Catching My Breath

 

Photo by Daisa TJ from Pexels

Next week marks three months since I said goodbye to my daddy.  Sometime in the next seven to ten days I will sign the papers that finalize the sale of his home.  It was the only single-family home he and my mom ever owned and they were so proud of it.  Last night I stopped by to pick up a few remaining items and sort the mail that I still haven't forwarded.  Something in me needed to say goodbye to that space. As I found myself wandering inside the empty rooms, patio, backyard - all devoid of the laughter and love that filled them for almost thirty years, I remembered my mom's excitement at getting to paint and put up wallpaper.  I remembered my dad buying ALL THREE of his outdoor sheds so he could make and fix things. I laughed as I remembered the time we didn't have turkey for Thanksgiving because my dad almost blew up the house trying to fry it.  I remembered the sounds of my nieces and nephews playing in the backyard, spending many weekends being loved and spoiled.  I remembered the many years it took my nephews and my dad to construct a new fence. My mom's last words to me as she lay dying in her purple bedroom.  My dad responding to my voice before he took his last shallow breaths. I also remembered their excitement as they filled their home with laughter, family, mementos of their own childhoods, and memories for those of us who would outlive them.  

It was cathartic to remember good times and bad times, laughter and tears. As I walked in silence, tears streaming down my cheeks, I let go of the hard things and envisioned each room filled with their presence. Then I found myself talking to them, asking forgiveness for my failures, thanking them for their sacrifices, telling them how much I miss them and how proud I was/am to be their daughter.  It was a special time in their space, and it brought a measure of peace to my heart.

Grieving is an exercise in reflection. It can be depressing and it can be joyful, or both at the same time. No matter what though, it is crucial that it be honored and indulged.   It is okay to grieve.  It is okay to feel sad and not try to spin it to fit the constructs of other people's comfort with how you do it. As I watched Andrew Garfield talk about the recent death of his mother, I found myself enthusiastically nodding when he said, "I love talking about it by the way, so if I cry, it's only a beautiful thing.  This is all the unexpressed love.  The grief that will remain with us until we pass because we never get enough time with each other...so I hope this grief stays with me because it's all the unexpressed love that I didn't get to tell her."  

So now I find myself reflecting on the past decade and wondering how in the H.E. double-hockey sticks I survived. Finally recognizing that I really NEED and have earned at least a minute to catch my breath and care for myself now without apology. 👏👏 Finding myself at a crossroad. Wide-eyed, curious, tired, hopeful. At times certain I will be swallowed whole and forget to breathe, and then blissfully dreaming again and proudly owning the strength and determination that keep me moving forward, albeit with a limp. 

So, forgive me if I take a step back to spend time with and care for myself.  Forgive me if I decline sincerely made offers that I WILL accept someday soon.  Forgive me if I withdraw to a quiet, safe space with no demands because this world is hard to navigate. Surviving is hard. Watching others survive is hard. Living in this broken mess is hard. Breathing and exhaling is hard. Life, death, and everything in between is hard. Pain. Loss. Grief. Doubt. Fear. But there is good that beckons from the Father. Love. Joy. Peace. Grace. Mercy. Hope. Beauty.  Life can be as horrible as it is thrilling, and as painful as it is amazing. You can find peace in the middle of chaos.  Faith in the pit of doubt.  Hope in the moments of despair.  Beauty in the ashes of what was. You need only to train your eye to look for it, and your ears to listen to the sweet whispers of the Holy Spirt. Don't ever give up but DO give yourself time. Give yourself freedom. Give yourself permission to go catch your breath if you need to and be proud that you are still needed in this world.  

From Is to Was

The Ryder Cup is being played this weekend.  Something my parents and I have watched together for ages.  My dad was really excited about watching it this year, but he just missed it.  So far, I can't find the courage to turn it on and watch it this time because he was supposed to be eating popcorn and watching it with me.  I'll probably feel the same about the World Series.  Those were things we were both looking forward to watching together.  It's hard to separate them from him, or even my mom who really enjoyed both events.

In some ways my family's grief was expected.  Even before my dad was exposed to and so suddenly taken from us by COVID, I had texted my brothers to call or visit soon.  I could see that he did not have much longer. It was getting harder to care for him, even for my strong nephews who could get him out of bed easier than I could.  To be sure, we all knew that death would be the end of our caregiving roles, but it was still a shock when he died.  He was supposed to be here for a few more months.  I had planned to spend as much time as possible with him.  To laugh, and watch stupid Westerns, and to let him eat whatever his heart desired.  Patty Melt? No problem.  Biscuits and Gravy?  You've got it.  Cinnamon rolls?  Absolutely.  Tacos?  How many??  Ice cream?  You bet.  I enjoyed spoiling him and trying to ease his own grief over losing my mom.

Grief hits people in different ways whether it is expected or not.  I don't know about you, but for me one of the hardest parts of grieving is the shift from "is" to "was".  The mind shift from present to past tense is a humdinger.  I find myself forgetting that both are gone. I think of them in the present tense. Surely this is just a bad dream.  To be orphaned and all alone after so many years together and to lose them both just four months apart is grief upon grief.  I mourn them separately, and together, and then separately again.  Instantly all their failures are forgiven.  Their annoying habits endearing.  Repeated stories that used to drive me mad are now soothing.  Their goofy, quirky personality traits are now my absolute favorites, and I wonder why I didn't appreciate them more in the here and now, instead of waiting until they became mere memories.

