EAST BREMERTON — As Joanne Hunter lay in her hospital bed stricken with COVID-19, her friend Cindy Van Winkle told her over the phone she wished she could give her a hug.

"I can feel it," replied Hunter, an 80-year-old known for her spirituality as well as a fondness for such warm embraces.

"I know she did feel it," Van Winkle said. "And I could, too."

Only four days later, Hunter succumbed to COVID-19 and became Kitsap's first known death in a pandemic that's swept the world and has already claimed nearly 100,000 lives.

But the longtime Bremerton resident, a caring soul known for opening not only her heart but her own home for others no matter their circumstances, had known before the outbreak that her time was limited. More than two years ago, Hunter, a lung cancer survivor, was diagnosed with terminal idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.

She didn't allow it to slow her down much.

"She was determined to live life to its fullest, to breathe every last breath," said her daughter, Jodi Bodenman.

The pandemic posed challenges the family would have to overcome to help relatives and friends say their goodbyes. Only one family member could go see her at Harrison Medical Center, one time. Bodenman and Hunter's other child, Jon LeVee, decided it was LeVee who would go, as Bodenman had an earlier lymphoma that made her susceptible to illness.

When he had to leave her side, LeVee ensured Hunter's iPhone was on a stand the family viewed until the end. On Monday, as death neared, a Harrison nurse came and held her hand, the family said.

"...She will always be in our hearts as the unconquerable dancing spirit that brightened our day, and who could always cheer anyone up with her stories and positive outlook on life," LeVee wrote on Facebook the morning she died, as he started a two-week quarantine at his mother's home, away from his family.

The Kitsap Public Health District did not disclose Hunter's name, citing privacy laws. But the agency is tracking such coronavirus deaths. In her case, medical professionals confirmed the diagnosis; but if someone were to succumb to an illness with coronavirus symptoms, the Kitsap County Coroner's Office would conduct a swab to ensure accurate record-keeping, according to Coroner Jeff Wallis.

Hunter grew up in Seattle. Her family lived on a houseboat. She emboidied a 1960s "free spirit," attended Bellevue Community College and worked as an office administrator at multiple businesses for much of her life.

She gave birth to twins, Jodi and Jon and, after a divorce, met and married Eric Hunter, who ran a mortgage firm. LeVee said his mother quickly embraced Eric's three children— Catherine, Larry and John.

"It was a beautiful marriage," said Theresa Schroeder, who with her husband, Bob, had a passion for gardening with the couple.

Theresa recalled the couple's quick, witty banter, and how as Eric grew older, Joanne became more protective of him.

The couple was long involved with the Peninsula Council of the Blind and its wider chapters after Eric lost his vision as a result of diabetes more than two decades ago.

"She was always there, crochet hook in hand," recalled Amanda House, Van Winkle's daughter, who also went to the chapter's conventions with her mom, who is blind.

In those times together, Hunter took House under her wing, in this case, teaching her to crochet shawls, blankets and other things.

Hunter had a way of "adopting" people, House said. "Call me Granni Jo," she'd say. A radiant smile and a hug greeted most every encounter. She was a friend you could confide in.

"You could tell her secrets and ask her advice," House said. "She was very understanding, open-minded. She had a lot of love to give."

She gave a young man named Tyler Hicks driving lessons. Driving would end up becoming his livelihood, hauling an 80,000-pound refrigerated trailer across the country as a commercial trucker and instructor.

Hicks' aunt was an author who Hunter would type her manuscripts for. When he turned driving age, no one else wanted to get behind the wheel with him, he said, except Granni Jo. They climbed into an old burgundy Oldsmobile and Hunter showed Hicks the basics.

"Anytime we needed her, she was there no matter what and with no questions asked," he said, commenting from Salt Lake City on a recent stop.

Hunter lost her husband, Eric, to illness in 2017. Her faith, in both the Native American and Baháʼí traditions, kept her strong and helping people. Even in her late 70s she took in and raised an infant for a few months.

"We joked about her taking in strays," LeVee said.

Hunter had gone to see friends to celebrate her 80th birthday in Southern California March 2, a few days after the first death from the illness in Washington state. Her family said she recalled someone having numerous spells of coughing on a shuttle ride to or from an airport at some point along the trip.

In any case, she began to feel sick after returning home. She drove herself to Silverdale in late March to be tested for COVID-19, and the test came back positive two days later. Two days after that, she told her family she got so winded she couldn't finish showering.

Her fever soared to 103.9. The family called an ambulance on March 29 and Bodenman notified Harrison a coronavirus patient was coming.

When she would lay down, she'd feel better, family and friends said.

"She sounded like her happy Joanne self," Van Winkle said of a phone call March 31. "She thought they'd be releasing her."

A few days later, her condition nosedived. Doctors and nurses at Harrison did what they could to make her comfortable.

"It's heartwrenching, and so many people don't take this seriously," Van Winkle said. "You don't want to know somebody who loses their life to this."

The family isn't sure as yet whether to attempt to hold a virtual memorial service or wait for times when social-distancing measures are less stringent. In the meantime, those who wish to donate in her memory can do so at Harrison Medical Center's Foundation fund.

Reach Reporter Josh Farley at josh.farley@kitsapsun.com.