Strength Forged By Fire

My mama stayed alone last night. The night before what would have been her 68th anniversary married to my daddy. I am constantly amazed at the strength of this 88 year old lady. She is astounding!

Life Goes On

I am amazed at the rapidity with which life moves on after death. My friends on Facebook keep posting events and happenings in their worlds, the news keeps reporting the happenings in the world at large, babies continue to be born, others leave the earth daily, It is as if Daddy's death was only a blip on the screen and then life goes on.

I must be honest and say that irritated me just a little. Not with people, just the circumstance. It seems my daddy deserves more than a few hours in one day to be remembered, but I am sure everyone feels that way about their loved one's demise. It was only in the beginning, I felt so upset by this. Now there is something sweet about it. Babies are born, people marry, kids graduate, and life goes on. It is easy to focus on the bad in life, the sorrow, the emptiness, the failure, the pain. How much better when one can look past that and see the good, feel the sunshine, dance in the rain, enjoy the wonder that surrounds us everyday.

My daddy does deserve to be remembered and he will be. Not by everyone whose life he touched because their own lives are not consumed with his absence, but he will be thought fondly of on occasion by us all and for some of us that will be a daily occurance. He lives on in our hearts, our thoughts, our memories, our offspring and in God's heaven.

I hope my mama can find some joy in life without Daddy. I wish that for her so desperately. She has spent her life caring for others and I would love for her to experience life on her terms, with no thought of anyone else's preferences. To just once, before she leaves this earth to able to do what she wants to do, when she wants to do it and for however long she chooses to do so. She has earned it, she deserves it, and I pray she is able to have it.

Seventeen Days - Part 2

After Daddy's body left their home for the last time, it was decided that I would stay with Mama that first night. Callie and Gracie chose to stay with me. They slept in Granddaddy's bed while I slept on the couch.

I awoke early the next morning and paced the floor. Everywhere I looked, the walls, the floors, the landscape; all seemed to ooze the presence of my daddy and yet, his absence screamed at me from the very same places. I walked outside to escape the swell of emotions that were springing up within me. What greeted me were the buildings he built, the fields he plowed, the pastures where he raised cattle, the sheds he tinkered in, until my gaze turned to the fig trees and grape vines he planted. Baby figs were hanging in large numbers from the branches of the trees, and bunches of grape seedlings clung in clumps to the vines he tended so lovingly until his traitor body would no longer allow outside activities. Then I noticed honeysuckle vines winding their way throughout the grapes, weaving and twining around the fruit vines with full intent of choking the life from them. I began ripping and tearing the weed from my daddy's vines with a ferocity that must have made me resemble an insane person. Callie startled me when she asked in a very concerned tone, "Mom! What are you doing?" I sheepishly explained that the vines needed to be weeded and Grandmama couldn't do that so I was doing it for her. Poor honeysuckle. Under normal circumstance I really do like honeysuckle, just not that day.

We met later that Friday, with Harrison Funeral Home to make the arrangements for the service. We chose a simple but elegant black casket with silver trim. I later learned from Paige, that one of the decorations was Fleur de Lis, which is French for Flower of Life. I loved that. We opted for a spray of greenery with large, white, Football Mums and small, crimson, wild roses scattered throughout. In the center of the spray rested Daddy's Houndstooth hat. It was stunning in its simplicity.

The church ladies prepared a feast for the family and that is such a priceless gift to offer the bereaved. It is a time to connect, reconnect, visit, laugh, weep, hug, strengthen, and comfort each other, before taking on the distasteful task that lies before them. Prior to the funeral we had a viewing of the body. Hard stuff, that. Micah, who had been so strong and tried to be brave for all of us could not keep his emotions in check, once he saw Granddaddy's body in the casket. He wept until I thought my heart would break. Then Mama came and stood by the casket for the longest time, choking back tearful sobs. With each of her pitifully, brave attempts to choke back the tears, my heart shattered even more. Gracie stood and ran from the room just after I had gotten Mama to a seat, so after placing Micah in someone else's hands, I chased her downstairs where I found her hanging head over the toilet, sick with grief. That part is somewhat a blur from trying to care for everyone else and their sadness. Soon it was time to begin our goodbyes.

