"Sweet rest in Jesus; it must be glorious."
Monday morning started off just like any other day, but before noon, Mom came racing in the room telling me that Grandmother had been found, and wasn't responding. The ambulance was called. They came, didn't like what they saw, and called a helicopter to life-flight her to Nashville. We soon found out that she had suffered a mini stroke as well as a heart attack. It didn't look good. Because of other problems she had, they couldn't give her food or water, because they would flood her lungs. For the next five and a half days, she slowly departed from this life. She started off being able to say small words, then couldn't speak, but still smiled. And during her last day and half on earth, we watched her gasp for air, not able to communicate. Her eyes stayed open - never blinking - and glazed over.
My heart breaks when I think of seeing her in those last couple of days. It tears my heart apart to remember how they wouldn't give her any water for almost a week. I feel broken when I think of her cold hands and arms. She struggled so terribly. It was awful to watch. I feel crushed when I think of how every last bit of her basic physical functions and abilities slowly stopped working, leaving her limp in a hospital bed.
I don't know how much I'll remember about this week when life gets back to normal. I can't decide if I want to remember it all or not. I know I want to remember the kindness and love of all the friends that surrounded us. I know I want to remember how our family was more unified than ever before, and how we hugged each other and were simply there, together. I know I want to remember how Granddaddy looked at her like she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and how he held her hand. I know I want to remember singing hymns to her just hours before she died.
But I don't want to remember the pain. I don't want to remember the sympathetic looks from hospice workers. I don't want to remember the crappy food from Subway. I don't want to remember all the soggy tissues I went through. I don't want to remember the headaches from crying too hard for too long.
As one friend wrote to me, these are the things that shape us and help us grow. I know that this week will have a tremendous impact on my life. I feel it already has. So many things will change now that Grandmother is gone. It goes without saying that we will miss her terribly. But we'll make the most of it, and take the best care of her husband, Granddaddy, that we can. Hard days are ahead. He and Grandmother celebrated their 59th wedding anniversary just three days before she died. They had an exemplary marriage. They served together, and loved each other so much. I loved watching them love each other. Their marriage will be an example and standard for what I want mine to be someday. I dread watching him grieve his other half's missing presence.
The thing that really stinks about grieving, and watching people grieve, is that no one can make it better. They can hug you and say they're sorry, they can change the subject and talk about something stupid - but it's still there. And when everyone's gone and you're alone, she's still gone forever and you're still missing her. Binge eating doesn't help, Tylenol doesn't help, watching a movie doesn't help. Not much helps. You just have to focus on the fact that she is FREE from pain, and even though we miss her, it's a good, good thing that she's gone. What does help with the grieving is to think of how many years she suffered on this earth, and realize that for the first time in decades, she is healed. She is happy and rejoicing and with God. I am so happy for Grandmother. She's feasting, dancing, and praising Him.
I look forward to being with her again, in a place where we will feel no pain.
My heart breaks when I think of seeing her in those last couple of days. It tears my heart apart to remember how they wouldn't give her any water for almost a week. I feel broken when I think of her cold hands and arms. She struggled so terribly. It was awful to watch. I feel crushed when I think of how every last bit of her basic physical functions and abilities slowly stopped working, leaving her limp in a hospital bed.
I don't know how much I'll remember about this week when life gets back to normal. I can't decide if I want to remember it all or not. I know I want to remember the kindness and love of all the friends that surrounded us. I know I want to remember how our family was more unified than ever before, and how we hugged each other and were simply there, together. I know I want to remember how Granddaddy looked at her like she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, and how he held her hand. I know I want to remember singing hymns to her just hours before she died.
But I don't want to remember the pain. I don't want to remember the sympathetic looks from hospice workers. I don't want to remember the crappy food from Subway. I don't want to remember all the soggy tissues I went through. I don't want to remember the headaches from crying too hard for too long.
As one friend wrote to me, these are the things that shape us and help us grow. I know that this week will have a tremendous impact on my life. I feel it already has. So many things will change now that Grandmother is gone. It goes without saying that we will miss her terribly. But we'll make the most of it, and take the best care of her husband, Granddaddy, that we can. Hard days are ahead. He and Grandmother celebrated their 59th wedding anniversary just three days before she died. They had an exemplary marriage. They served together, and loved each other so much. I loved watching them love each other. Their marriage will be an example and standard for what I want mine to be someday. I dread watching him grieve his other half's missing presence.
The thing that really stinks about grieving, and watching people grieve, is that no one can make it better. They can hug you and say they're sorry, they can change the subject and talk about something stupid - but it's still there. And when everyone's gone and you're alone, she's still gone forever and you're still missing her. Binge eating doesn't help, Tylenol doesn't help, watching a movie doesn't help. Not much helps. You just have to focus on the fact that she is FREE from pain, and even though we miss her, it's a good, good thing that she's gone. What does help with the grieving is to think of how many years she suffered on this earth, and realize that for the first time in decades, she is healed. She is happy and rejoicing and with God. I am so happy for Grandmother. She's feasting, dancing, and praising Him.
I look forward to being with her again, in a place where we will feel no pain.
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