Three Weeks On

Was it only three weeks ago that we all found ourselves gathered at Lehigh Valley hospital? At the time, we were braced for some sort of unpleasant medical issue, but none of us would have believed that now we would be discussing funerals, burial options, building a casket and preparing our parents home for the transition out of this life. It feels as if we have all lived a couple different lifetimes in the past few weeks, yet it’s as though we are flying through space in a blur.

Our brother and sister-in-law from China were here for one week. A week that went so quickly we surely must have been traveling at warp speed. A week full of precious conversations, walks, a final trip to the mall to offer fashion advice, dinners, laughter, and tears. A swirl of beauty and pain.

In no time at all, they must leave. We gather for dinner on the eve of their departure. The entire family is together, and with all the siblings, significant others, and grandchildren, it is indeed a full house. There is much conversation, reminiscing, and laughter. We have worship, and continue to visit merrily. But in the background is the thought on everyone’s mind: this is the last earthly gathering of the whole family. The evening is merry, but as with all good things, it inevitably draws to an end. It is time for the Shanghai contingent to go to bed in preparation for an early morning flight. A son and daughter-in-law embrace their mother for the last time. The tears flow, and they linger over their embrace. The scene is beautiful, tender and loving; but simultaneously it is brutally heart-wrenching. All involved feel a sense of having been punched in the gut. Mustering great strength, son and daughter-in-law end their embrace and will themselves out of the room.

We know the next time we all gather one of us will be missing. The one who brought us into this world and fed and nurtured us. Who taught us right from wrong, who soothed our fevered brows and said the things we didn’t want to hear but really needed to. How can you say goodbye to that one? There are no words, just long lingering tearful hugs that all too soon come to an end. And then you fly half way around the world.

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From the first day three weeks ago when we all gathered around that hospital bed we prepared ourselves to take care of mom. We have come to realize since that moment that mom is actually taking care of us with her determination to face her own death bravely, and with acceptance, grace and wonder. She gently shares the process with us; her struggles and fears are spoken softly with amazement and excitement for the journey. Her humor shines through when she says; “I hope to just toddle off in a lovely manner.” And we are left breathless and hollow when she describes the “dark place” of fear and uncertainty and loss at leaving so much that she loves behind. And while her poor body seems to shrink before our very eyes and she becomes more and more confused with basic tasks, her resolve to love and accept quivers undaunted.

Scattered amidst the grueling routine of hospice, ever changing medications, scheduling care, and adjusting the house to the latest set of needs are the beautiful moments. The moments that feed us and hold our weary spirits above the abyss. When a certain piece of music plays and we all grow silent and listen. The sound creates that sacred space in the center of the room. The space of grief, pain, love, fear and healing- the space where words are no longer needed. The notes flow through us and bond us together.

The sunshine brings healing and joy as well. We walk around moms gardens, observing the tender little shoots emerging, some are barely breaking through the earth and others are in full bloom. Mom talks about things she has planted, she can’t remember the names of the plants (she used to be able to rattle off common and frequently Latin names of most of them), but she is excited to see that they are growing. “It worked!” she exclaims at the sight of one blooming flower. “Oh look, that one worked too!” She says, noticing another blossom. It’s true nature is working; the ground is vibrating with life just under the surface and bursting forth into the sunshine. It’s ironic to witness so much miraculous life when just under the surface of moms skull something else is growing. And it saps her energy and withers her muscles and causes her to totter and shake as it slowly sucks the life out of her.

We know this is the cycle of life, but it is excruciating to witness.