Relinquishment Isn't Easy

My beginning was less than auspicious.  I was my mother’s ninth child; she was 45 years old and my father died within hours of my birth.  My brother, Tony, tells me I was placed in a dresser drawer for use as a bed.  He was seven when I showed up.  He couldn’t understand where his dad had gone and where I came from.  

From that day on, he became my best friend and protector.  

Soon my mother, Tony and I moved to two rooms upstairs in a house.  That is where I grew up.  He took care of me; walked me to school when I started Junior High that was halfway across town.  When I was told to marry while still in high school, he was the one who escorted me down the aisle.  Through my subsequent divorce and many years of single parenting, he was always there. 

And now he is being supported by an air mattress (because of bedsores) in a room in a hospice house many miles away.  And I grieve. 

But there is more than that.  I’ve read about the connection twins have; even though they are a great distance apart.  Tony and I have that.  For 70 years we have been linked.  He would call and ask, “So what’s going on?”  And I would tell him.  Sometimes it was the other way around.  We could share the scene we saw in our mind.  It was always accurate.  

In his weakened state, talking on the phone is no longer an option.  But we are still linked.  Some days are better than others.  

When my daughter, Lorri, and I visited him in a nursing home in November, he spoke of many things.  I heard stories about our dad.  We re-lived many memories we had shared.  I watched him come alive as he listened to music.  His life-long career was spent as a musician, beginning as soloist in the Navy Band.  

We talked about this day…when the end was approaching.  And now it’s here.  

I wasn’t allowed to drive the first 25 years of my life.  He taught me to love it!  When we were there, he mentioned several times he just needed a steering wheel in his hands.  He also expressed a desire to eat a hamburger.  He knew there was a hamburger place just down the street.  Yet when we offered to get him one, he knew he would be unable to eat it. 

I am a calm, peaceful woman.  I would never describe me as restless.  Yet last Saturday I felt like pacing the floor…couldn’t watch tv, read, or even listen to music.  I finally received the message.  I climbed in the car and for the next hour drove and talked to him.  When I returned home, the restlessness had ceased.  

Tuesday it didn’t take me quite as long to understand the communication.  Again, I headed down the highway…this time tears streaming down my face.  I stopped and ordered a hamburger…and ate it for him.  We enjoyed it.  

Go ahead.  Think I’m weird.  I’m just telling it like it is.  

Letting go is difficult.  Yet I don’t pray for him to linger.  Since the death of my husband, John, I view dying differently than most people.  As I sat by John, we talked of heaven.  As a Christian, he was ready.  So is Tony.  It will be a wonderful transition for him.  

And so, I wait…and let go.

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A Forever Love

After my marriage to John, Valentine’s Day was kind of hit and miss.  Some years he forgot and would rush around to buy flowers or something and breathlessly apologize.  Other years he became quite creative.  One year was a scavenger hunt with little gifts hidden throughout the house, car and yard.  

Five years ago, Valentine’s Day was not mentioned.  He was living his last days in our bedroom.  

Then came the day I removed his wedding ring from his finger, traveled to the jewelry store and purchased a strong necklace that would hold both our wedding rings.  I’ve worn that chain around my neck until today. 

I find it ironic that I have decided today to no longer wear it.  It’s not a decision I take lightly.  But it seems unavoidable.  You see, a few weeks ago I purchased a device that hangs around my neck and will call for help if I push the button.  It also registers if I fall and will notify someone I have selected.  It came with an explanation that placing it in my pocket or purse would not work.  And since I put it around my neck, the rings and device clack and rattle against each other as I move.  I’ve even been wearing two shirts so I could tuck one inside the inner shirt to avoid the noise.  I can’t do that when it warms up. 

Hence, the decision.  

Shortly after his death, I had a ring etched with the words, “Always and Forever” and wear it continuously.  That publicly declares my ongoing love.   I am so grateful for the wonderful years of love we shared.  We literally became one.  I truly don’t need the reminder around my neck.  

He is always and forever in my heart.  

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Acknowledgement of God's Creations

John and I visited Spokane on a regular basis.  As you come into the city from the west, there is a view of the city below and the mountains in the distance.  We always remarked how beautiful it was.  But in a conversation with one of the residents of that city, we discovered they really never paid any attention to the beauty around them.  Their nose was to the proverbial grindstone.  

So, that became a question we asked often when we visited other beautiful places.  And I’m sorry to say, most people don’t notice God’s creation.  It’s just a familiar part of their drive to work, with their mind elsewhere.  

How sad.  

Here’s where I probably will offend some people.  I grew up in Kansas.  Not beautiful.  I remember clearly the first time I saw mountains.  I wondered why anyone would choose to live in Kansas.  I now understand it’s not always a choice.  You see, when we moved to the TriCities, I kept saying “no” to the move because I thought it was ugly.  Yet I have lived here 33 years.  

And, yes, there is a point to all of this.  

I’m reading a fascinating book entitled “Ghost Boy” by Martin Pistorius.  Until the age of 12 he was a normal boy.  And then his body shut down…everything except his mind.  I can’t even begin to imagine.  Years later, with modern technology, he is able to let us know what that was like.  As I read this morning, his words triggered this blog.  

Can we get so used to being able to walk, talk, see, etc. that we stop noticing?  When we drive our car or ski down a mountain, are we aware of the wonderful gift we’ve been given?  Or do we just accept it as a given?  

Just one more point.  

Those people strapped in a wheelchair or lying in a bed just may be able to hear…to see…what you say and do.  Does our attitude about them show?  Do we find them distasteful?  Do we go out of our way to ignore them?  Physical limitations do not necessarily define them.  Just what if their mind is alive in there?  

I’m not talking about sympathy.  I’m talking about acceptance.  In my life right now, I’m not having to address this.  But I have had to in the past.  I pray my attitude with those I dealt with was one of acknowledgment of their personhood.

“Your eyes have seen my unformed substance: and in Your book were all written the days that were ordained for me, when as yet there was not one of them.  Psalm 139:16 (NASB)

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