In turn, I shared my thoughts on suffering, God’s mercy, and my favorite Shakespeare quotes regarding death:
· “Death lies on her like an untimely frost” (Romeo & Juliet)
· “For in the sleep of death what dreams may come” (Hamlet)
· “Death rock me asleep” (King Henry IV, Part 2)
· “Death is my son-in-law; death is my heir” (Romeo & Juliet)
I wrote Nancy that the latter was my favorite because one of my sons-in-law was “a bit of a goofball.” Nancy was a Shakespeare fan, traveling south to Cedar City, Utah, most every year to attend that city’s Shakespeare festival.
Other Writings on Death
Because Cousin Nancy loved the written word, I tried to find other writings, prayers, songs, and poems concerning life and death, including:
A Second Childhood – by G. K. Chesterton (three verses)
When all my days are ending | and I have no song to sing, | I think I shall not be too old | To stare at everything, | As I stared once at a nursery door | Or a tall tree and a swing.
Men grow too old to woo, my love, | Men grow too old to wed: | But I shall not grow too old to see | Hung crazily overhead | Incredible rafters when I wake | And find I am not dead.
Strange crawling carpets of the grass, | Wide windows of the sky: | So in this perilous grace of God | With all my sins go I: | And things grow new though I grow old, | Though I grow old and die.
I have perceiv’d – by Walt Witman
I have perceiv’d that to be with those I like is enough, | To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, | To be surrounded by beautiful, curious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, …
I do not ask any more delight, I swim in it as in a sea. | There is “something” in staying close to men and women and looking on them, | And in the contact and odor of them, that pleased the soul well, | All things please the soul, but these please the soul well.
High Flying Bird – a song by Jefferson Airplane
In my text to Nancy, I included some of the song’s lyrics – “I got the sit-down, can’t cry | Oh Lord, I’m gonna die blues,” and “Oh well, he wanted to fly | And the only way to fly was to die.” But without the melody, the words lost their impact. If you are so inclined, I suggest you try to find the song online, wherever you get your music. Listen to Grace Slick belt out the lyrics of a High Flying Bird.
The End
DAY 37: I received a long text from Nancy, saying that the previous day had been “crazy … the only rough hours I’ve had. It took me by surprise.” But she reported that she had talked to her case manager, changed some meds, cried, and then rallied.
DAY 43: I sent her a prayer that I had written on suffering:
Christ suffered for us. He left us an example to follow. | Whenever we bear the pain of unjust suffering - that is grace. | Whenever we are patient as we suffer for good - that is grace. | Whenever we suffer in the flesh - we break with sin. | The sufferings of the present are nothing compared with your glory.
Lord God Almighty, help me rejoice in my suffering for your sake. | Hear my prayers when I suffer and my praise when I sing. | Allow me to endure the pain in my body with joy in my soul. | Do not allow me to grow weary as I suffer for your name.
DAY 44: I sent her an excerpt from a booklet entitled “Why Squander Illness?”
“Dear Patient: This is a personal note to you! Through no choice of your own, you have been inducted for a time into the Army of the Sick and Suffering. Your leader is none other than Christ, the Man of Sorrows. In His suffering, in His Innocence, in His plight you will find courage and strength to bear your cross as He bore His and to make that cross a sincere act of love. … There is only one way we can become like Him and that is in the way He bore His sorrows and His Cross. … There is nothing more tragic in all the world today than wasted pain.”
On that same day, I received my last text from Nancy containing emojis. Nancy was the kind of texter that liked to add multiple emojis to her words. On that day she ended her text with “I love you” and eleven multicolored emojis.
DAYS 45-48: I sent Nancy a series of texts, mostly discussing the July 4th holiday and the 250th anniversary of the USA (e.g., family gatherings, fireworks, and the tall ships sailing through the New York City harbor). I received no responses from Cousin Nancy, which was unusual
DAY 49, I included two of Emily Dickinson’s poems in my text:
#976: Death is a Dialogue between | The Spirit and the Dust. | “Dissolve” says Death - The Spirit “Sir I have another Trust” – Death doubts it | Argues from the Ground - | The Spirit turns away | Just laying off for evidence | An Overcoat of Clay.
#1272: So proud she was to die | It made us all ashamed | That what we cherished, so unknown | To her desire seemed - | So satisfied to go | Where none of us should be | Immediately - that Anguish stopped | Almost to Jealousy
DAY 50: I received a text from Nancy that was written by her daughter. It read, “I read the poems to mom and she liked both of them. She can no longer text herself.”
DAY 51: I included a poem by Scott Cairns, which was based on the writings of Saint Macrina the Younger (“You free us from the dread of death, and make this life a door.”).
DAY 52: I included a poem entitled “Some of Each” by Ester Wood. It was a poem that Nancy would have recognized. It was a poem that my grandfather included in his life story, which he had retitled “Of Rose, My Wife.”
DAY 53: I received a text from Nancy’s daughter, reporting that “She's down to ice chips and sponges.”
DAYS 53 and 54: I wrote Nancy some prayer verses on water:
“Jesus, you told us that the water you give us wells up to eternal life. … You give a gift to the thirsty from the spring of life-giving water. Your grace flows to us from Jesus. You renew my strength and guide me. I am like a watered garden, like a spring whose water never fails. Behold the rainbow! Majestic indeed is its splendor; It spans the heavens with its glory, this bow bent by the mighty hand of God.”
DAYS 55 and 56: I included some passages from a book entitled, “Glimpses of Heaven: True Stories of Hope & Peace at the End of Life’s Journey” by a hospice nurse named Trudy Harris.
“I have the feeling that people do not die at the exact minute or hour that we say they do. In some explicable way that we do not yet understand, they seem to travel back and forth from this world to the next, developing the insights God wants them to have on this their final journey back to the Father who created them.”
“When they spoke of angels, which many did, the angels were always described as more beautiful than they ever imagined, eight feet tall, male, and wearing a white for which there is no word. ‘Luminescent’ is what each one said, like nothing they had ever seen before.”
DAY 56: I received a text from Nancy’s daughter, starting with “Cousin Bob: Mom passed away this morning.”
Final Thoughts
Cousin Nancy will be missed! I hope and pray that some of my final texts, with their various poems and prayers, comforted her.
As so often happens, her husband, Heber, himself infirm, died just nine days after Nancy died.
Cousin Nancy and I were of different faiths - which have different doctrines on the nature of God and the afterlife - BUT we, via our texts, shared our common belief in a God of love and mercy.
As I reviewed the above before I posted it, I noted that what I had written was way too long. I could have used a good editor AGAIN.