It’s after 1 A.M., Tuesday, September 16, 2014. It’s been exactly eight months since I stood for an entire night beside the raised bed of my heroic husband as he struggled for each and every breath. I never once left him for those hours but held his hand, stroked his brow, and did anything else that it seemed might bring him comfort or relief.
It was excruciating…watching him thrash from side to side, wild-eyed and panicked because his lungs were incapable of expanding enough to take in the air he needed. One lung was completely full of tumors, the other affected by both tumors and fluid that had built up quickly over the previous days and hours. The hospice nurse assigned to us had only one patient at that point, so she too stood with us. She tried everything. Literally, everything she knew to do, she did. She repositioned him, she cranked the oxygen as high as it would go, she tried different medication options, and she remained just as puzzled about the change in Michael as I felt.
Earlier in the evening, I had expressed to my parents that I knew there was absolutely NO WAY I could handle what by then I understood I was facing. They held me and prayed with me before they left to try to get some sleep.
It was then that I felt the supernatural calm that the peace of Jesus brings in time of trial. It was then that I felt the strong arms of Jesus under my own…enabling me to literally stand the rest of the night saying goodbye to my true love, holding him, comforting him the best I knew how…playing the music he loved softly in his ear…reading him notes others had sent to encourage him or honor his life in some way….Jesus kept me from shattering into tiny little pieces in those moments. He was right there with me in every moment, in every breath I took. He held me close as He carried Michael…
Michael was irrational for those darkest of hours…his words making little sense…his thoughts disjointed and jumbled…his panic real and tangible…his answers to our questions often leaving us with the distinct awareness that something was very different. He had changed over the later hours of that Wednesday…slowly losing the ability to connect with the reality of his surroundings with the sharpness that had characterized his mind just that afternoon.
It was difficult…because I have no story of him being aware of a Presence in the room as he died, nor can I speak of last words that indicate he saw a glimpse of Heaven in those moments. But he did get a chance to formulate some “I love you’s” to his children just before dropping off into the slumber from which he would never wake, and for that I am extremely grateful.
Why these thoughts, you ask? Why bring it all back up? No, I don’t live here in this place…this portion of my memory bank. But it’s haunting me tonight.
Maybe because it’s another monthly anniversary of those events.
Maybe because another soul slipped into eternity a few hours ago…a friend.
Her death was a complete shock. A head-on collision on her way to work. She wasn’t even very far from home. Her husband was as work, her daughter at school, her son in a far away state going about his daily routine. Then in one instant their lives completely changed.
It’s funny, but grief doesn’t seem to be able to be compartmentalized. It’s actually a tangled mess. And when you touch one loss and its associated grief, it’s very likely that in working through it, you will also face aspects of other losses faced. There are no pretty little boxes for grief…loss of pet here, loss of job and identity there; loss of uncle or grandparent here, loss of spouse over there; loss of best friend here, loss of child there…no, I’ve heard grief described as a ball of tangled yarn. And when one string is pulled, the whole mess is affected.
So, yes, today I lost a friend, and my heart aches with the pain I am sure her husband feels at this moment. And yes, I’ve agonized over how one would manage explaining such a dark tragedy to her eleven year old daughter. But I’ve also had to deal with fresh nuances of my story…my loss, and my own pain. It all feels so tangled up and confused…as though I can’t find where one ends and another begins.
How can we go on being “normal” after experiencing such events? How can laundry, cooking, cleaning, shopping, celebrating holidays, and going to church ever be the same?
I don’t think they should.
I know I see things differently. This that is around me, the floor, the furniture, the plants, the noise feels so…so unreal, so temporary…like a waiting room for the real thing. Like a game I’m playing while waiting for LIFE to begin! I feel I’m in a holding pattern…just biding my time, trying to make do here until it’s my turn to join the ranks of the heavenly choir that surrounds the Throne of God, praising Him and worshipping Him for all eternity!
But why am I still here?
I’d rather not be. This world is becoming uglier by the day. I pray often the Lord will return quickly so my children will not have to face what seems to lie ahead for them. It is so easy to fear the future…there seems to be much to fear.
So where does that leave me? Here. With a reason. God has a plan - and He alone knows what He still needs me to do. I won’t be going home until He says it is time. So, what is my mission? I guess I’m still working on that, trying to keep my heart and mind open to His will for my every day existence on this planet. I know my first responsibility is my children. Beyond that, I’ve yet to discover why God has chosen to keep me here.
Days and nights like these keep me reminded that whatever that purpose may be, it is of ultimate importance.
I feel that maybe this post would be a good one in which to share something I’ve written bit by bit as a result of this entire ordeal. I’m not sure exactly what it is, as it’s not particularly poetry, yet neither is it technically prose. I feel it embodies much of what was experienced other dark nights...maybe someone else has been there, too.
One night...
...in a hospital room -
An IV pump hums, then groans rhythmically…
Nurses whisper into the room then back out again…
Fever rises, then breaks…
The Bed is wet with sweat…
A Loved one rubs the patient's hand with gentle caresses and anxiously watches over the patient's restless slumber while fighting off the demons of fear and worry…
The night seems to hold each in a fierce grip of loneliness…
Peace and healing seem so far away...
Then...someone prays...someone sends a text...
Someone enters the room with a reassuring comfort that He has all under control...that He knows the situation and understands the loneliness and fear...that His resources have not run dry, that His grace is still sufficient...
That He is there...
In that hospital room...
That night.
One night…
...at home -
An oxygen machine hums and pumps its life-giving output into a worn-out body that is struggling for every breath…
A family member drops by to check on the situation and endeavors to bring some cheer then makes their way back home…
A child timidly hugs her parent good night all the while fearing she might cause more pain...and wishing life were normal again…
Darkness surrounds, but the sights and sounds of home bring at least some measure of comfort…
Medications line the bedside table…
Pillows are fluffed to provide a bit of comfort…
A groggy spouse rubs an aching arm or back...serving the one they love the best they know how…
Sleep is pursued and sometimes not found…
The night again seems so lonely...have they been forgotten? Is anyone else awake and praying?
Once again The Lord proves faithful!
He ministers to the weary hearts through the words of a song in the night!
The music winds its way through the darkness to lighten loads borne and to encourage aching hearts…
He is there...
Quietly renewing strength...
In that room…
That night.
One night…
...after the funeral.
It's quiet now...except for the painful sobs of the one left behind…
The overpowering scent of peace lilies and carnations lingers…
All is dark except for the single strand of white lights on the ficus tree in the corner…
Every object that sits on silent watch around the room holds a story...a memory of a moment that can never be repeated…
Grief is almost palpable, flowing in torrential waves over and around its victim…
Time passes, yet still groans and sobs occasionally break forth from the exhausted soul curled up pitifully in the corner of the sofa…
Then a quiet whisper is heard..."Jesus? Have mercy...have mercy on me, Jesus...please, Jesus, hold me!"
More tears, just as intense as before...just as heart-rending…
Then a quiet calm slips into the spirit of the tortured one, and slowly...slowly the flow of liquid grief eases and breathing returns to normal…
A sweet and precious Presence in the room seems to speak peace to an exhausted heart and mind…
A favorite Bible, peppered with highlights and handwritten notes is cradled close to the heart…
A special blanket cocoon provides warmth and comfort as eyelids grow droopy…
Finally, sleep claims the weary one...
But He stays near…
In that room…
That night.
Then, after those darkest of moments just before dawn, morning finally comes.
