Having passed the age of fifty I have been more than once been privileged of sharing a good amount of time with someone who knew they would not live another six months. I'm not talking about having someone die. That's different.
Grandpa Louie died when I was in grade school. He was old and in difficult health. His lungs were shot from years of smoking. I recall it would take him twenty minutes to walk twenty yards. But he did walk them. He was up and about. The day he died he was touching up some window sills with paint. That's how Grandma Amy found him. She went outside to call him in for lunch and he was laying on his back with the brush in his hand. Grandpa knew he was going to die, and that he probably didn't have ten years left. But he could have had one, two, five or even nine.
Lynahr's baby died the day before my birthday the year I graduated from high school. Christopher wasn't even a year old. There was no reason to believe he would die. Lynahr put him in his crib, and some time during the night he quit breathing. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome is what they called it.
No, I'm talking about Daddy, who was told around his birthday in March that he had cancer. That fall he was told he would probably not see the new year. Typical of Daddy, he died on January 4th. What did the doctors know?
Uncle Durrel was told he had prostrate cancer. He went through the surgeries. The cancer came back. More surgeries. The cancer came back. Like Daddy, the doctor handed him his walking papers. There was nothing left to do but wait. Uncle Durrel would not see Christmas. He didn't make it to Labor Day.
Lynahr had something go terribly wrong during a routine medical examination just before Christmas in 2000. There were only two chances in a thousand something could wrong, and in the unlikely event it did, there were only two chances in a thousand it would be bad, and in that event there were only two chances in a thousand death would result. Lynahr won the lottery. By Independence Day it was clear to nearly everyone that Lynahr was not likely to see Christmas. She left with the others who died on September 11th, 2001.
Watching someone waste away fills one's stomach with bile. No day is a happy day, although there are many days one laughs. No day has contentment, although we eat, sleep, have sex, and do a host of other things which give a form of pleasure, but do not satisfy. The helplessness against inevitability makes us want to throw up. Sometimes we do.
Watching someone die slowly does something else to us. Something most of us are loth to confess. After all. Good people would not feel this way. What is this loathsome feeling? We get angry with God. Sometimes to the point of saying we hate him, and we will never forgive him for what he has done to this person/these people we love. If you have had to witness such a death of someone you love, or are witnessing it now, or are watching someone you love suffer beyond what you consider acceptable endurance, you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, just don't die. You will.
Most of the time we try to pretend, to others, but mostly to ourselves, that we are not upset with God. God knows what he is doing. It's in God's hands. It was the will of God. We say these things, and more. But the truth is, were God to come physically before us right now, we would beat the living p*ss out of him. We would slap him and punch him and beat on him with every ounce of energy we have. But don't dare admit that. That would be sinful, wouldn't it?
Or would it?
I regret my ignorance of Islam. I don't know what the Quran specifically has to say about God and truth. Judaism and Christianity share some common holy writings, and within those we are told: God is Truth. My guess is that Islam says virtually the same thing, if not exactly the same way. God is Truth. Okay. Good. So let us examine the logic.
God is truth. I am angry with God. My emotions tell me I hate God. When asked if I hate God, or even am angry with him, I deny it - because I want to please him.
Is God pleased? We're lying to his face. What is more, he is not fooled. God is Truth, remember? That means he already knows the truth. So denying it is worse than silly. That is a sin. I do not believe being angry with God, or even telling him - in a time of emotional stress - that we hate him, is. Why not?
Because God is Truth. He cannot deny himself. The truth is, we are angry with him. We do feel like we hate him. And do you know the best way to work through that? Tell him! Tell him everything.
It doesn't last long. I promise. Not if you truly believe you are communicating with God and not just ranting at a radio. Why not?
Because God will come to you. You do not need to go to him. He will come to you. You are trying to communicate with God, and God tells us that those who seek him will find him. He is as drawn to those who are seeking him as we are when our own children seek us. Having children helps in the understanding process.
God will let us rant. Many were the days in the basement of this house when I railed loudly against God. I threw things. I wept. I was so - angry. It hurt. It hurt to be angry with God. As with Spouse, or Son, love will just not allow the anger to last forever. Not once it's confessed. How many times have Spouse and I argued, and after saying what was true, wept in each other's arms and saw things from the other's perspective?
Why do you think it is that God is so forgiving? Because he is also Love. And Love responds to the truth. It just does.
