I remember my Dad sitting my sister and me down on her porch swing that hot, August day nine years ago and telling us that Hospice had been in to see her that day and that her time was close.
I already knew it, though. She had been mostly sleeping the three days prior and was disoriented when she was awake. The night before she was so restless. I laid in my bed hearing her on and off. But that morning, she was quiet. I remember pulling up a chair beside her bed before I left for school and telling her that I would miss her but she could go if she needed to go.
So the porch swing conversation came as no surprise.
And we went to her. The 6 grandkids came and said their good-byes and went to stay with a family friend. Our priest came to do Anointing of the Sick. My father, sisters, brothers-in-law, her twin, a family friend, me and my then-fiance/now-husband stayed with her that evening. Telling stories of her. Praying her into her next life. Her breathing slowed, slowed more and then she left.
It was, by far, the most painful and sad experience that I have had in my life, at least this far. But I tell her birth into new life story because it was also so beautiful.
Beauty and Sorrow held hands that night.`
She is gone, but not forgotten. My little Issy, upon discussing her name saints, said, "There is a Saint Issy! My grandma!" Indeed, little one.
I already knew it, though. She had been mostly sleeping the three days prior and was disoriented when she was awake. The night before she was so restless. I laid in my bed hearing her on and off. But that morning, she was quiet. I remember pulling up a chair beside her bed before I left for school and telling her that I would miss her but she could go if she needed to go.
So the porch swing conversation came as no surprise.
And we went to her. The 6 grandkids came and said their good-byes and went to stay with a family friend. Our priest came to do Anointing of the Sick. My father, sisters, brothers-in-law, her twin, a family friend, me and my then-fiance/now-husband stayed with her that evening. Telling stories of her. Praying her into her next life. Her breathing slowed, slowed more and then she left.
It was, by far, the most painful and sad experience that I have had in my life, at least this far. But I tell her birth into new life story because it was also so beautiful.
Beauty and Sorrow held hands that night.`
She is gone, but not forgotten. My little Issy, upon discussing her name saints, said, "There is a Saint Issy! My grandma!" Indeed, little one.
