What Next?

Many have approached me to offer their thoughts on my writing, telling me they connected my loss with their own, many offering praise on my writing ability. Humbly, I offer my thanks, but this entire process has made me question everything. Every aspect of my life is up for inspection. Do I continue writing? Could I write as eloquently without the passion of those incredible moments? Deeper, what am I passionate about? What truly brings me joy?

I've attended many business related self-help seminars where you leave wired, ready to attack the world. Then shortly afterwards, you are exactly where you started. Sometimes even lower than you started with the added guilt of not performing up to par. This month has left me feeling like every single neuron is now sitting just barely beneath the surface. Beyond just feeling emotional, I crave more from every moment. I don't want to loose this heightened awareness. I don't want to look back in a few weeks, settled back into my routine, and see that I am exactly where I started. I want to examine every friendship. I want to be a better friend. I want to expect the same from those around me. I want to be a more present mom. I want to find what brings my family joy and shower it upon them. I want to remove those things around my home and in my life that do not bring me absolute joy. I don't want to be on my death bed and wish that I had done this life-examination sooner. I want to consider what I put in and on my body to encourage better health. Maya and I are now prime candidates for Cancer. Why not attack it before it rears it's ugly head..slowing any potential growth or prevent it in the first place? So many questions... An old friend at the funeral had recently experienced a similar loss and he mirrored my feelings of not wanting to loose this raw emotion...this heightened awareness. Do you have to experience extreme loss to feel this way? Hasn't everyone experienced some sort of loss? Could I possibly spread my Mom's kind of love among my family, my friends, my community? Would they get it? Would I appear crazy? Do I care? So many questions...where do I even begin?

Love seems as good a place as any to begin. I don't want to pick up some surface level challenge where I start paying Starbucks bills for the car behind me...it has to be more significant than that. There are so many people out there silently hurting. How do I reach them? My tea-shop gals shoot love and peace out in a radius around them like ripples in a pond. Is that enough? My mom had this gift of being able to tell when anyone needed more love. A townie gal bad-mouthed my mom, my family, and when we 'educated' her on the details instead of keeping her distance or becoming angry, she shocked us all by continuing to reach out to her. This gal was very ill, had experienced great loss, it was clearly eating her up inside and making her bitter. My mom saw through her anger and loved her still. Always checking in on her...loving her regardless of her exterior conditions. So, my questions become how do I find those silently hurting and how do I love them? And so it begins...my transformation into finding, spreading, and culminating love. Stick with me if you wish to join my revolution.

Eulogy

We've all heard the scripture Love is Patient, Love is Kind from 1^st Corinthians...it's on plaques at Home Goods, it's tattooed, it's proclaimed at weddings. Because God is Love, you can easily replace the word Love with God...God is Patient, God is Kind...It offers a guide line for Christians in this crazy world.. it gives us some elevated way to live our life but so often we miss the mark. However, looking back, I realized how closely my Mom lived this guideline. She had every opportunity to shake her fist at God, become bitter, angry, empty of love, instead, she radiated this way of life. Mastered it. Let me show you how well she loved.

Love is Patient: Every Thanksgiving I reach my boiling point when I make the final dish..gravy. It never thickened quickly enough, turkey growing cold, bellies rumbling, I frantically whisk and whisk until Mom stepped in and took the weapon out of my grip and relinquished me of my beatings. Sure enough, with her love and attention, the gravy thickened and dinner began. She was patient.

Love is Kind: Recently going thru every single thank you card she ever kept, I saw countless notes from new parents thanking her for her kindness and gentle spirit as she lovingly ushered their newborn into this world. I'm pretty sure it made her the best Nurse ever. (although racing me around the dining room table with the immunizations she could bring home definitely didn't feel kind at the moment). She was kind.

Love does not envy or boast: Whatever she had she gave to others. If she had two pennies, she'd give you both. She spoke sweet stories of her friend, Karen and her amazingly decorated house and themed tabletops. I often wondered if she left deflated, thinking she didn't have an equally trimmed home, but she remained joyful for Karen's skills, she was very proud of her dearest friend. She was never ungrateful or jealous. She did not envy.

