It's an odd gathering of sorts. Family, friends; all wanting to say the last goodbye. Not yesterday; only today's will do. We are all waiting on pins and needles. When will it happen? If I step out, will I miss it? Do I need to be here for it? Do I want to be here for it?
Periods of great sadness, then fond memories, then laughter, then sadness of the lost opportunity for new memories.
Everyone reacts differently. Mom is strong and then weepy. Jerry finds it hard to continually fill the voids. Troy looks bewildered and tired. Dad has nothing to solve. Corrie is strong and nostalgic. And I'm wishy washy to the point of total disarray. No logical thought will get us out of this one.
After rushing to the hospice this morning because of imminent death, we find ourselves all milling about. we couldn't stand to be away from her bedside before; all holding her hand. Now that the nurse's estimate has lapsed, people are confused. We all strangley have a sense of guilt for not having the patience to wait for the end. No one wants the end, however no one likes limbo either. For a group of type A problem solvers, this is hellacious. Theres nothing to solve. Nothing to fix. Nothing to cure.
Just the wait.
I will always remember her smile when I walked in a couple of days ago. The recognition that spread across her face. It is now alright. The love I have for you is still intact.
But not today. Today, it is locked away in a coma. I know it still exists; but it hurts not to see it anymore.
The hardest prayer to make is the one to ask for final resting peace. Sometimes I now wonder who it is more for- the release of the dying; or relief of the family. Too bad it doesn't relieve the guilt of wanting to leave...
-CMM
[written while sitting in Nanny's hospice room all new year's eve. I finally gave out; and left for the evening so that I could spend time with the kids. Mom and Corrie remained to stay the night. In true style, Nanny left this world just as all the firecrackers were finishing their splendor on new year's morning. Mom and Cor had just finished singing Auld lang's syne at her bedside.]
