Grief is not a bandaid

To be quite honest with you, last night as I laid in bed, I wondered if I'd ever have the desire to write again. I wondered if the events of the day would affect me to the point that even writing would bring no release, no satisfaction. Life changed yesterday at 537am, a time that will forever be stamped on my mind's eye. I can still see the red numbers on the DVR box as clearly as if I was looking at it now.
537am was the time I got the call. The call I had been dreading for weeks. The call that announced that gma had won her race.
The house phone (yes, we still have one of those because we live in the sticks) has spent its nights tucked away, between my pillow & Brian's for at least a week. With its early morning ring, I knew exactly what to expect on the other end. And yet oddly, the first thought that crossed my mind was, "No regrets. You've lived the past 13 weeks with no regrets." It was no doubt God's comforting voice speaking to me.
I answered. Momma was sobbing. I knew & simply relied, "I'm on my way." I slipped my worn out rubber boots on, reached for the first flashlight I could find, and walked out the back door. Poor Brian was still trying to get dressed as he chased me outside, "Hey, do you want me to come?" "Please."
We walked in silence through the field to gma's. I diligently placed one foot in front of the other as I made my way up the stairs & into the house. I could hear the hymns playing on the cd player, the same ones momma, Erin & I had sung to her the night before. I peeked around the bedroom doorframe, as I have many times over the past 13 weeks. My momma was there, crying. I heard my daddy sniffle, a sound I've heard very few times in my life. I took a step back to compose myself again.
Apparently they saw us. I was in no hurry. Momma needed her time alone. Daddy stepped out a few minutes later & said, "You can come in." Daddy pointed me to the chair beside momma and so I sat down. We listened as she heartbreakingly went through each time she had gotten up during the night. She had given gma medicine at this time & that, almost as if she felt the need to give me a nurse's report. I listened and nodded. She had read from Psalms at 1030 and 230 when gma was fretful. The overpowering authority in God's words had calmed gma during those moments.
I anxiously listened as momma drew closer to the current time. Had God answered my prayer that momma not be in the room at the time? Would she have to live with the memory of that last gasp of air for the rest of her life? Did she have to watch gma struggle to the finish line even more?
She had checked on gma at 510 and had gone to attempt to figure out the day. At 525 she returned to her vigilant post. In God's mercy & grace, he indeed spared my momma from those memories as Jesus had taken gma's hand, just as momma let go, and walked her home. I imagine it was a lot the same way he did Enoch. "You've come so far, let's go on to My house this time."
Honestly for me to tell you about the rest of the morning, it would require me writing a book. The graciousness of God in allowing Laura to literally guide the funeral home to the house, insuring she would get to see gma before she was gone. The graciousness of the funeral directors in not covering her face as she left that house one more time. She was my gma, not just a body they had come to retrieve. My daddy wrapping his arms around me as I tried to busy myself by washing the sheets and doing the dishes. I'm sure no one else knew what to do with me at that point. I just needed to do something. The alertness of my family when my brother got home from work so that I could run to meet my son who works the same shift.
Then there were my babies. I would have to tell them that life had changed. And so, I did. After some time, their response was, "Can we go over there?" With no one in the house, I knew this was the time we needed. We piled up in that creaky, striped down hospital bed and Brian thanked God for Gigi. He thanked God for her unconditional love for us. He thanked God that because of Gigi we know him more. That was what they needed.
I cried myself to sleep on that bed a few minutes later. That was what I needed. Then I waited for the furniture man to come gather the things. The sound of that unplugged oxygen machine was deafening. He was so gracious when he got there though. He could tell I was holding it together as best I could. Every question was answered with a gentle, "Yes ma'am." or "No ma'am. You're fine."
I intentionally fell asleep before dark as the dread of an evening without my routine drew near. I texted Aunt Birdie at 8 with a simple "I love you" which spurred a two hour conversation sitting on gma's front porch as both of us felt lost.
Today, I've managed to walk from my bed to the lazy boy and back countless times. Drifting listlessly. As the evening drew near, momma texted to ask what I was doing. She & daddy were out walking between the four houses. I again slipped my boots on & walked out the backdoor. Together we walked aimlessly around, talking & crying some more. When we were ready, we walked through the backdoor together. There were phone calls still to be made that only gma had numbers for. The front porch light had burned out during the night. There were a few things I needed to grab from the fridge. Then, we locked the doorknob and walked out. We had done it. We had made it back into the house & then back out before the darkness set in. That was also exactly what we needed.
Over the past 36 hours, I've come to hate how I can be perfectly ok one moment and sobbing the next. Strong, then oh so very weak. But this is the way that grieving works. It's not a bandaid we can put on to cover those sudden outbursts of emotions we feel. Nor is it something we can rip off quickly so that the sting is momentary.
Life has changed. I asked my friend today what a care giver is supposed to do when there is no care left to give. This is it. Grieve. Mourn. Sing. Be thankful. Cry. Sleep. The lostness I feel each evening will wain with time. Very slowly, bit by bit, we will do exactly what we feel we can for the day, no more, no less. We are just as dependent on God's faithfulness & strength as we were when we began this journey. He has given us exactly what we needed for each moment and will continue to do so. We will laugh together & tell stories of gma. We will cry together. We will read the online guest book together & marvel at the common thread of "Lived her life for Jesus" in every post. We will take each step in faith that the Love that has never failed us before will not fail us yet.
Know that we cherish each word taken before the throne on our behalf as we live out the groaning in Romans 8. Please don't feel the need to ask me if I'm ok though. The resounding answer in my soul is no and yes. I reminded my kids Sunday that the second gift God gave us was a family. And mine is pretty awesome. None of us are ok. And we won't be for a while. But at least we're not ok together.