Death and Grief and Hope

I'm not sure if this post will be a well-organized glimpse into my grief or just the crazy jumble that is my pain.  Fair warning- proceed with caution.  Or maybe turn back now.  But if you care to go in with me, here we go...

My grandpa died peacefully and simply Sunday, May 11th.  Mother's Day.  My son's birthday.  Celebrating life one minute.  Receiving news of Grandpa's death the next.

I stumbled upon a quote that has resonated.

"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague.  Who shall say where the one ends and the other begins?" -Edgar Allen Poe The Premature Burial.

It feels like this- shadowy and vague- because we had just been to visit my grandpa two days before he died.  My sister was with him mere hours before he died.  We knew he was dying.  We knew it was getting close. But in the end, it still felt like he drifted away, slipped out of our reach when we weren't looking. 

The pain of this loss isn't what I expected.  I was expecting to feel sharp blows; stinging jabs of pain.  Instead I feel weighed down and a little dazed and lost.  It's as if I wear the pain like a heavy garment, a constant pressure and reminder that life will be different from now on.  Most of the time this weighted coat of grief is almost a comfort, strange as that sounds.  Things feel dull.  I know life is carrying on all around me, but it seems to me that life is muted. 

Having five children helps.  I must get up. I must feed them and hug them and make sure they do their chores.  They still laugh and act silly.  I still smile and mean it.  Keeping up with these kiddos and their commitments means I can go long stretches without thinking too hard about my grandpa. 

But then I sit still or lay down, and a flood washes over me and I feel the pain afresh.

This next part I write for myself.  These are intimate moments and details as I remember them.  You are welcome to "listen in", but please handle them with care and compassion.  These are my thoughts and my memories and things that I want to remember about the moments surrounding my grandfather's death.  Even if someone might find them morbid or strange.

***
I am so very thankful I was able to visit my grandpa ever week he was in hospice.   He was admitted on Monday, March 10th and we (Lige and I) visited him that day.  We took the kids on Tuesday.  I kept visiting him every Monday and Tuesday until the week before his death.  We had a weekend in Omaha planned because we had tickets to take the girls to Wicked on Thursday and our niece's graduation party on Saturday.  So instead of going Monday and Tuesday like normal, we waited and took the kids to visit grandpa on Friday, May 9th instead.

My grandpa knew we were coming. I journaled this after our visit:
"He made a special request to have candy bars for all the kids because he knew they were coming.  He hugged Amana when she got hers and he told her he loved her.  He isn't talking much any more so this was a special gift.  Isaac was scared to get too close.  Lucy, too.  But Anlynn climbed right up and held his hand.  Amana sat and rubbed his arm.  Harrison was braver than before, but didn't want to hold grandpa's hand this time. :)  Amana cried as we left and felt afraid this would be her last time to see grandpa.  Me, too.  Me.  Too."  5-09-14
And a few days later, I amended it:
"It was the last time.  He died a little before noon on 5-11-14."

We didn't visit my grandpa on Saturday, but my grandma, dad, and uncle all did throughout the day.  My grandpa had been slowly declining, but the difference in my grandpa between Friday and Saturday was quite dramatic.  He was unable to suck from a straw.  Any liquid put in his mouth dripped out.  He didn't respond to my grandma's kisses.

My sister and I had promised we would tell each other the truth through this.  Living far away, she knew how important it was to me to KNOW when I should come and she was prepared to notify me.  I didn't think I would be the one to tell her the hard truth.  But as the oldest, perhaps that is fitting.  I don't think I really told her anything she didn't already know, but Saturday night I still made a point to look her in the face and tell her that the change was significant and time was short.  She made the decision to visit my grandpa Sunday morning.  I know in my heart she will always be glad that she did.

My sweet sister humbly accepted my grandpa's last words, a whispered, "Love you." She stopped in to see my grandpa before coming to my parents' house to help us celebrate Harrison's birthday.  When she left his room, a nurse pulled her aside. The nurse asked if grandma was planning to come soon.  Yes.  Then the nurse told my sister she didn't think it would be in the next hour or two, probably tomorrow.  But soon.

But it was in the next hour or two.

My grandma arrived.  She tenderly touched my grandpa, stroking his head, patting his arms.  He was sleeping- he had been sleeping a lot. She watched his chest for movement.  It wasn't moving.  She laid her head upon his chest and couldn't hear anything.  She bravely sought out a nurse.  The nurse listened carefully and said there was a very faint pulse.  My grandma knew it was time.  She held his hands.  Whispered love.  Prayed, I'm sure.  And he was gone.

Across town, we were just wrapping up Harrison's birthday festivities.  He had waited (kind of) patiently for Aunt Sandy to arrive so he could open his gifts.  He opened many nice things.  Aunt Sandy had brought a beautiful and delicious cake.  We all had a slice.  Before lunch, even!  The kids went downstairs to play and watch a movie.  The rest of us were just about to hear about Sandy's visit with grandpa when the phone rang.