Love is not proud: She never spoke as if she was better than another. She carried herself oftentimes as lower than those around her...an unsung hero. There was nothing beneath her...quick to change a soiled diaper, open to take in stranded family members, she gave all of her time and energy to help raise, organize, nurture, and tidy up our family. She was not proud.

Love is not rude: I think I can speak for everyone here in agreement that she never spoke a rude word. I never heard a curse word uttered, never a discouraging word, never demeaning. I know I certainly have and when I slipped in her presence, she would hum her signature calming tune. (insert hum...) Subconscious or not, it always changed the atmosphere. She was not rude.

Love is not self-seeking: ..she always took second place..sometimes third or fourth. Quiet and unassuming...a wonder woman in disguise. Mom never put herself first...always made dinner plates for every single family member before serving herself. Let her children use her car and found her own ride to work. Instead of resting, she would take Grandma on errands and doctor appointments. She was never self-seeking.

Love is not easily angered: Not once did I see her angry. When her father was shot in a liquor store robbery, the evening news briefly highlighted the event and Bryan and I were too loud playing nearby...or more likely fighting...and she rushed out frustrated that she couldn't hear the broadcast. Looking back, I gladly would have taken a spanking...but she contained herself. Knowing all that we three children put her thru, she contained herself like a saint! She was certainly not easily angered.

Love keeps no record of wrongs: Bryan, Jody and I have a laundry list of wrongs...all long forgiven...she certainly never rubbed our noses in it. She loved us in spite of our faults. She loved us equally, never judging. We all have a lot to learn from her. She kept no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices in truth: You could look at the Cancer within her as evil..as a beast. I certainly did. Instead, she looked at the path of her life as only drawing nearer to her proper home. For months now she has been joyful about seeing Heaven...Seeing God, Jesus, reunited with her father, her mother, her sister. And at 1: 46am on January 2, I know she truly was rejoicing in that truth.

Love always protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres. She fought nobly, without complaint for 16 years...If that's not perseverance, I don't know what is. She sat for 6 long hours with chemo drips contently listening to Luke Bryan. As a Nurse, she was fully aware of her odds, but she always trusted and hoped for one additional day. I think she got that and much more. She always trusted, always hoped, always perservered.

Love never fails: Even in death, her love remains. Stuart Scott of ESPN passed two days after my Mother and spoke such profound words that resonated in my core and really speaks volumes about how she lived. He said, “ When you die, it doesn't mean you loose to Cancer. You beat Cancer by how you live, why you live, and the manner in which you live.” She never failed. She never stopped loving. She beat Cancer by loving until her very last breath.

The Love is Patient guideline scripture ends with Faith, Hope, and Love. But the greatest of these is Love. I know the greatest legacy she could possibly leave behind is to encourage us all to love..Love better, love more, love harder, love more often, love when it hurts, love when you really want to kick, Love yourself, love the unlovable, love that annoying person because they need it more, love with every ounce of your being, love every single person that touches your life. She sure did.

The Days After

Moments after 1:45am, January 2, 2015, I transformed from loving comforter to committed funeral planner.  She told me her wishes, now was my time to execute.  Home at 3am, restless at 6am, I climbed out of bed and hit the ground.  Freshen up as visitors will begin to arrive, begin to clean kitchen for same reasons.  By 8am, the funeral home was calling..I suppose that means Mom's earth suit was transported back to Federalsburg.  They were available to meet, so I raced in town to hammer out the details.  They had the perfect dark blue urn (her favorite color) and a guest book/card set with the garden of her dreams printed upon it's cover.  This is going so smoothly. Too smoothly...I think  I must be heartless, cold, why am I not a quivering mess?  I'm in Get-It-Done mode. A dear friend compared it to planning a wedding and that only after will this all settle in.

I have to identify her before cremation.  Thankful that I don't have to witness her in foreign surroundings, the owner traipses downstairs to take a picture.  I can hear every step so I can imagine Mom right beneath me.  I distract myself with desk brochures...steps returning.  I take a deep breath and wait for the photo to load on her desktop monitor.  Yes, that's her.  They did something with her mouth because now it's closed.  She appears content, peaceful...the faintest hint of a Mona Lisa-esque smile.  I'm tasked with forms to complete and her obituary to forward and still without a tear, I'm out the door.  Leaving her behind. 