We took our places in the reserved pews among the mourners, who filled the building to capacity with standing room only. The masses were a cross-section of Daddy's life from the aged down to the infant. Each represented someone who loved him or loved one of his family members. Stan Foster began our service with Victory in Jesus. The singing was beautiful. Curtis Earl Sampley read a letter from Deborah, Daddy's nurse/caregiver from Tender Touch Home Care. It was a beautiful letter and I believe it to be sincerely from her heart, for she loved them both so well and cared for them for many months on a near daily basis. Curtis told us from his heart what Daddy had meant to him for so long. Stan led Home of the Soul and it was surprisingly upbeat, which is what we had asked of Stan. Then the grands took the podium and Paige read a heart-rending tribute to Daddy from all of them, telling of the fond memories and all the good that he instilled in them. Next, Raymond Elliott told stories of his friendship with Daddy through the years. He also read the article published in Our Families magazine that Kristi had authored after interviewing Mama. It was sweet and even made us all chuckle a time or two. We ended with a prayer and proceeded to the cemetary. It was very hot, so the words were short there. Then it was over and we all dispersed.

There was not much need for words at that point. Daddy had been sick for so long and each of us had said all that needed to be said. Our farewells had begun months, perhaps years earlier when all this began. Even still, after that much time has passed, it never seems enough. You are never truly ready to let go. We are so resistant to change, even when to be so is pointless. Change is inevitable and the sooner we embrace it the better we are.

Later, on Facebook one of my nephews who lives in Florida stated that if he could have a funeral like that, he would move to Alabama. Alas, it is not the geography, it is the integrity and the character of a man that evokes this kind of response to his demise.

Daddy accepted his fate with dignity and grace. He set a fine example; a clear path to follow. Even in death, he is showing me the way. I know I didn't always listen to you, Daddy, but I am listening now. I watched carefully and took mental notes. I hope to be able to show the bravery and courage that you exhibited, when my time comes. Rest in God's peace, Daddy. See you again, soon.

Seventeen Days - Part 1

My last posting spoke of my daddy still being with us.

Thursday, May 19, 2011
He Is Still Here
It has been a full 17 days since my last post and Daddy is still with us. He was removed from all medication but morphine, yesterday. He is disoriented and doesn't recognize us for the most part. I have never experienced a death watch and it is quite unnerving.

Daddy finally went home at the very time I was typing that last entry. I actually had to save it as a draft as I ran out of the office headed home to be with my family in the afterglow of his departure from this life. It was quiet. It was peaceful. It was a gentle slipping from this earth into the next life. We couldn't have asked for better.

On May 17th, on my mama's birthday, she told Daddy that she would be OK; that we would take care of her. She said she knew he was tired to which he replied that he was so very tired. She told him it was OK to go. Then began the end. Hospice increased his anti-anxiety meds and pain meds. Tuesday, Daddy was aware but not nearly as responsive as he had been. His eyes didn't sparkle. For the first time in my life, his eyes did not sparkle. They looked glazed and dull and he had difficulty keeping them open. Some thought it was the morphine, but I felt the life was slipping out of him. Daddy lost ground quickly.

The next day was not a good day with Daddy talking out of his head at times. He was dying before our eyes, we just didn't realize it. He was losing recognition of the world as we know it and transforming for the new world he would soon inhabit. He spoke of dropping things that he was not holding, he wanted us to "pull him on through" but we were unaware of the place through which we were pulling him. He was slowly leaving us and making his way to the Creator. His last tangible auditory was, "Is Gracie here?" He began sinking deeper and deeper into sleep.

On Thursday morning at 8:30, Mama said she knew it would not be long. His breathing was very shallow and quick. At just a few minutes past 10 am on my sweet sister, Ellen's birthday, my daddy drew his last breath. Ellen was holding his right hand, Mama was holding his left and had laid her head on his chest when those two final cleansing breaths were inhaled and exhaled, separated by about 10 seconds. I can only imagine that as difficult as it was to be there, what a blessing, a gift, to be able to be holding him as he eased from this world into the next. Ellen said it was peaceful, quiet, calm, comfortable, and everything we had wanted it to be. It makes me smile even now to know that God took him home gently, after all. That had been our prayer for months.

We gathered at their home, one by one, each of us trickled in. Family and friends rallying around Mama to sustain her in her grief. Denise, the Hospice nurse asked me to help her hold Daddy's body so that she could clean him. It was good to be able to do one last thing for my Daddy. The best part is he was still so warm underneath and I was so glad to get to hold him one last time while the warmth was still encased in his body. It was a precious time for me.

When she was finished with her task, Denise left the room and it was just my daddy and me. I smoothed his hair and stroked his face. I held his gnarled fingers in my hands and gazed at them, in an attempt to memorize those hands that were once strong enough to provide a living for a family of eight. Those once-calloused hands that tilled the soil and grew healthy produce to feed and nuture us. Those now crooked and bent fingers that used to entertain us while he strummed his guitar, coaxing from its strings Wildwood Flower and listening to him play and sing Beautiful, Beautiful Brown Eyes to my mama. I remembered how expertly he held the harmonica and produced sweet, country tunes. The very hands that could instill fear when they were holding a switch, or fill you with comfort when they held you in their embrace while Daddy wiped away the tears. I remember being a very small child, running and climbing into Daddy's lap. As he hugged me tight he would ask, "Who's after you or what do you want?" I haven't thought of that for years until now. Amazing how those seemingly,long-lost, thoughts flood back to haunt me after all this time.

