Pamela Salem O’Hagan

Our little Cardie Community and the whole wide world grew a little dimmer with the loss of the bright star that was Pamela on February 21, 2024. As inspiring as they come, Pam has been featured in many a Cardie Newsletter. Here are a few favorite stories as told by our founder, who considered Pam a dear friend …

Where to begin?!? Several years ago, I was having my morning swim off Miami Beach when I spotted a fairly new friend, Pamela, doing the same. At the time, Pam was a semi-retired English actress (I always thought younger, thinner, prettier Judi Dench) who played opposite Sean Connery in The First Great Train Robbery and again in the Bond film, Never Say Never Again, in which she played Miss Moneypenny and, decades later, she still received requests for autographs for her roles in the original Dr. Who series. Here in the States, she was in ER and Magnum PI, and even played the British Prime Minister in an episode of The West Wing.

Here on the beach, Pam lived a few blocks away, so that day we laughed at the synchronicity of us both choosing to dive into the same exact spot in the sea at the exact same moment in time. We bobbed awhile, going on and happily on about how blessed we felt to have this as our “backyard pool,” until I heard Pam pronounce, as might Dame Judith, “Well, I must get home and get busy! I have calls to make and emails to answer before our contractor arrives this afternoon to start in on our house project again. What a mess we have …” and then she caught herself. “Oh, my, just listen to me! Have I not moved to this little piece of paradise to enjoy precisely this sort of freedom and joy unrestrained?!” Then — buoyant and beautiful in the blue sea up to her knees — she threw herself backwards in the water like a floating snow-angel. Again and again and again! Giggling the whole while like a charming 70-something kid. So much fun to see.

Our “Oops” Feel Better design was Pam-inspired when, back in 2014, she was tripped up by a broken sidewalk, and a titanium plate promptly replaced her right elbow. A year later she good-naturedly let her surgeon know, “I have a screw loose!” and back into surgery she went. Darned if that screw didn’t come loose, leading her to a third surgery a few years after. Oh, and then there was that little double-mastectomy thing in between.

By 2021, Parkinson’s disease had made it increasingly challenging for my by-then dear friend to walk those few blocks to the ocean. She inspired the moo card when I’d called one day and, with that smooth English accent, she forewarned in her ever-charming way that “a new med is making me rather moody, darling.”

A true showman, Pamela never ceased to amaze with her ability to continue to be her beautiful, vibrant, indomitable self in spite of the progressive Parkinson’s. I can’t imagine ever forgetting the day she called me on her way home from a doctor’s appointment where they’d discussed what to do about some small tumors in her tummy. “I want to share some great, great news!” she’d said, then went on to explain that she’d been told she had a very rare form of cancer for which there is no cure. Eek!

That, of course, begged my question, “But, Pam, how can you view this as good news and sound so delighted???” She didn’t skip a beat in saying, “It’s good news in that they’ve assigned a team of world-class specialists to try all kinds of experimental treatments on me. Poor things, they were so kind and it was clearly hard for them to have to tell me that the treatments would likely be of no use to me, and then go on to explain that the drugs and chemo and radiation and whatever else they can throw at this will not be at all pleasant either. But I told them not to worry … I assured them it was an honor and a privilege to be their guinea pig and, hopefully, what they learn from treating me will help them beat it in someone else down the line.” She laughed, “I finally had to put the discussion to rest by telling them the Parkinson’s is surely going to kill me long before these blasted tummy tumors anyway!”

I was positively dumbfounded. How in the world could she have such a relentlessly positive attitude in the face of all that she’d just learned and had been going through?

On she went into chemo, and one Saturday morning I called her to ask what I might do or bring to support her in any way. (I knew she no longer had the appetite for my weekly delivery of her favorite homemade Snickerdoodles, and I’d already been given the pleasure of procuring her hot pink pageboy wig after her head was shaved.) So that Saturday she asked, “Have you any watermelon? It does seem to help keep my mouth somewhat moist.”

I delivered my container of chunks, we talked for a bit and, as I started to turn toward home, I remembered I’d brought this card to the left along. I’d chosen it because she had so many friends, helpers, and houseguests from all over the world constantly and lovingly checking on her.

She was standing at her back gate with rosy bougainvillea at her back when I handed the (now-retired :) “hovering” card to her and, as soon as she’d read it, tears began to flow. “Hovering!” she said. “Yes, that’s quite right. So many good people have been hovering and I do feel so loved and cared for.”

I sighed and said, “Only you, Pam, would be crying … not in frustration, or about the pain and discomfort, or losing your crowning glory, or the lousy odds, or what the future holds,” and she jumped in, “Oh no! I’m crying because people truly are so kind, and I feel so blessed to be surrounded by so many of them.” Her beloved sister Gillie, the great poet and puppeteer, was in from London that week, so we enjoyed tea and hugs and — because of their amazing storytelling — lots of laughter, and we took a slow walk and talk by the sea. Once a star, always a star, and Pamela’s show went on.

By early 2023, cancer and Parkinson’s had taken their toll on Pam’s body, but seemingly not on her spirit. “This journey is a bit frightening,” she conceded. “There are days when I wonder how I manage to still be upright.” Her faith had always been extremely important to her, and she said, “Each day, I reach out and take the hand of God to lead the way.”

She ordered a dozen of the snail/frog/turtle card, saying that, “Especially for people who need help and yet have no one to look out for them, it must be terribly difficult. In addition to still receiving very sweet fan mail, I receive cards and notes from dear friends around the world. There’s just something so lovely about getting a card these days, isn’t there?” Pamela said, “because you feel how the person has taken the time and gone to the trouble to write more than a text or an email. Very touching.

“We have to appreciate every card, every phone call, every friend who pops by,” she emphasized, “as they all contribute to the sense that we are loved.” And when the going really gets tough? “I turn it over to God,” she said. “It’s the only way I could manage. I say, ‘Here, God, I’ll let you work this one out!’ and that He does.”

In December ‘23, Pam was rushed to ER after a fall and — while it was not clear whether what caused her to tumble was her Parkinson’s or the tumors in her tummy — after 10 days in the hospital, she was relieved to be back in her home, but determined it was time for hospice care there. In the Cardie Newsletter, we shared that Pam was grateful for an outpouring of support from caring Cardies across the country and asked that we please tell all how much the messages meant to her. However, she said, “Whilst reading the kind and flattering words, I keep thinking, ‘These Cardies can’t be speaking of me!? I’ve done nothing to deserve such consideration and praise.’”

On February 21, 2024, her spirit went off to be with that of her beloved husband Michael, who had been waiting for her for seven years already.

It was always hard to imagine how this marvel somehow managed to be her joyful, indomitable self despite her last challenging decade of a broken elbow, double-mastectomy, incurable cancerous tumors in her tummy, and Parkinson’s that had painfully bended and twisted her like a still-pretty pretzel. In her own words, Pam said, “One thing that helps me is my never-ending list of things for which I’m grateful — from having nerves that can be set on edge, to the loved ones who pull us back from the edge!”

Designs with Messages by Pam

Designs Dedicated to Pam