My exhausted girls snuggled into their car seats as we drove away from the bright lights of the hospital building. The night’s darkness enveloped us as we arrived at the quiet hotel on the edge of town. I suddenly realized I could hear a high-pitched, quiet string of mumbles coming from Charlotte.
I turned down the cd that was blaring Disney music and gently asked what she was saying. Her words picked up volume but retained their high-pitched tone, “I wish they didn’t eat the fruit.”
“Who ate the fruit sweetie?” I coaxed
“Adam and Eve. I wish they didn’t eat the fruit. I wish that none of us had to die… Ever.”
My daughters’ grandma is dying. My husband’s mommy. My mother-in-law. She is fighting, and I’m grateful for all the good days we’ve had in the face of a daunting diagnosis… but the truth is, heaven is very close for her now, and it still seems so very far away for the rest of us.
My girls seem to have an intuitive sense for how to live in the moment. Mostly moving from one moment of sunshine to the next, but when the deep, dark elements of reality well up they move through those as well.
We walked beside our daughters in the horrible surprise of Graham’s loss and we stand beside them now during grandma’s slow and steady goodbye. I’m so very proud of my girls, but I am also very disappointed in our circumstances… Sadness abounds.
As you may imagine, I am facing many fresh layers of complex grief and pain, but am making the choice to not explore these issues on the blog. This leg of my journey is shared with others, and I feel compelled to be sensitive, kind, and discreet. So, I will likely be quiet for awhile… Please know, we are well supported and God is most certainly good.
Nora popped onto Grandma’s hospital bed and in the middle of her goodbye hug, spurted out, “Grandma, are you going to die?”
As Grandma began to cry and struggled to answer, Nora cheerily inturrupted, “Heaven’s nice, Graham’s there. And I’ll go there someday too.”