Returning to Pepper Road, brother calls to inform me he has broken the news to our 90yo Grandmother.  She's distraught.  Feeling like she's lost her best friend.  I think, surely she's been thru this countless times, I always assume older people handle death easier.  Shifting from park to reverse, I motor over to her home...partly my Dad's store (which is open that day, by the way).  Bryan reports he needs the distraction...I scowl at the sole customer leaning over the counter.  Don't you have anything better to do?  Are you really waiting for a vehicle?  I digress...that's another post.  I find Grandma in the kitchen, more frail than I saw her last.  I hadn't visited while I was on Mom duty.  I couldn't handle anything more.  She's crying.  I can't remember the last time I saw her cry.  Mom was always helping her clean, organize, transporting her to doctors visits, the hair salon, and bank.  I comfort her the best I can, having to yell to be heard makes me feel insincere.  No one had updated her these past 12 days so she was shocked...last we spoke, she hoped Mom would 'snap out of it'. 

Back home, gracious family arrives with sandwiches in tow.  I didn't realize how hungry I was for food and laughter.  They truly are both good medicines. After, I begin sorting Mom's room with Jody. Mom had tasked us with taking what was sentimental to us and sending the rest to Goodwill.  I've seen family and friends transform after death..suddenly nasty, suspicious, greedy.  When Tim's grandfather Gerald died, his home was looted by friends and family...pictures snagged from walls, seasoned cast iron pots lifted.  No shame.  So, I'm careful to tell everyone of anything I claim as mine.  Of all items, I'm only interested in Mom and Grandma Hasting's recipe boxes.  Cards written in their handwriting.  Family recipes and traditions to continue. 

Back home in Shrewsbury, Pa, it's more flurry...sweet friends make us dinner and grace me with moments to reflect and share.  But still no breakdown.  Friends text daily to see if I'm still breathing.  Waiting for the floodgates to open, I ask Tim if he thinks I'm heartless.  We agree that I've been crying for months.  When she called to report her Cancer numbers were high again, I wept.  When she called to tell me she was taking a break from chemo, I wept.  When I felt far away and helpless, I wept.  I've leaked a lot over a long time and now only peace remains. We Christians mourn, but not as those who have no hope. I am wearing a completely different set of spectacles by which I see this world...this temporary dwelling where we are tested and grown daily to become something better.  (yet another post...).  So, friends, in the moment I write this, I am breathing, moving thru the day, not bed-bound.  I can't speak for tomorrow or even later today, however.  But know that your prayers, hugs, love, messages, texts, calls, meals, gifts, and visits are appreciated more than I can express.  Much love returned to every single one.  xoxo

Death Etiquette for the Socially Awkward

My Aunt Carol was an organ donor and when her body started to surrender, her husband Tom made that difficult decision to let her go. He nobly stood bedside for days after she collapsed from a heart attack while they were preparing for a golf tournament. It was too much for him, however, to watch her fade those final minutes. My stronger than grit, Aunt Bootsie and my Mom led the charge and I followed timidly behind as we decided to watch her take her final breath. The three of us were suited head to toe in surgical protective covering and entered locked doorways to the dark hallway leading to surgery. There she was, my saucy Aunt Carol, heart beating artificially, laid out and strapped in crucifix position. The room was chilly, I suppose to help preserve the organs as they are removed. Bootsie whispered comforting words in her ear and Mom and I stroked her hair. She would have been mortified that it was undone. I was taken aback by a single tear that slowly streamed from her eye...I pointed it out to Mom as she silently nodded. To this day, I'm not sure if it was Carol or just the surge of fluids they coursed throughout her body to aide in the removal. I like to think it was Carol's last gift. I suddenly was overcome by the situation and the frigid room did nothing for my rising temperature. The room became uncomfortably small and peering eyes from the waiting doctors were more than I could bear. I had to escape to the hallway...back sliding down the cool walls, I struggled to regulate my breathing. A few minutes later, Bootsie and Mom joined me and I knew she was gone.

