Whispers in the wind...

(this is not a photo of gma sleeping -- this is how she is all the time now, she was moaning a little and i felt she wanted to sing along with some of the hymns. i hope this isn't too disturbing for some of you. i gasp when i first walk into her room now... it is so hard to see her deteriorating like this!)

The last good visit I had with my matriarch was all about death. She grabbed my hands and she asked me to help her die. She said she felt it was time and she needed my help. I openly cried. Tears pouring down my face not because I'm not ready to let her go, but because of the healing in my heart from having that visit with her. I said good-bye to her, told her how much she means to me, openly crying, shamelessly grieving... It wasn't just her I was talking to. It wasn't just her hands I was caressing and kissing. It wasn't just her hair I was stroking. It wasn't just her eyes I was kissing... It was so healing to have the chance to say okay, you're going to die? I love you and I'll miss you and I'll never forget you... All the things I would've given anything to be able to do and say 7 years ago...


But how do you help someone die? I've been praying to God several times a day to please come and take her home. I've been whispering into the wind to my mum and dad to come and take her hand and help her cross over. I've been talking to the birds and the stars and the clouds and even to my chickens, appealing to the spirits they carry to assist her in letting go... And I have a candle almost constantly lit, sending her my courage and my love.


She hasn't been able to speak since that visit. She can't open her eyes and she can barely swallow a drop of water at a time. She can't form words, but she tried to say my name last night when I went to hold her hand. She's definitely still there, it's evident she's wanting to communicate, but she can't. Last night I fed her her medicine a drop at a time and then some water a drop at a time and as she struggled to swallow, coughing and sputtering, I sang to her. I sang her old favourite hymns, any that I could find that were comforting and encouraging of her letting go.


I talk to God with her into her ear, being her voice as I know her mind is fuzzy. I say "I'm ready, dear God, to come and rest with you. I've lived my life for you, sweet Jesus, and I need your help in crossing over to you. Show me the light that is brighter than than the noonday sun and I will follow you home... Please God, take me home..." And then I leave her with the hymns ringing in her ears and the peace of God in her heart.


I can't do anything else... but sit with her whenever I can get away and make the trek to her bedside. I'm not a singer, and the nurses and aides peek their heads in the door too (!) often, nodding encouragement, tears in their eyes, offering to bring me drinks... Not stiff enough ones though... But I keep my courage up and sing loudly to her because the courage it requires to sing hymns to a deaf woman in the quiet of a nursing home surely pales in comparison to the courage it requires to let go and soar into the sky...


Light a candle for Grandma, if you will. She just needs a few more prayers to let her spirit soar. She thanks you. and loves you. Me too.