Waiting for Death

countryside-2175353_1920Waiting for death is a strange thing.  When you know someone is going to pass; Death is coming; so you just know.  But it hasn’t hit you … yet.  You stay separated; almost disjointed from the shadowed life.  Decisions are made to try and restore life.  And we wait while dialysis is started and a heart attack ensues and then death; then revival… just barely alive.

And then decisions have to be made about what to do to continue the Life; try something; anything; the question of continued life support.  And the doctors give you time.  They give you time to think and grieve, to come to terms with the Life ending.  Even when the Life chose to drink Itself to this point of no return.  Even if the Life chose to separate Itself from everyone who loves and cares for the Life.

And we who are waiting, wait.  Not sure if there was something else we could have done.  Maybe we should have gone after and insisted on contact?  Maybe we should have forced phone calls and texts and visits? Could we have saved the Life or would we have driven It further away?

And I am thankful; thankful for a God who is right here in all of this.  And I wonder if this Life who is leaving this earth, knows that Jesus-brother was standing right there with the Life as he drank.  Did this Life know that Jesus-brother loved the Life so much that He stood right there and watched?  Watched His brother-son, drink himself into oblivion?

Does the Life know that right now Jesus-brother is in the room with him?  Does the life know that Holy Spirit-comforter resides in him, never left; even when the Life tried to push It out?  Does the Life know that Daddy-God is weeping for the pain and suffering this Life’s body went through?  That Daddy-God is weeping for the Life’s decisions to turn away from the Daddy-God’s promised journey for him?  Does the Life know that Daddy-God and Jesus-brother and Holy Spirit-Comforter are right here.  Waiting for their son-brother to come home?

Waiting for death.  How long will it take?  This waiting.

I Remember

I remember Grandma DeKezel,

            her colostomy bag full and oozing.

I remember smiling and chattering

            and easing her discomfort

            of being dependent upon my hands.

I remember her talk of sex

            and the loathing she had when Grandpa

            would touch her – until she was 30.

I remember the smile sliding across her face

            the twinkle in her eyes

            as she yearned for Grandpa then.

            Sex was not a sin.

I remember her finger pointing at the cabinet

            “Take the white China with the yellow flowers.

             Count it all and be sure it’s there.”

And I remember nodding no,

            “Keep it until next time I am here.”

I remember the silent, arguing stares

           over disappearing treasures

           before she was laid to rest.

I remember the harsh words zinging overhead

            because her children didn’t finish unfinished words

            in the space of her ensuing death.

I remember the chasm created

            in the wake of her death.

I remember thinking

            “They lost the chance to know their mother

             in the grace of ensuing death.”

            “They lost the chance for her to speak unspoken words

              that could not be said.”


My memory will never forget

            knowing my grandma