There is no shame in being angry with God. There is no shame in feeling horrible things toward him. The shame is our not talking to him about it. But don't just say you hate him and leave. Stand with him. Argue your case. Present his crime/s. Soon, you will be in his embrace. He is not physical, but he will touch your spirit, and you will know he cries with you, and not against you. And somehow you will know everything will be all right. Faith and trust are born of love, you know.
6 comments:
I'll try again. I wrote a comment to your 100th blog, but it didn't post.
I like you blog name. I was going to use one similar, but changed it around to Sagewind Voices. (Poetry)
I like your writing.
My Mom was 95 and died in her sleep. That was a sweet death to me. I was comforted by the fact she had a good long life.
The year after that my Mother-in-law was diagnosed with ALS. She was only 79, an active, healthy woman. We lived in the same town and were active with hospice in her daily care.
Where I felt a sweet sense of peace about my own mothers death, this was very hard for me. I did feel angry. Not at God, but that circumstance would take the only mother I had left. And in such a hard way.
But the truth of this experience was that even as I was angry during this time, I was also healing at the same time. Somehow the caring for, making the passing easier for Libby, comforting her, comforted me too.
She ask me a month or so before she died what I thought happened after death.
I told her, "I believe the spirit is eternal."
She said, "I believe the light just goes out."
I told her how the spirit of my Mother visited me over and over in the first few months after she died, how I felt her presences.
She said, "I wish I could believe that."
"You can." I said. "I'll ask my Mom to meet you when you leave here."
My husband and I and most of the other five kids were there when she crossed the road to another country. As hard as it was, we all felt the peace she had in the leaving.
I've got comment moderation on, and I was away from the computer for several hours. Sorry.
"we all felt the peace she had in the leaving"
That's the key we who remain must remember. The misery is here. We're the ones who suffer - at the passing of those we love. The only thing they miss out on which is precious is us.
"My Mom was 95 and died in her sleep."
It is my conviction that this is the correct way for everyone to die. It's seem few are granted that.
The light does go on. God is Truth. God is Love. God is Light. God is Love.
Ah yes, here we are in the winter doldrums and our thoughts turn to Death. Is it because we were able to fend off those thoughts until Christmas? Is Death always looming just out of view while we distract ourselves with other things? I don't have a clue, but also allow this thought to loom--the tulip bulbs are only sleeping under the blanket of snow.
Yeah, winter in cold climates tends us that way.
Daddy died in January. Grandma's birthday is was in January. Lynahr's birthday was in March. Grandma died in March.
There may be something about that interminable stretch between holidays which wears us out.
But you're right: only seven weeks left of winter - officially. We'll see what the weather does.
Hi, Bevie. I'm new to your blog, but I was really moved by this post. I, too, have taken care of and, hopefully, eased the journey of a loved one as she died. The day-to-day, gritty parts -- doing things for her I couldn't even imagine myself doing -- were hard. I cried as I cleaned, turned, fed, and cared for her. And yet, at the same time, it felt to me like a blessing. I know that sounds strange, but somehow, it felt holy.
She was old, and her suffering didn't last for long -- like your family, once the diagnosis was given, she decided to die -- but the it felt long to me.
Your're right about this, too: it changes you.
I hope you heal.
"Hi, Bevie. I'm new to your blog
Welcome, Karen! Thank you for visiting. And thank you for commenting.
(I just made a quick visit to your blog. Wonderful poem! I wish I could write like you. [smiles])
"doing things for her I couldn't even imagine myself doing"
It's amazing what we can/will do when someone we love has needs, isn't it? The love of others is a true measure of the kind of people we are. I think so, anyway.
"it changes you"
Yes, it does. And, after the severity of pain has lessoned, I think most of the time for the better. It's only when we cannot let go of the pain that we do not rise up again higher.
I imagine if plants could talk they would tell us that pruning hurts. But for many plants it is completely necessary. If humans don't do it, nature will. There are shrubs outside our front door the rabbits are eating. By the time the snow melts they will be eaten down to the earth. By fall they will be four feet tall and wide and filled with yellow and purple blossoms. They will be beautiful.
God prunes people from our lives and it hurts, because we love them so much. The grieving time is good. But if we can get past it, then we will reblossom in beauty. Then, one day, we will be pruned from the lives of others - and they will become more beautiful.
Thank you for coming, Karen. I hope you come back. You will be welcomed.
Have a good day.
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