December 2014

Michael, one of my sister’s in-laws, spoke at Christmas dinner about how he still thinks of things he plans to tell his late wife, and then remembers she’s gone. This is seven years after she passed.

I mentioned that to Dad and Sis last night, since we lost Mom a little over a week ago. Both of them have those moments of forgetting she’s gone when they think of something they want to tell her.

One of Sis’ kids played brilliantly at a basketball game yesterday, and she used to call Mom on the way home after games like that. She almost dialed the phone before she remembered Mom is gone.

I watch for ways to support Dad and Sis, and that means listening for clues about ways to fill holes. I can’t get as excited about the wins as Grandma/Mom did, and I won’t fake it. But I can listen and appreciate Sis’ pleasure in my own way.

I will. 

The conversation lapsed. “Now what?” Sis asked in a soft voice Dad couldn’t hear. “Were pretty comforatble with silence,” I told her. “We sit in silence a lot.” We sat in quiet for a few minutes. Then the subject of Mom’s memorial came up. That led to shared memories and intimate and meaningful discussion. Beauty emerged out of the space of our silence.  

“Have you said everything to your Step Mom that you need to before she goes?” my sweet friend asked me.

I had. Long before she started her decline, I had felt complete with her. I couldn’t think of any words left to say before she passed. Perhaps if she was coherent enough when I got to town and saw her, more words would emerge. Now my heart was at peace. 

My first flight out to be with her was cancelled after several hours of delays. I almost didn’t make it to Cincinnati on Wednesday. But I booked a different airline and arrived at her room close to midnight. I wanted her to know I was there because I wanted her to know I would be with Dad and Sis when she passed. “Your father will be glad to see you,” she said. Those would be her last spoken words to me.

The next morning she was alive, but unconscious. She had declined sharply in the night. We sat by her bed for 22 hours and were with her when she took her last breath.

My showing up sent my last message. It said, “I’m here. We have each other. You are free to let go when you are ready.” She was ready in under 24 hours.

It was over. “Goodbye honey,” my father told her. We left the room and returned to their senior community and silently shared some apple sauce before bed. Our hearts were tender, but not heavy. It was a beautiful passing in so many ways.

It’s an honor to be included in someone’s life and even more of an honor to be included when they pass. I am feeling very honored. Dad says the way she passed was her finest hour. 

Sue was implementing advice I had given her. She used my exact words to tell me the benefits of the practice. Sue had taken my advice one step further, and I learned from her. I didn’t mind a bit that she seemed to have forgotten that I was the one who had made the suggestion in the first place.

Sue gave me the reminder I needed. I put my own advice into deeper practice.

One value of sharing your wisdom with others is that it puts them in a position to remind you when you need it. 

Here’s a great quote from The Pioneer Girls Leadership Handbook: 

“A friend hears the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.”

I am blessed by the friends in my life.

My birthday guests got high. No – it wasn’t the wine. We probably went through a single bottle total. It wasn’t the food, either, although a few guests proclaimed their delight at having healthy party foods they could eat. Bob was concerned that the funky looking gluten-free sugar-free birthday cake I made wouldn’t suffice, but it was a huge hit.

That wasn’t what got people high. It was the didgeridoo fest. 

John brought fifteen didgeridoos. He has one, two or three didgeridoos tuned to each key. He showed us how to play and we took it from there. It was quite the cacophony. 

The highlight for me was when the cat came in and circled each instrument, settling nearby. Who would have thought she would embrace that? 

One of my guests wrote, “I was on such a high from your party it was hard to sleep. I think the didgeridoo lesson really got me oxygenated.” 

I started didgeridoo because it sounded like a lot more fun than the breathing exercises some people recommended for me. It is.

Breath enlivens spirit. I had a spirited birthday party. 

Now my gears are shifting to: how do I want to enliven the Holiday Spirit this year? The inspiration (inspire – breath again) will come to me in perfect timing, just like the idea of a didgeridoo party did. In the meantime, I have bills to pay and filing to do. Grounding is a good thing, too.