I was undone. Not just the loss of my dearest Aunt, but the experience itself was overwhelming. I had never escorted someone out of this world. I will never forget the sympathy card I received a few short days later from a socially clueless neighbor. It basically read 'stop your belly-aching'. I'm paraphrasing, but the sentiment was clear. And it made me realize that not everyone knew how to deal, relate, or reach out to those experiencing death. It's clearly not enjoyable being the mourner, but for some, it's equally uneasy being the comforter. For those that find comforting, well, uncomfortable, I'm happy to provide some guidance. Let's start simply as to not overwhelm.

1. Just be there. Make sure they are breathing. You don't have to create some grand gesture, some profound provision. Just be still beside them and let them know you are there. A hug or holding a hand can comfort an aching soul. Instead of comforting my Aunt Gail when her husband Bill passed, certain friends completely avoided her. Telling her much later that they just didn't know what to say. I think she was more upset by their absence the full year post loss than by any words that may have been clumsily spoken.
2. Send a card. Heck, write a letter on a napkin if the Sympathy card section at Walmart is too overwhelming for you. So many choices, too many sad sentiments, should you get a religious card or a more vanilla version? Ultimately, it doesn't matter. Just don't sign it 'quit your belly-aching'. Stick to something more appropriate such as 'I'm sorry for your loss' or 'You are in my thoughts'.
3. Feeling ambitious? Provide a meal. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, or snacks are all perfect as the mourning need to eat all times of the day. If they aren't up to eating, they often have family members that need to maintain their energy. Chicken Noodle soup is the best soul comforting food I know. Local shops make it from scratch and it's divine...skip the stove and swing by Browns or Saubels. Throw in some crackers and cookies and you've got yourself some love in a basket. Tip for the mourners: Be grateful. Even if you don't eat spinach in your lasagna, say thank you.
4. Help them remember good memories. Ok, so this tip may be off limits to the socially oblivious. But for those of you that know the power of intentionally spoken words, asking a few well placed questions can lift spirits. Have them recall a favorite moment, a funny story...let them share the legacy of memory with you. Then truly listen.

Last I Love You

I wake at 12am to moaning...this time laced with pain.  I approach to study her face and hands...indicators of pain, I've sadly learned.  Nurse agrees and administers the smallest possible dose of Morphine.  Until the medicine kicks in, I hum old Sunday School hymns to calm her..it always worked on my babes.  Jesus Loves Me and He's Got the Whole World In His Hands seem to work on calming both of us.  I slip off and wake unexpectedly at 1:30am.  I could see her inhaling and exhaling long and slow...with silent pauses in-between that seemed to extend with each breath.  I knew I needed to rise and be with her, but for a few moments, I'm frozen.  If I just lay here, everything will go back to normal.  I know what's coming, but I can't move.  This is what I'm here for, what we've all been praying for.  So, I will one leg to move, then another and then I'm bedside. I tell her it's ok, that I'm here.  Never-ending pause between breaths, then a short inhale.  I tell her she scares me every time she does that.   I cover her frail hand with mine and tell her that I love her, that we all love her.  That she has been an amazing mom and taught me so much, that I'll share it and continue her loving legacy.  I tell her that we'll miss her terribly, but that we'll see her again soon.  Exhale. No inhale.  I wait, is this just another long pause?  No inhale.  Still no inhale.  I know in my soul that she's gone.  1:45am. A beautiful and peaceful death. Thank You, Jesus.

I calmly tell the night nurse that I think she has passed and she comes to listen to her heart.  I can tell by her searching that she can't find a beat.  Tears finally fall.  Weeks of planning have come to this..my head starts reeling thru necessary phone calls.  Jody, Bryan, Angel, Dad. Angel arrives quickly and I comfort her...overcome that she wasn't present for final moments.  Mom wanted it that way.   I am calm and I get to work.   Gathering hospital belongings, the somber trek to Pepper Road, early morning phone calls, funeral home arrangements, pastor and church confirmations, boxing sentimental items. Sweet family members bring sandwiches...didn't realize I was so hungry and I appreciate the laughter. At 3pm, the wall hits and I crash...napping on Mom's bed...expecting her to snuggle up with her Redbook.  Dinner together then I am itchy to get home home.  The rest can wait til Monday. 

