Grief is a personal journey. Everyone has to travel it their own way. There is no right or wrong way to do this hard work - and it will look very different for people. It is a personal process. For me, writing and contemplating and even sharing is a huge part of that processing. Plus, I feel that I will need some of you dear people closest to me to have a little insight into the blurry chaos of my mind and heart in coming weeks and months. So I am going to share some hard stuff - notes taken from my personal journal the last few weeks.
Abbreviated notes taken from my personal journal - dated Saturday, May 29, 2021My Mama died this evening. After all that we have been through the last couple of years, this is just so incredibly shocking. I just re-read what I wrote here Thursday night about her being sick. We just had no idea at all where this event was heading. I still can hardly believe it. I don't really want to write anything at all - but need to - for the family record. I'll get as much out as I can and then eventually come back and journal the rest. Things just feel so different now. I guess because they are.
Mama was ill at home Wednesday night and all day Thursday. (I won't go into details here because it just isn't necessary.) When she was still sick Friday we knew we needed to get things checked out. However, we thought that would involve getting IV fluids and maybe a night at the hospital. It turned into emergency surgery for twisted intestine that started Friday evening and stopped after 4 hours, resuming again the next day at noon and continuing for another 5 hours. Many of us were then gathered in the waiting room following the good report of successful surgery from the surgeon (who we value and appreciate so much). But then we heard footsteps running down the hall and I felt immediately that this was about to change our lives.
There were decisions that had to be made - quickly - and we were ushered into a little room. Daddy asked if he could be with her and they said yes, so Kerry wheeled Daddy in to her bedside where she died, holding his hand, just like always. I think her body was gone but she just needed his hand and okay to slip away. Tragic and beautiful.
I'm afraid I really broke down in that room while they were gone. Way beyond ugly crying. Guttural is more like it. What I am about to say isn't logical, but feelings so often aren't. It felt like such a personal failure in so many ways... and so final. I've worked so hard to keep them going the last couple years and now it is over with Mama and I think it isn't just my heart that doesn't know what to do - but my mind and body also. And I can't bear what Daddy is going through. All the years of thinking about this and trying to prepare for this and now it is here and nothing prepares you. Then we had to leave the hospital and figure out what life would be like. Such a blur.
Abbreviated notes taken from my personal journal - dated Thursday, June 3, 2021
Hidden Mercies
Trying to remember all the good things - the hidden mercies. There are so many. Our hearts are hurting but I am thankful that I haven't had a breakdown since the horrible moments in the little family room off the CCU at the hospital. That felt like we would never survive. Now we are busy and tired and all together and all of that helps.
Things I want to remember include...
Sunday morning as our family gathered in Mama and Daddy's living room to worship together during church I saw someone on a riding lawn mower in the front yard and thought it must be Donald. I'll admit I had a moment of feeling a little surprised (and yes, put out) that he was here on a Sunday morning and especially on THIS Sunday morning. Then the mower got close enough to the front window and I could see that it was Jackson! That totally changed my perspective. (Isn't that so often the way.) When I saw it was Jackson mowing I knew he was mowing for Grandma Sue. That was his act of worship for the morning. His act of love and caring for his beloved Grandma Sue. And it was perfect. It brought me to tears. And still does as I write this. Jackson and Jonathan have been blessed to have a relationship with their grandparents that rivals what people have with their parents! Not many have that! It is wonderful but it does mean this pain is so deep and hard and they are so young. So incredibly thankful we are all together. So sorry for those who aren't yet with us - it would be much more difficult to get through this alone.
Dearest Dawn. She and her girls have never been hidden mercies, but obvious blessings to us all! Yet, oh how we are thankful for her now. Many times one of us will say, out loud, "God bless Dawn!" (Dawn started coming 3 mornings a week a year ago and she brings with her a deep and abiding love for Mama and Daddy.) Mama showed her exactly how she likes things done, recipes to make for Daddy, where things are and how things work... Dawn knows way more than any of the rest of us! And Dawn just keeps on showing up. She loves with the biggest heart and sweetest spirit and always seems to know exactly what to do next. I wouldn't be able to imagine the days ahead without her.
People are bringing food. Lots of food. So kind. So truly helpful. Jennifer put it well... people bringing food allows us to spend any time we have sitting together around the table sharing memories, stories, laughter, tears - and to not have to deal with the basics of life right now. That is so healing and we deeply appreciate all who are providing that respite for us now.
Sunday night when walking out of Mama and Daddy's house I was struck by how many lightning bugs there were. Thousands it seemed! I don't remember them being this heavy for years. Must be the long, cool, wet spring we have had. But they have returned every night and are lovely. A reminder of summer, childhood, good times. Happy thoughts. But they are impossible to photograph. :) You just have to keep them in your heart.
So many are writing with notes of condolence, encouragement, love, care, offers of food... good people all around. And Mama and Daddy are so loved. So thankful Daddy is feeling all of this.
But one hidden mercy that stands so tall for all of us... the fact that Mama's emergency surgery had to be stopped on Friday night. While at first I didn't see it as a hidden mercy, that pause allowed us to have 3 hours with Mama Saturday morning. That period of time with Mama - 9 am to noon - in the CCU at the hospital was such an incredible blessing. Mama was off the breathing tube(!) and completely 'her'. She was talking and able to hear all of us. Julie, Marvin, Daddy and I were in the room with her. Scott was able to join us, as well. Kerry was en route from Oklahoma and called in on the phone - as did many of the grandchildren. One moment I will carry with me forever is when Matthew & Anna called and Matthew sang to Mama her special song
They Call the Wind Mariah. She closed her eyes and smiled as I held the phone towards her face so she could really hear. I watched her take that song... the lyrics, the memories it stirred, Matthew's heavenly voice...
all in. What a gift. For every single one of us. That was a moment I'll never forget - it was sacred. When they took Mama back to resume the surgery we all told her we loved her and heard her say she loved us. That pause also gave Kerry time to arrive at the hospital so we could all be together when she died. Hannah and Zac were also there with us by that point, so we had several family members close. Although the end result is not what we would have chosen, that pause in surgery was an incredible hidden mercy.
