There’s Grace in Surrender
Yesterday was one of those days where I had to put aside my own agenda repeatedly. I had big plans for the garden after work, as you might recall from yesterday’s post. No planting or thinning occurred, but comfort and safety and love, these things grew in abundance. Sometimes life derails all of our plans with more important things. It’s yet more opportunity to stay with the moment and let go of the struggle.
This idea has been in my mind so much lately as I’ve watched Chris’ father deal with terminal illness and his own demons. Perhaps it’s selfish of me to think of my own life so much in the face of his suffering, but I believe in the mirror of the world. Truly, that’s the altar at which I kneel. Or one of them. There’s also the garden, of course.
Dad was brought to a Hospice nursing home again yesterday, in a coma. Chris just called a few minutes ago, just as I finished typing the first two sentences of this post. His father died last night around midnight.
I’m a thousand times relieved for him, that the excruciating pain he has suffered has ended. I’m ten thousand times relieved for his mother, whose mental health has been taxed ’til nearly empty. We went over to see what we could help with last night (after our side-trip to the emergency room to fix Lila’s first case of nursemaid’s elbow, an accident that happened not ten minutes after we arrived home from a long day, when her friend pulled her by the arm to drag her up the slide).
Anyway, Mom seemed more present last night than she has in a while, she’s really had a very hard time dealing with the prospect of Dad dying in the house, even though that’s what he wanted. She tried, bless her heart, but boy, it took such a toll on her, and we’ve all been worried that she would need assisted living any minute now, too. We chatted with her and their dear friends who have been such a boon and a blessing in all of our lives these past two months. Chris and Bill sat at the dining room table and worked together to fix Mom’s glasses that had broken sometime during the day.
I pulled the bedding off the hospital bed in the living room and got the laundry switched and another load started, folded and put away. She made an out-loud tally of what items would need to go back to Hospice, then reminded herself that she shouldn’t make that call yet, just in case he made another miraculous semi-recovery and got sent home.
The man had quite a lot of fight in him, hung on months longer than any of his doctors ever expected, just by the sheer force of will. His will was so much stronger than his body. But yes, someone can make that call today.
From the hour you’re born you begin to die. But between birth and death there’s life.
- Simone de Beauvoir, All Men Art Mortal
Godspeed, Dad. We all send you hugs and wishes for all you’ve ever hoped. Forever.
"In summer we live out of doors, and have only impulses and feelings, which are all for action, and must wait commonly for the stillness and longer nights of autumn and winter before any thought will subside; we are sensible that behind the rustling leaves, and the stacks of grain, and the bare clusters of the grape, there is the field of a wholly new life, which no man has lived; that even this earth was made for more mysterious and nobler inhabitants than men and women. In the hues of October sunsets, we see the portals to other mansions than those which we occupy."
~Henry David Thoreau
June 7th, 2007 at 7:13 am
Thanks for this beautiful reminder that surrender is what allows us to enjoy our passage through life. Please give our best to Chris. How lucky his mom and dad were to have you both there to be with them and lend a hand.
June 7th, 2007 at 9:27 am
What a lovely post, Kelly. Thanks for sharing it. Best to all your family as you go through this transition.
June 7th, 2007 at 11:29 am
This is one of those blog posts that makes me think no response is good enough, can convey how much your post affected me. Best wishes to your family.
June 7th, 2007 at 12:17 pm
Love to everyone from all of us..
xo
June 7th, 2007 at 1:33 pm
There’s so much warmth. A breath. A sigh. Love. Here. Thank you. These awaited deaths are so hard. Blessings to you and your family. And hoping Lila’s arm is ok.
June 7th, 2007 at 3:40 pm
sending strength and sympathy to you and your family
xox
June 7th, 2007 at 7:47 pm
So sorry for your loss.
June 7th, 2007 at 8:21 pm
The father of our youngest’s godfather just died from Parkinson’s - I’m going to send him a link to this post. Thanks so much for sharing, Kelly, and please take care.
June 7th, 2007 at 8:31 pm
Thank you all so much for your warm and loving responses. It feels so good to have such a lovely connection, this web of kindness spreading all around the globe.
June 7th, 2007 at 9:14 pm
I’ve been trying to think of a thoughtful response but, I can’t. I’m sorry for your family’s loss but am grateful for the release that you all have. Wishing you strength as you go through this transition of life.
June 7th, 2007 at 9:40 pm
I send you love and care, my friend. It is such an intense time, with so many thoughts and feelings. The juxtaposition of relief and grief, fatigue and energy. Grief is a process rather than an event–I send you and Chris hugs and reminders to be good to yourselves.
xox
June 8th, 2007 at 8:02 am
{{{{Kelly}}}} That’s for you and your fam. I’m so sorry.
June 8th, 2007 at 9:37 pm
I’m sorry. Peace to all. Sky’s been there multiple times with the nursemaid’s elbow. It sucks to see them in pain like that.
To see them all in pain like that. Whatever the pain is, wherever it spreads. Again, peace to all.
June 9th, 2007 at 2:20 pm
I’m sorry for Chris and his mom to have to say good bye to his dad, but I think it must be a relief for everyone too, including his dad most of all.
I never have graceful things to say at moments like this. All I can say is that I hope you all find a satisfying way to say goodbye and move on with love.
June 13th, 2007 at 5:01 pm
I’m so sorry to hear this, though I know well the sense of relief that comes with such a loss. It sounds as though your MIL is very lucky to have you by her side - as is Chris.