*This was one of the hardest pieces for me to write, but also one of the most healing. It is not fiction. Not one word of it. And to lay it bare was one of the most terrifying things I have ever done. And it let go of some of that bitter hurt that had been lodged in my heart for a while now. It didn't fix it, didn't make the hurt go away... but it did change things.
I held her hand. I held it like it was my life line, but I held it like you would hold a baby bird. Gently, but with more need than I have ever felt in my life. This was the hand that had stroked my hair thousands of times to comfort me. This was the hand that cupped my face when she looked in my eyes and told me she loved me. This was the hand that rubbed my back as I fell asleep for years. This thin skinned, twisted hand was the strength of the world. The rock I clung to and the anchor in my heaving seas. Now it was the sea itself. There was no tension, no pain twitching the muscles. Just at peace. How often had I longed for her to have peace? To be free of pain? I stayed awake nights praying for hours on end for this. But not like this. I looked up and watched her chest rise and fall. And knew the steady rythm was numbered. 4 hours. I look up at the clock again. 3hours and 59minutes. How do you measure life? In daylight? In sunsets? In midnights and cups of coffee? No. In minutes. In heartbeats. In breaths. In circles drawn with your thumb gently on the aged skin.
How was I going to do this? What in Gods name do you do when someone tells you that your home, the very thing that gave you spirit and life will be gone in 4 hours? You sit. You sit and pray. You make phone calls. You pray some more. You try to find some peace so that there is no anger near them as they go. You sob uncontrollably first, then you sit and hold that hand. That precious gift that was yours for so long. And you prepare to put it down and walk away. Prepare is the wrong word, there is no way to truly prepare. No, you steel yourself to be able to walk away without screaming, without running back and clinging desperately to the sheets. You think of all the joy you had and what peace is coming for them now. You focus on the fact that there will be no more pain for them. You imagine them young and dancing again. You imagine that they will not miss you because in heaven they can still see you and they are at ultimate peace. You beg. You beg with every fiber of your being, silently, that somehow this is just a dream. That there is a miracle coming. That they will open their eyes. That the dr. is wrong.
The support comes, the few family members who are really the friends that make up your true family-the in laws, the best friends who consider themselves sisters, the people who love her- far better than just the flesh and blood family who can’t be there. They cry, they reach out for your shoulder. Part of you wants to reach out to them too, but you simply can’t let go of her hand. No, you have to stay here and though your skin, your very being show her how much you love her and that you’ll be here no matter what. You somehow try to say in that touch that it’s ok. That you understand and that you’ll let go when you have to. You lie. You mean it, but deep deep down it’s a lie. The friends whisper words of thanks, of gratitude, of sorrow, but mostly of love. Of how that face touched them and changed their lives. You listen not because you mean to eavesdrop but because it is further proof that the hand you hold truly does belong to a saint. To a person who brought joy and love and laughter and comfort to so many.
You try to joke, to laugh. Like some surreal dream you hold your world ending but chat like it’s a high school reunion. How are the kids? Isn’t it strange that we don’t have snow yet? Noone really means it. It’s what they say to keep from screaming “no!!! this isn’t fair! STOP IT!!!”. It’s what they do to keep control, control of the one thing they can....themselves.
It’s the same reason you don’t let go of that hand. You can’t control what is coming, but you can control how it happens. You can keep love and touch and some sense of togetherness longer. When you look up to her face your gaze doesn’t last as long. It’s easier to stare at a hand, you’re not expecting a hand to light up and smile at you. You’re not longing to see the unspoke words of love and acceptance in that hand. No it has simply always been the tool of physically showing it. It has always just simply been touch, and looks now just as it did then. Other than the lack of pain twisted muscles, it is the same. So in that way it is even better to look at. It is a reminder that this means release and relief. Stroking the soft fragile skin you start to realize what it all means.... then bury it again right away.. Now is not the time. Later.
You look up at the clock. 1hour. Where did the time go? Surely you haven’t been sitting in the same spot for 3 hours. For that matter, where did the food come from in here? Someone brought burger king? Why? ah yes it made them feel useful. Oh God it feels like time is rushing in. Shouldn’t someone be rushing in saying “we read the test wrong! she will wake up!” right about now? It’s getting awfully close isn’t it?
You place your other hand on her arm. Rubbing gently to bring some love and comfort to her even though you know she probably can’t feel anything anymore. You know she certainly won’t be able to respond, but you do it as if she can anyway. You never know. Somewhere in there she might be aware, they might be wrong about that. You lean over and whisper “I love you mama. Thank you so much for everything. Don’t forget I love you ok? I’ll be ok, I promise.” You finally let your head rest on her chest. That pillow of comfort and unconditional love that had been your resting place your entire life. Your safe harbor. You hear her heartbeat strong against your face and wonder how it can be so strong and yet she’s going. You lay there for a time, just taking in her smell, her heartbeat.
Eh hem. A voice. Not one that belongs here. It’s time. Suddenly your heart starts hammering. No. Not yet. How can they know? Her body is still here, still functioning. Her hand feels like the last solid thing in the world. You’re supposed to put it down now. You’re supposed to walk away. The machines will keep the shell of a body functioning till they can get the organs. That’s what you’re supposed to refer to her as now, a body. But this woman was life itself. Personality through the roof... how can that be gone? Surely you can will her eyes open. You pour all your love and desperation and feined acceptance into that hand. You try to meet other peoples eyes, thinking they can’t see the panic in your eyes. You carress that soft, thin skin over and over again. You finally make yourself stand up. The tears are fighting to break though in torrents, you turn to this body now and say two words “Thank You”.
And then you let go.
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