Abbreviated notes taken from my personal journal - Friday, June 4, 2021
You can have a plan and be 'preparing' for the death of a loved one. You can have good talks about final wishes and 'know' what you will/should do. But nothing prepares you for the tidal wave of reality when it all actually happens.
I'll never get over the jarring feeling of sitting in the waiting room, exhaling a bit, talking about who will go back to visit first and which home health agency we want to call next week... to hearing footsteps running down the hall and suddenly knowing that your whole life is about to change. When a nurse asks so quickly that you can barely understand the words, "she is crashing, what do you want us to do?"... No amount of prior 'good conversation' can prepare you for the literal seconds that you have to deal with it in all its finality. You feel as though you have been mowed over by a tidal wave and while you are on the ground trying to raise up your head under the weight of water pouring over you, you have to make the most difficult decision of your entire life. How to let someone you love and cherish and count on and so desperately need... go.
But there were decisions that did have to be made. A nurse led our now quiet group down the hall into a little room off the CCU. We prayed, held each other, and when asked again Daddy bowed his head in tears and cried, "I can't. But Sue would want me to, so I will." There is no preparation for the heaviness that comes with granting the most painful act of love to your beloved spouse of nearly 67 years... following her wishes and letting her go.
Daddy asked if he could be with her and they said yes so Kerry accompanied him to her bedside. Daddy held her hand and she went home.
And then it was all over. Final. Done. You find yourself dazed and still somewhat confused. And realizing you need to vacate this tiny closet of a room that has become a safe haven for your pain. How do you gather your things and just walk out? How do you leave this building where you have sat vigil for hours and hours? You just do. Somehow you put a foot out and then the other one and it keeps happening. You hold onto hands and arms and whisper love to one another. Then you step outside and see a glorious sunset - brilliance shining through clouds. And you weep and embrace and thank God for the life of your dear one. And truly wonder how you will get through.
So thankful for the community that has surrounded us in physical presence, gifts of food (an abundance of food!), and most of all... prayers of support. That has been the most needed and will continue to be... as we keep putting one foot in front of the other and finding a way forward without Mama/Sue.
Note written on Daddy's facebook on Wednesday, June 16 in the form of an update.
Some of you probably already know that Daddy became ill and is in Boone Hospital. He went in on Sunday, the day before Mama's memorial service. He was admitted to the ICU and diagnosed with flu and complications. Today he has moved to a regular room (although he is NOT up to receiving visitors) and we expect he will be discharged to come home Friday. This meant that he, plus my brother Kerry and sister-in-law Candace, watched the
livestream of the memorial service from his hospital room. Marvin and I, also sick with the same flu, watched the livestream of the service from our home. I have to say - our family is a wonder to me. While this was certainly not in our plans, everyone pulled together and those who were able to be at the service did such an incredible job providing music and representing Daddy and the whole family. My sister, who has always played the piano so beautifully, truly played with her whole heart for Mama. Cousin Joe sang a song that referenced Mama's favorite verses from Psalm 121:1-2 entitled
He's Ever Over Me. Jackson & Brianna performed Mama and Daddy's song
Look At Us, and various members of Jack and Sue's family sang a heartfelt rendition of
It is Well With My Soul.
And it truly is. We continue to be so grateful for your prayers, cards, and overwhelming support & encouragement. Losing Mama is so hard, but we feel your love and support and it matters greatly. On behalf of the whole family, thank you.
Note added today (June 18) for this post.
Our family is not new to 'hard'. Hard things have been woven into the tapestry of our family legacy from the beginning. Hard is how you grow those faith muscles - how you put sinew on bone.
If you know our family you know we love to tell stories. Gather any of us around (usually at a table but any space will do) and the stories will start to flow. Growing up this was the norm at any gathering of family - from our own family of 5 to the large rollicking family reunions of my childhood. I can close my eyes right now and hear the voice of Bob Wood regaling us with yet another hilarious-to-the-point-of-tears story of his childhood and youth. Or Marjorie and Carolyn's voices complementing each other in sisterly harmony as they remembered their dear parents or their brothers' antics. Or those same brothers, Charles, Jack, and Mitch, laughing and telling tales of their adventures (and mis-adventures) while on their famous 'Guys Weekends'. I can hear my Mama's soft but masterful voice telling my own boys about her growing-up years in the Big Horn Basin of Wyoming. When these are the voices you hear growing up, it molds you and strengthens you. Because woven into each and every story is a sweet mixture of laughter and tears, joy and (sometimes incredible) hardship, faith and resilience, a legacy of enduring love of family and a blessed assurance that it all works together for good. Even the parts that we can't see.
So even though the story we are currently living through seems overly filled (right at this moment) with hard, I have no doubt in my mind that the stories that bloom from this experience will overflow with that same gratitude for community, love of family, and thankfulness to God that has molded every story before it. Attaching that sinew to the bone of faith for future generations. Knowing that the end to each story has already been written, and it is good. Thanks be to God.