This experience has been such a blessing...it may not seem that way to some, but these 12 days have created such memories, tender, funny, emotional...not soon forgotten and may quite possibly change the way I express love myself.  It's hard to journey thru this and not come out changed somehow.   She ushered me into this world, the least I can do is hold her hand and help usher her out.   It was my complete honor to love on, lift up, pray for, and stand beside this beautiful woman, Linda Kay Elliott, my mother. 

Bonus day #7

Feeling recharged from an evening at home with the fam, I head back to Mom's side this afternoon.  Jody reports that she had a fitful night and seemed to be in pain, so they gave her a Atavan/Morphine cocktail and consequently slept the day away.  She has a low tolerance to pain medicine and the combination has knocked her out.  However, Doc has said that as the ammonia levels rise, she will become more lethargic and could possibly fall into a coma. The best way to go, I believe.  She has no awareness that her body is shutting down.  A silver lining in how our amazing body works, that it protects our brain, our thoughts.  I wonder if this is less of a Morphine hangover than  a side effect to organ failure.


Not much else to report as she sleeps...parts of her already far gone.  I think she can still hear us, so  often I sneak up and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.  It's quiet now, visitors and family gone...the filtered air drowning out the sound from the nurses outside.  The moaning neighbor has piped down and the room has a sweet ombre glow from the leftover Christmas tree still in the corner.  Soon, I'll make up my bed, kiss her goodnight and pray that she sleeps eternal and wakes up in heaven.

Bonus day #6

She's still swinging ...well, sleeping, but still with us.  She's always more alert in the morning...I can talk to her and she answers.  Still fuzzy, getting more confused...she tells me she's reaching for her name tag and badge...thinking she still works here.  I'm on alert at 2:30, 3:30, then 4:30..sounding like she may wretch but there's nothing there to release.  I ask the morning nurses to clean her up and change the sheets..a Twister-like feat to accomplish with patient still in bed..I watch amazed.  Fresh sheets, clean, she looks so peaceful.  The entire experience must be so exhausting.  Breakfast is delivered and she obliges me with one mouthful of gruel looking oatmeal then skips right to ice cream.  Asking why they always give her ice cream...breakfast, lunch, and dinner...because you're the Queen, didn't you know?  Eyes closed, her eyebrows raise, amused.

Mom lets me read her my post written about her...Let Me Introduce You.  She's quiet, I wonder if she's drifted off to sleep again, but I keep reading.  Some parts harder to voice than others...I have to sneak over for a tissue. At the end, her hands folded together on her chest, she quietly offers her feedback..."beautiful.  Just beautiful."  I tell her it's all true...and that we all think that about her. We wonder what she is clinging to...a family member returns to town on the 15th. She mentioned withdrawing 401k funds in January, entering a different tax year.  We all take turns whispering words of release.  What will it take...we don't want to watch further decline.

I've decided to trek back to Shrewsbury for the evening to spend time with the family before Maya and Cole return to school. Just one evening to repack, regroup, reboot, and reconnect. The escort home was difficult, clumsy, like I had new legs walking in the wrong direction.  But closer to home, I became excited to return to routine, lay in my own bed, squeeze and snuggle with our children,  use my favorite soap, make a proper cup of tea, heck, even pet our dog, Charlie!  The four of us enjoy some competitive Ping-Pong then I discover the therapeutic nature of slaughtering zombies with Cole.  Liberating!  Maya's turn, we snuggle in her bed and she divulges her 'boy story', showing me his Instagram pics... she's excited. Not wasting time on sleep, Tim and I run quick errands, finally open our gifts, then later, enjoy visit with friends.  I truly am one blessed girl. 

This entire process has been overwhelming, all encompassing.  I don't want to be that  girl, the one felt sorry for.  The one people whisper 'did you know'?  I want to return to the unassuming smile-filled girl.  Baby steps.

In the dark, I wake and can't recall where I am.  I think Tim is Mom.  I'm home.  Relief.  Morning comes and we both remember in a few short hours, I'll depart for my trek back to her side.  Excited to see her, expecting more decline.