Five long years

 Exactly five years ago at this very moment, at  5:15 p.m.,  I held your hand as you took your last breath.  I still can’t believe that.  Five long years of learning how to say good bye to someone we loved so much.

I could feel your presence today.  I could almost feel the weight of your hand in mine.  And I wanted so badly to be able to hold that hand again.  I close my eyes and I’m transported back to that moment.  Standing beside your bed, holding your hand in mine, talking to you, telling you I was going to go home for a few minutes to see my boys’ and that I would be right back.  I know you could hear me, you always heard me.  And when I mentioned the boys’, I know that you missed them.  I know you wanted me to be there with you, you always said that.  You always said I would be able to handle it.  And I did, I don’t know how, but I did.  That last tight squeeze of my hand when I said I was leaving made me stay a moment longer just to hold your hand.  I didn’t know that it was your way of telling me it was time to stay, not go.  That it was your time to go, not mine.  You took one last deep breath and suddenly it was as if you were at total peace.  Holding my hand gave you the strength to leave.  I know you didn’t want to go, we didn’t want you to go either.  But you fought a good fight.  When they said you wouldn’t be with us long you proved them wrong time and time again.  We had three years to prepare for that moment.  But a million years would have never been enough to prepare for that.

I didn’t leave.  I stayed with you for hours afterwards.  Sitting in silence looking at you laying there, at peace finally, and without worldly pain anymore.  I couldn’t be angry for you leaving because I know the cancer that took over your body didn’t play fair and it made everyday a struggle.  I am thankful that you held on for so long even without a fair fight.  

I have a picture that I will forever treasure.  It was the very last picture that ever captured your image.  It was you meeting your grandson for the very first time.  It was you holding him close to you for the first, and last, time.  I don’t see the sickness that surrounded you, I don’t see the oxygen mask that helped you take those last few precious breaths.  What I see is the gleam in your eye as you held that new life in your arms.  That little boy that you waited so long to meet.  That 3 week old little boy who carried your Dad’s name.  When we had last spoke on the phone and you asked when we were coming to visit again I told you it would be a while since I had just had the baby and it was January and I wanted everyone to be healthy before coming to see you.  You told me that you didn’t think you’d be around that much longer.  I laughed it off, because for 3 years that was what everyone thought.  And for 3 years you proved everyone wrong.  I didn’t want to believe that you maybe had some insight into something I would never understand.  So when I got the call you were in need of going to the hospital I knew the only place that I needed to be in the world was at your side.  

I remember how your face lit up when we all walked into your room.  You had a room full of people, all gathered in trepidation of what lie ahead.  But you lit up to see me and the two boys’ walk through that door.  You seemed to perk up just a little bit more.  And I knew that you were comfortable now that I was at your side.  You were at peace knowing I was close.  I am thankful that I was able to bring that comfort to you when it seemed no one else could.

That last night with you was trying.  You asked me to stay, not to leave you for the night because you didn’t think you would live to see morning.  So I stayed.  Mom stayed.  We sat there in the dimly lit room, talking quietly, watching TV, and just being quiet as you slept.  I stayed on a cot right beside your bed so that you would I wouldn’t leave.  But you couldn’t see me and would call out to make sure I was still there.  So I sat next to your bed so you could always see me and feel my presence next to you.  Sleep was not important when I knew that you needed me.  I know you thought you wouldn’t make it to see the morning, but you did.  And when the morning came I had a hard decision to make.  I had been told you would never go home again.  That I needed to find a hospice place to put you in.  You had always told me you would never go to a nursing home.  But I went, I picked out a beautiful place for you to live for your final days.  And when I returned I told you all about it.  I know you understand why I had to do it, why I had to find that place.  I know that you knew it was not of my choosing, but that it was the only option left for us.  But we had an understanding that  went unspoken.  You never wanted to go to a place like that, no matter how nice. and I never wanted to put you in a place like that, no matter how nice.  When I was explaining all of this to you a calm came about us, it was a palpable feeling in the room between you and I.  And somehow, we both knew that you would never step foot in that beautiful place I had picked out for you.  Because there was an even more beautiful place waiting for you.

