I thought I heard something.
I shot up out of bed, startled. Where was I? What time was it?
The hospital. 3:15am.
My brother was standing at the foot of the bed. I had this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach. It had been there for days. He spoke. “I think we just lost her.”
One Week Earlier
I was driving home for the weekend. The two-hour drive was normally tedious for me, but there were blue skies and sunshine, so it wasn’t so bad. With about a half hour left to go, I received a call from my mom. “You better come straight to the hospital. We had to bring Nana in. She wasn’t feeling well.” This was not out of the ordinary. My grandma hadn’t been truly healthy for years. There were many trips to the doctor for checkups and even to the hospital to receive extra blood.
When I arrived at the hospital, Nana and some of the family were waiting in the emergency room. It was usually a long wait. After visiting for awhile, mom and I decided to head home and grab dinner. They were going to keep Nana overnight, so we would go in and visit again the next morning.
I remember the phone call. Mom and I were getting ready to head in to the hospital. I could tell by her tone of voice that it wasn’t good. That’s when the awful feeling in my stomach began.
It was congestive heart failure. In order to fix it, they would have to do open-heart surgery. But everyone knew that Nana could not withstand open heart surgery. There was no timeline for how long it would take, but she would not leave the hospital.
My grandpa was devastated. I guess when you love someone for that long, your hearts began to meld together. When one heart stops beating, part of the other one does as well.
She was coherent the first few days. I can’t remember what was said now, but I remember talking with her. I’m sure she said “I love you, sweetheart,” and I’m sure I said it back. I wish I could remember more.
After a couple of days, my two uncles and my mom had to go back to go back to their jobs – for fear of losing them. They would visit as often as possible – before work, after work, even on lunch breaks. Their return to work, however, left my grandpa, my brother, my cousin, and myself (with the help of an aunt) to stay with my grandma. Don’t be mistaken, I cherish every moment I had with Nana, but it was one of the most difficult weeks of my life.
I became a nurse. I learned how to turn her in her bed and readjust the pillow under her head. The checked her vitals every two hours – heart rate, oxygen levels in the blood, blood pressure, temperature. I always kept track so I could update the family…and so that I would know when the numbers began to change significantly. I seldom left her side. I would make one trip home a day, to shower and eat. We stayed over every night. My grandpa would fall asleep in the chair. I would sleep from around 10:00pm until around 3:00am. Around then, my brother would wake me up so he could sleep awhile. My cousin kept us company when he could.
I remember calling my friends during the days, desperate for prayer. I was so tired. I was SO tired. But I knew that I had to prepare myself. I didn’t know how many days and nights we would have. I felt like a character from Lord of the Rings, when he described himself as feeling “Thin… like butter scraped over too much bread.” My body, my mind, and my spirit were all weak.
It was the fourth night of staying at the hospital almost continually. She has been unresponsive for the last twenty-four hours. When I went to sleep, her hands felt clammy, and I knew that was not good.
When my brother woke me, I was almost angry. Why hadn’t they gotten me sooner? I know now that she had faded quickly. I ran to her bedside. She was still breathing slow, labored breaths. We began making phone calls. The family would be coming soon. I took her hand and stroked her hair, but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t say anything. I just sat there, watching and knowing that she was going to die and there was nothing I could do to change that. Thankfully, the nurse spoke comforting words on our behalf.
I remember thinking about the song lyric from Jars of Clay. “The part of me that breathes when you breathe is losing time.” I wept, but it didn’t ease the pain searing through my heart. I watched her breathe, holding my breath until she took another gasp. There were several times that so much time passed between breaths that I thought she was gone. And then it was over.
I remember not wanting to let go of her hands. I knew it would be the last time I would feel their warmth. Her hands were always warm.
Death is a road we all must take. I am reminded of a conversation in LOTR: Return of the King between wise Gandalf the White and humble, brave Pippen of the Shire. They were awaiting probable death.
Pippen: I didn’t think it would end this way…
Gandalf: End? No, the journey doesn’t end here… Death is just another path, one that we all must take… The grey rain curtain of this world rolls back and all turns to silver glass… and then you see it…
Pippen: What, Gandalf? See what?
Gandalf: White shores… And beyond… A far green country under a swift sunrise.
Pippen: Well, that isn’t so bad.
Gandalf: No… no it isn’t.
I believe we do not end in a hospital room. I believe that we continue to exist after we die. I believe that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoevere believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. I believe that the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord. I believe that if you confess with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (John 3:16, Romans 6:23, Romans 10:9) This I believe.