I looked at the frail, shrunken, shell of this man I love and memories flooded my soul. Visions of him standing tall and proud, striding with a sure foot through the pastures and gardens of my mind. Dragging home turkeys, deer, fish, etc., not only to put food on our table, but because it was one of his passions. He loved the sportsmanship of hunting. Seeing him drive the tractor as he plowed the fields. He did it all for us. To take care of us. I envisioned him sitting in his chair reading the Bible or a western novel by Zane Grey or Louis L'Amour. All the little things that had been lost to him in the last several years due to failing health and dimished eyesight.

But he kept his smile, the twinkle in his eye, and his sense of humor until just before the end. His mind was good, as well. I was amazed how quickly I found myself wishing that I could hear one of his stories one last time. He loved to tell stories and I listened to them over and over again, hoping when this day arrived, I would be able to recall and pass along those tales to my offspring. In those last weeks, Daddy was as good as good could be, willing to comply with whatever we asked of him. That has caused me to wonder if that was one of God's rewards to Mama for her faithfulness. He let her have Daddy for a short time, the way he once was, before taking him home.

On Tuesday morning, while he was still cognizant, I told him that I appreciated all he had done for me. On Wednesday night, we were there to hear his last words. I almost waited, thinking that it was late and we could go the next night. How thankful I am that I did not put that off. How grateful I am that I took my children with me. How blessed I am to have gotten the opportunity to be there one last time for my family while Daddy was still with us, because on Thursday, he was gone.I hope I showed him how much he meant to me. I hope he knows.

It has been so devastating to watch him wither to nearly nothing physically, but in the process my daddy bloomed and blossomed in an emotional way. He told us all that he loved us, which some of us had never heard before. He told us how he appreciated us. He hugged us and held our hands and didn't want to let us go. We reciprocated all of that to him. It was again, a precious, precious time for me. In my reflections since his death I have discovered that although he spent his whole life 'showing' us how much we meant to him, it was only the during the last part when he could no longer show us, he was able to finally tell us. We were able to do both in the end and that is priceless.

One of the hardest parts of this journey after Daddy's demise was when the mortician took his body from home to the funeral home. As he was leaving with daddy's body, I realized with full impact that this was the last time I would see my daddy at home. All my life, he had been there and now he was not ever going to be again. That cold, hard, fact was not lost on mama. She wept with more intensity than I had seen so far, when they left with his body. Painful does not begin to cover the feeling of that moment.

It has been an awful journey, a sad journey, a joyous journey, an inspiring journey, a difficult journey, an enlightening journey...it has been a true adventure with twists and turns at every corner, but we made it through intact and I think my daddy is pleased with how it all turned out. Although I miss him and I hate to see my mama grieve, knowing this is the inevitable end for us all and in Daddy's case, there was no other way out but death, I feel it was something that will bond us together and make us a closer family. Knowing that, I know my Daddy is smiling.

He Is Still Here

It has been a full 17 days since my last post and Daddy is still with us. He was removed from all medication but morphine, yesterday. He is disoriented and doesn't recognize us for the most part. I have never experienced a death watch and it is quite unnerving.

Blog Entry Number 200

I had really planned to make this a celebratory type of blog post, considering it is number 200, but there just hasn't been much to celebrate lately.

North Alabama and several other southern states were pummeled by deadly tornadoes last week and the devastation left in their wake has been terrific. It will take a very long time for them to dig out and rebuild and unfortunately, May is typically considered Tornado month in the south. I can no longer view the footage of the destruction. It is too heartbreaking and taxing on a heart that is already fragile at best.

Daddy is losing ground quickly. He will not be with us much longer. I wish God would take him home and end his suffering. It seems so cruel to allow him to linger in a state of being that is miserable for him. Not saying I am doubting God persay, but I am questioning the reason He would not just gently take him home. However, I don't know how Mama will handle it all. She may feel relieved to just be able to care for herself after such a long caretaking session with Daddy. She may be lost because caretaking is almost all she has ever known. I know she will grieve, but I hope she will be able to enjoy life, really enjoy life, like she has never been able to before.

I am phoning to see if I can get an appointment to see a couselor in order to learn some tools to deal with my psyche challenges and the extreme stress I am under.

I do still see the blessings all around me, but the troubles make it difficult to celebrate those no matter how grateful I am for them. (sigh)

Caretaker Burnout | The New Homemaker

Caretaker Burnout | The New Homemaker