The day went on, your  breathing became more labored.  And I sat quietly in a chair watching your chest rise and fall.  Sitting anxiously on the edge of that chair every time the spaces between each breath became longer and longer.  And I waited.  I reflected.  I relived my life with you.

When your own family left, I stayed.  My Mom stayed.  Steadfast to the end, just like you had always been for us.  And when that time came for you to say good bye to all of us for the last time, we were standing around your bed.  Mom was going to stay with you while I ran to see the boys’.  But that was not how you wanted things to end.  You wanted me to be there.  So I was.

On Valentine’s Day, I went and arranged your funeral.  I picked out the beautiful place that you would eternally rest in peace.  It was copper colored, the closest thing I could get to brown, your favorite color.  It was beautiful, and it suited you perfectly.  I chose the flowers that would adorn the spaces around you.  A special little bouquet is with you still from your grandsons.  I chose the suit you wore to my wedding just 7 short years before.  You bought it special just for me, so it was as if a part of me was going with you too.  

On your oldest grandson’s 3rd birthday we celebrated your life.  We gathered together to see you for the first time in the 4 long days since you had left us.  I remember walking into that funeral home and into the room where you lay.  And I could not take those final steps to the front to see you.  I spent much of that time looking from afar.  When it was almost time to go I  went to see you.  You looked just like you did my entire life.  There was no sign of the illness that had ravaged your body for 3

years.  I was amazed and yet it made it even more sad to see you there looking as if you were simply sleeping.  K didn’t have a birthday that year, he says that it was the day he said goodbye to his Grandpa.  He remembers it as if it were yesterday.  I’m sure it will be a day that he never forgets.

At your service the minister read a poem I had written just for you.  I knew there was no way I could ever stand before those people in the church and say all those words that I wanted to say.  No one knew that I had done that.  So it was a surprise for everyone there.  Somehow, I knew that you would have liked it.

I watched as they lowered you into your final resting place.  I had to.  It was the final step to the journey I had taken with you for the past 31 years of my life.  You are only a few steps away from Grandma, Grandpa, Uncle Kenny, Aunt Avis and Uncle Ken.  It was like a homecoming with family.  I knew they would all be there waiting for you.

As you know the next couple of years proved to be very trying for me.  You had always kind of known that,you told me that is why you chose me to handle your estate.  You said that of everyone you knew, you knew I was the best one to handle it all.  At one of our last visits while you were still at home, while we sat quietly just the two of us going over your wishes you said that I was the closest thing in life you had to a daughter, and you would always consider me to be your daughter.  I felt honored that you felt that way, because you were the greatest blessing in my life too.  You may never know just how much you impacted my life and how that influence is passing on to my children now.

We speak of you often.  K likes to remember you and talk about all the good times.  He may have only been 3 when you left us, but he has not forgotten you.  In a few days he will be turning 8.  This week is a hard one for all of us as we  move forward to that day.  It’s a time of celebration, of his birthday and of your life.  J and E never had the chance to get to know you.  But we share our memories with them too so it’s as if they had that privilege.  We have pictures to remember you by.  We have items of yours to surround us.  But best of all, we have our memories of you and they will never be forgotten.

Five years.  Seems like only moments ago that my life changed forever.  Hard to believe that in a flash that moment has been five long years already.  I feel your presence, I feel the weight of your hand in mine.  But mostly, I feel the love and honor in my heart that I had for you.  And the longing that it could have been many, many more years of memories that could have been made.  But I am glad you are at peace and no longer in pain.  I would never wish that on you.

Continue to watch over us.  We’ll continue to love you and remember you fondly.  May you rest in peace, now and forever.  We love you….