Loss of those we love cannot be reversed.  It is final.  The days go on; our lives continue; we bravely put one foot in front of the other, but everything is different forever.  And gosh there is a lot of loss going around.  Whether near or far it is an overload to our senses. Surreal. Endless. Senseless. And so very human.  

As a Christian I believe that there is hope of a reunion in heaven someday.  I believe that my parents are in the presence of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, holding hands in perfectly restored bodies.  There is no doubt in my heart or soul.  But even though I rejoice for them, the sucker punch of missing them nearly knocks me to the ground every morning.  They are not here, and I know I will always miss them.  I love you mom and dad.  Until we meet again!

Heavenly Bling

Almost seven years ago my dad had his first stroke and not long after my parents asked me for help. They were afraid of ending up in a nursing home and wanted me to ensure they could live at home until they met Jesus. It was a big ask. By their request I became the executor of their will and assumed responsibility for their finances and health care. In the early days that involved going to almost all of their medical appointments, cooking, and spending a lot more time with them. As they declined their needs grew exponentially. There were lots of falls and health crises that required regular hospital stays. As time went by, I purchased the ambulance "Passport Plan" for the ridiculous number of ambulance rides (it seriously saved them hundreds of $$$ each year!) and greeted the hospital staff like old friends. BONUS! I learned to "enjoy" the hospital cafeterias. By the time 2017 rolled around their needs ramped up and my own health dramatically plummeted. 

In March of 2017, as my dad was in the ER yet again, I was reeling from my own diagnosis of Pulmonary Hypertension the day before.  In a deep state of shock, I dutifully went to the hospital and tried to help my parents and meet with doctors, while literally struggling to breathe. My brother took over and I went out to dinner with two of my besties because I could not handle anything else that day.    

There was no way for me to know what was to come the next week, when after a battery of tests, the Pulmonologist, yes, a lung doctor, diagnosed a heart defect that a cardiologist had missed for years.  A new cardiologist confirmed that I was in the early stages of heart failure, the root cause of the Pulmonary Hypertension.  And then the hammer struck a viscous blow: my parents revealed that they learned of my heart defect when I was a baby and chose not to treat it.  I nearly crumbled.  It felt like a terrible betrayal on top of some other pretty big failures when I was a vulnerable child.

Let me be very clear, at that point I did NOT want to help them, I did NOT want to be nice.  I did NOT want people to have sympathy for them. I wanted to be snarky.  I wanted to punish them.  I was angry, trapped, wounded.  But they really did need help, and there were no other viable options, not to mention I loved them.  My nephews began helping three and a half years ago. My brothers have pitched in. Many friends have brought food and shown up offering countless prayers and unofficial counseling sessions.  Yet the responsibility has remained squarely on my shoulders.  And through it all, people repeatedly tell me that I am earning jewels for my heavenly crown.

Growing up I heard many church teachings about Christians receiving crowns when they get to heaven, up to five different crowns to be exact. All awarded after the final judgment. And for those overachievers who were really good on earth, well they could earn extra jewels for their crowns. So, theoretically in heaven there will be gobs of people (well, at least 144,000) walking (floating?) the streets of gold, wearing a crown, or five, as they go about their heavenly business. And all the rest of us will immediately know who was the cream of the crop, the best of the best, those "Mother Teresa" super-servants, because they will have extra bling for their crowns.  And who knows, maybe it's even true (😕doubtful.)  But it just doesn't make sense to me.  Serving Jesus is not a competition to see who gets a better reward or bigger mansion inside the pearly gates.

Oh, to be sure, I have been dazzled by big sparkly crowns. Yes, I rode that weird walkway thing at the Tower of London to view the famous "Crown Jewels".  They were certainly pretty, HUGE, and very flashy.  It was so fun to repeatedly (I had to do it multiple times to get a good view!) glide by on a moving walkway to see them behind all of that bulletproof, alarm-censored glass. Gorgeous indeed, but in all honesty, they do not appeal to me, okay, maybe one, or two...  

The state of my heart is rather self-centered. I wonder if circumstances had been different would I have helped my parents so much? Would I have really forgiven them if I had not come to know them differently because I cared for them? Would I have really sacrificed so much of my own wants and needs if they had enough money to pay for 24-hour care? Or if they could have moved to an Assisted Living Facility that was better than the Medicaid options? There is not much evidence to suggest that I would have done much if I did not have to. And what little I have done for them or others is not motivated by eternal rewards.  The only crown I am worthy of is covered in thorns, and because of immeasurable grace and mercy, Jesus, wore it in my place. 

As I sit here gazing at my bedridden dad, I am keenly aware of how rich I am now.  My heart has softened from years of sacrificing for him and my mom. I no longer feel anger, resentment, or betrayal. I recognize the redemption borne of serving them. It no longer bothers me that there is no monetary inheritance coming, it is enough to have my dad grab my hand, kiss it, tell me I'm a good girl, and that he loves me very, very much.  (I always cry when he does that.)  It was enough to have my mom's final words to me be the very thing I needed to finally hear and believe about our relationship.  

What I have gained from these last seven years is far more precious than jewels, that while flashy, offer no human connection, touch, laughter. They cannot tell me how much I am loved. The here and now has given me memories, precious moments, healing, growth, deepened faith. The opportunity to give and receive forgiveness, grace, mercy. And to sacrifice for my parents to honor the sacrifice made more me.  Loving and caring for them as they loved and cared for me, mistakes and all on both of our parts is the real reward.

If there is a crown for me, it will likely look like this one.  Full of rust, devoid of jewels.  Perfect for me.