Since the summer
of 2010, my family has been walking through a difficult, significant, and
occasionally traumatic process. On a hot August afternoon my wife and I made a
hurried trip to the emergency room where her mother was being treated. It was
obvious to me her condition was quite serious and we spoke very directly about
the likelihood of this being a terminal situation. By mid-November, she had
begun hospice care and she soon passed while I held her hand bedside.
In more recent
days, we observed my father’s cognitive and then physical decline across three
years, and then more rapidly across a couple of months, prior to six days of
hospice care in an assisted care facility. My dad passed as I was standing with
my mother beside his bed.
Earlier this year,
my father-in-law also began to decline in health and passed in mid-September.
For the last five years or so, Sharon had been caring for him as he lived alone
in his home. Despite numerous physical and cognitive conditions, he wanted to
remain independent. Sharon managed his finances and drove him to the grocery
store, doctor’s appointments, and more. Eventually, a fall and a more rapid
decline required a move to the same assisted living facility in which my father
passed. A couple of weeks of hospice care and being surrounded by his children
preceded his eventual passing early on a Sunday morning.
My ninety-year-old
mother made the decision to move from her home to a supportive living facility
as she was lonely and knew she could not maintain her home any longer. A couple
of good conversations between Mom, my two brothers, and me made the process of
moving her, selling the home and its contents, a much smoother process. She is
in a good apartment, has plenty of independence, is very happy and secure. This
pleases all of us.
Across these
fourteen years, I have observed a number of things about the process itself and
how it has shaped us as we have walked through it. Those observations follow.
I believe I am far too hurried, rushed, and
too easily distracted from important matters and significant moments. In
the normal busyness of life as a fifty-four to sixty-eight-year-old person,
it’s really easy to miss the important moments of life because I am buzzing by
them in a blur. Even in my visits to my parents’ home I would be preoccupied
with text messages or phone calls, when I could have been paying better
attention to their questions or concerns. I am sure I would have gleaned more
wisdom from my father if I had simply left my phone in the car, stayed longer,
and listened more intently.
There is a wide
variety of ways families deal with crisis and stress. Some families deal with these matters
by acting if they are not real, hoping it all works out, denying the gravity of
the moment. Later in this process the grim reality hits them with a profound
thud and it crushes them emotionally. Other families deal directly with a
crisis, look it dead in the eye, and stoically move through the process. If
they respond emotionally, it’s done privately and all along the way. By the
time the crisis has culminated in death, they have largely processed the grief
and appear to others to be cold, emotionless, and even uncaring. None of those
perceptions are true; they have simply processed the grief across weeks or
months, rather than in hours or days. Neither way is better than the other.
There is plenty of room for grief and mourning to be done differently.
One can improve
his approach to these matters, even if he would rather simply avoid them. I grew up with a large extended
family, including grandparents and great-grandparents in both my paternal and
maternal families. Because of this I grew up in funeral homes. It was most
common to be at funeral visitations with my brothers, parents, dozens of aunts,
uncles, cousins, and grandparents. I thought this was everyone’s experience
until I married my wife. We were twenty-one and had welcomed our son to our
young family before she ever attended a funeral. It happened to be my
great-grandmother’s funeral and I was stunned by her response to what she was
seeing. It was a very emotionally difficult situation for her. In the years
since then, she is much better with crises, emergencies, and death, but it’s
certainly still very difficult.
After her mother’s
passing, my wife took on the role of matriarch for her entire family and she
does it quite well. It certainly stresses her, but she carries the
responsibility with grace and dignity. I now find myself as patriarch for our
clan and feel the weight of it. It comes with being the eldest brother and the
one living in closest proximity to our mother. Sharon and I are certainly
better at dealing with such issues of life today than we were in our twenties.
We have learned. We have grown. We have matured.
Embracing these
situations enriches one’s soul. I think there’s a natural, human desire to avoid pain,
crisis, and emotional trauma. We’re human and don’t like the pain. However, I
have learned that leaning into, embracing, and dealing directly with all such
matters enrich one’s soul. As painful as it was to witness the final breaths of
my mother-in-law and my father, these moments were full of important
connections, grieving expressions of release, and mournful emotions of profound
loss. I wear theses memories like scars on my soul; reminders of pain, but
memorials to rich relationships.
Having walked
through these experiences emboldens my heart for the arrival of the next
crisis. I don’t fear it, nor do I want to hasten it. I no longer see it as
something to avoid as a lethal enemy, rather I see it coming as a familiar,
severe acquaintance with whom to walk for a few hours, days, months, or years.