I know…another blog…blah, blah, blah…  I guess that’s why I haven’t done this sooner.  I don’t know that anyone will feel the need to read my ponderings, but I feel the need to write them, and hope they will be meaningful to others in some way.

I’ll begin this blog by saying that last year was one of the most challenging years of my life.

“I think your mom is dead.”  Those are the words dad used to awaken me on the morning of July 26th.  I had traveled down to Alabama to be with mom for about a month and a half before she died.  She had been in and out of the hospital for several months due to chronic emphysema and a collapsed lung.

I was working as a Resident Chaplain at a hospital in Virginia and ironically, was focusing on end-of-life care.  I wondered if God had brought me through the chaplaincy program especially for this.  I was grateful to have the opportunity to go and spend some quality time with my mom and assist my elderly dad in caring for her.  I knew that my chaplaincy training would be beneficial.

I asked mom’s doctor if we could take her home with hospice and she agreed that it would be appropriate…very appropriate; “home to die,” dad said.

For about a month dad and I provided around-the-clock care for mom, attempting to meet her many needs, watching helplessly as she slowly slipped away.  We changed diapers, washed her sheets, tried to find something she might want to eat, tried to offer conversation, tried to make her warm or cool.  Three times a day I ground up her many pills and pushed them into the port leading to her stomach.  And when she couldn’t breath I would provide her with the morphine that gave her some relief and allowed her to rest until the next go-round.

Hospice personnel would come and do their thing and they did an excellent job.  One of the nurse aids kept bringing us fresh produce from her garden – tomatoes, green beans.  Neighbors brought so much food that for weeks we didn’t have to cook anything.  What a blessing!

At one point I realized that mom’s death was growing close, but of course, was unaware of exactly when it might occur.  They say that it isn’t unusual for a dying person to have a brief rally right before the end, and that’s just what mom did.  Several nights prior, she announced that she wanted “some corn bread and collard-greens.”  And being in Alabama, naturally we had those items on hand.  And although mom had barely eaten anything for several weeks, she sat up and ate it all.  Several family members believed that it meant that mom was taking a turn for the better, and that surely, she would rally.  But I knew better.  I had been there when she couldn’t breathe, or eat, or speak…  And when she spoke to those who had already departed this life.

She asked me, “Is the car packed and ready?  We’ve got to have everything ready.”  I told her, “Yes, mama.  Everything’s ready.  You can go.”  And dad and I both cried.

I thought it would be later in the week when she passed, maybe even on the weekend…but on Monday evening, instead of watching a little television before the bedtime routine, I read her some of her favorite Scripture and I played her favorite gospel songs and I sang to her.

Around midnight dad awakened me and said that mom was having trouble breathing.  I gave her the medicine and we got back to bed about an hour later, once she had settled down.  I believe she died almost immediately.

Dad was sleeping on a couch next to her, and he was so sad that he didn’t somehow hear and awaken when she died.  And my preference would have been to be holding her hand when she passed.  But I truly believe that she chose the right moment and I have to be okay with that choice.

That was July. In August dad made the journey back to Virginia with me and now makes his home with us.  I never dreamed I would have the opportunity to spend quality time with my dad again.

And then, in November, there was a joyous wedding.  My son married the love his life and dad was able to attend with us.

Recently dad and my husband, Scott, traveled back down to Alabama to prepare dad and mom’s house to be sold.  When they returned they brought treasures I didn’t expect – old family photos and the family Bible.  And on my bedroom wall I placed a large piece of artwork that I had bought for mom and had hung in her dining room.  It has several beautiful little birds sitting on long blades of grass, with the words from Civilla D. Martin and Charles Gabriel’s beautiful hymn, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

And I am grateful.