The Mother Hen

The Beginning of the End

Probably the biggest hurdle to getting back in to blogging is knowing that I need to to blog about losing Grama before I can blog about anything else. And the kids' Halloween candy...that delicious goodness is also a hurdle.

I know you'd all, and by you all I mean Bestie Kim and Christene Johnson who are my only remaining readers, would still read if I just jumped into Samuel's epic melt down over wearing eyeliner on Halloween night and just completely skipped over the last 2 months.

With that said, for myself, I need to write about this. I was explaining to Bestie Maryanne yesterday that I've come to a good place: I have a deep wound but it is sufficiently scabbed over. To write about it will reopen that and I need to do it because I don't believe I've "dealed" with it. I'm a processer and I do that through writing/journaling and I have not had the time, nor the courage, to begin to do that.

November is blogging month and I guess bloggers try to blog once a day during blogging month. I'm hoping to blog once a day for the rest of the month and redevelop that muscle and maybe do a little healing in the meantime.

It was Wednesday, August 2nd, and I was having brunch with Bestie Kristan at French Press. I told her that Grama had worsened and that Hospice Sherry had called me that morning to tell me she thought it was nearing the time for me to come. Only the day before I had spoken to Grama on the phone and she was confused, restless, journeying back through time and asking me to be with her "in the end." As usual she was funny; I said "Grama, you really think it is close?" She replied, "Yes. Maybe this week or next." There was a long pause while I collected myself and she added dryly, "Or maybe a year." Hilarious.

Over our quiches Kristan encouraged me to go, she reminded me I would never regret the time.

All morning long I had been praying for God to show me whether or not it was indeed time to go. How can one predict death? How can a person just put a life on hold in Oregon indefinitely to go sit in Montana while one life ends? I was torn. I desperately wanted to be with my Grama. I wanted to hold her hand, to comb her hair, to kiss her face. I was tired of updates over the wire and wanted to be there. Grama had never asked much of me and she had clearly asked me the day before to be with her.

I wrestled, round and round, with the question of "what if?" What if I go out there and spend a few weeks, a month, and she doesn't die. Am I ok with that? Am I ok going out there and then not going back until it is time to bury her? What if she's right and she knows and it really is close? How will I forgive myself if I don't go and she dies without me kissing her one more time.

I prayed to God, "If I should go to Montana, give me a sign." I was going to set out my fleece: if Al was supportive and said to go, I would go. If he was hesitant and worried about coverage in the office I would wait it out until Gigi worsened.

After brunch with Kristan, I called Mom while driving to the office. "I don't know what to tell you" she said. "I will just pray that God shows you through Al if you should come or not." My jaw dropped. That was exactly what I was praying. I told her that and we both marveled at how God moves and works and orchestrates. God still speaks to us. If we will listen, God still speaks.

So I went to work, talked to Al and awaited his response. Without even asking to think about it he said, "You need to go."

Wow.

Humbled at God speaking so clearly to me and humbled at Al's kindness.

Sweet Deb had said she would drive out there with the kids and me if when it came time Jeff couldn't go with us and then just fly back to Oregon. Hot Jeff decided he couldn't go with us for an indefinite amount of time but would fly out for the funeral and then drive us home so Deb and I set our sights on Friday deciding that tomorrow, Thursday, we would use to pack and get ready.

At 5:00 that same, long afternoon Hospice Sherry called and asked what I had decided. I told her I would be coming on Friday. She paused. "Should I come sooner?" I asked. She said she thought I should, Grama seemed to moving quickly through the last stages of the dying process. I hung up quickly and called Deb to see if she could leave by 8:30. She could.

There would be no words for my surprise when I saw my Gigi 23 hours later.