There was a hundred-thousand ways this could have played out.  I admit I was expecting to hear that the time was near and we should get there quickly.  Instead my poor dad had to speak the words, "Dad just died."  Or maybe it was, "He just passed away." I don't remember exactly.  I just remember blinking, not fully understanding yet.  In the 35 seconds from the phone ringing to my dad's words, I had prepared myself for a mad rush to the hospice house for a final goodbye.  I was not prepared to understand that he was dead.

No one said anything, but my mom, dad, sister and I immediately got ready to go.  I had on no bra.  Must wear bra.  I clipped it around my waist, in the front, like us women do.  But in the jumble of my bewilderment, I turned my shirt around instead of the bra.  I even put my arm in the sleeve like you would put it in a bra strap.  I eventually got it figured out, grabbed my purse, and away we went.

I never asked Lige if I could go.  I never asked if he wanted to go with me.  I am just thankful to know him and know his love for me.  I knew I had his blessing.  I knew he understood.  I knew he'd take care of the kids.  And he knew how grateful I was for all of that.

It has been a lot of years since my family of origin has lost someone this close.  (An aside- I understand that he has died, but he does feel lost, like we just can't find him right now and he'll turn up. It's that whole "Shadowy and vague" thing.  It's awful.)  So not having much recent experience with the death of someone so close, I didn't know what to expect or what was "normal" or anything.  Several times in the past two months I had wondered about what if grandpa died when I was there?  I think I wanted to be there for his final moments. 

As it turns out, we still rushed to the hospice house.  We didn't speak much.  We had 3 boxes of Kleenexes because as wonderful as the Josie Harper Hospice House has been, their facial tissues are scratchy on sensitive, tear-stained faces.  We walked quickly down the hall to my grandpa's room.  The door was open a little.  My grandma was sitting with a nurse next to the bed, but got up as soon as she saw we were there.

My poor grandma.  She'd taken her glasses off, probably to make wiping her eyes easier, and I saw a wild sadness on her face.  She hugged us all.  We all just cried.

My grandpa had died on his side a little, but the nurses had already straightened him out gently.  He looked as if he might be sleeping: quilt tucked up around him, his hands neatly together on his chest.

Always the caregiver, my grandma went back over to my grandpa.  I can still hear the gut-wrenching, heart-breaking despair in my her voice as she choked out, "Oh, Sweetheart," as she desperately hovered over my grandpa's body, unable to stop herself from tending him: stroking his hair and patting his hands and rubbing his arms as she had done every. single. day. for months.

My grandma sat back down.  I sat at her feet and held her leg and cried.  She put her head on mine and we shared a sweet moment of pain.

 My uncle arrived.  Then my aunt, his wife.  More hugs and more tears.  My sister and I left the room so they might have their own moments, their own goodbyes.  Eventually, we were called back in to pray.  My grandma's request: that I pray.  I didn't want to because I didn't think I could choke out the words between sobs.  Then I remembered my prayer on the car ride over.  I had prayed that I would be able to serve my family and die to myself.  The Lord was kind, as He always is, and gave me the words to pray and the ability to get them out clearly.  My grandma prayed, too, after me.

We each took one more moment with grandpa to say our final goodbyes.  I stroked his hair and begged God to burn the feel of it into my heart and memory.  He had always worn it parted and slicked to the side, crunchy with hair product.  But in hospice it hung loose around his ears and it was the silkiest white-silver hair.  I had patted it during each visit.  And I did again this last time.

And then we all walked out together, closing the door behind us.

One of the hardest parts for me in all of this was not knowing if my grandpa knew Jesus. He was a good man, as far as the world is concerned, but he never had much time for God.  I'm not sure he spent much time thinking about his own sin or the holiness of the God who loved him.  But his last months in hospice provided a lot of time to think about death and what happens when you die.  Several times I read him Scripture, asking first then proceeding with his consent.  At the end of every visit, I would ask him if I could pray for him.  He always said yes, often said thank you when I was finished.  Of course I prayed for comfort and peace, but I was definitely praying for true, lasting peace found only in Jesus Christ.  The minister from my mom and grandma's church visited my grandpa several times during his 2 months in hospice.  I know at least once she read through John 14:1-7 and discussed it with him.  I am thankful God's word does not return void.  I am so thankful that I do not grieve without hope. (1 Thessalonians 4:13)

It's been over a week now.  How is that possible?  The funeral is over and we are trying to figure out a new normal.  Strange things are triggering tears.  I'm running, or trying to.  I pretty much started when my grandpa went in to hospice.  I've been running 3 times a week.  I ran Friday, May 9th.  Before my grandpa died.  I didn't run again until Sunday, May 18th, the day after his funeral.  I was well into my run when I realized it was my first time running since before my grandpa's death.  I started crying right there on the treadmill.  I suppose there will be many more strange triggers like that in the weeks and months ahead.  I don't want to fear these moments.  I hope to embrace them as they come, ride out the emotions they bring, and lovingly keep moving forward.

I know many of you have prayed for us during this hard time.  Thank you.  We were carried and held by your prayers.  The only way to get through things like this is with the help and support from family and friends.  We are truly blessed by each of you.