You know, the original thought this morning of stopping by the hospital to see Grandma was quick - light almost - in the way it was suggested. At the moment it came out of my mouth I had no grasp of how much it would impact, most possibly, the rest of my life and my outlook on death. We parked, stepped outside into the beautiful, almost-Spring, sunny weather. It smelled fresh and crisp, but where the sun hit my body I felt that rush of warmth - on the broadness of my back under my jacket, across my face as I squinted against it, soaking through the layers on my arm as I walked around the side of the car. Kyle unbuckled Katie from her seat and handed me the diaper bag as she eagerly wriggled herself free. He joked with me about walking like I had a wooden leg since my leg had fallen asleep and I really needed to take it slow so as not to attract too much attention from others in the parking lot. We chuckled with each other, took each other's hand, and made our way into the Main Entrance of Stevens Hospital in Everett, Washington.
We stepped into the elevator and pressed '8' while the doors closed behind us. We spent the next few moments explaining to Katie where we were and who we were going to see. It's really been amusing - ANYTIME someone mentions 'great grandma' or 'grandma', Katie immediately follows it up with inquiries as to where "papa" is. We smiled and explained that we would not see papa today because he was sleeping after a long night awake with Great Grandma. (I think she has a 'thing' for both of her papas - interpretation: Grandpa.)
We made our way to Grandma's single-occupant room and walked in. She lay in her bed behind the half-drawn curtain so as not to be privy to everything happening just outside in the hallway - nurses darting back and forth, other visitors stretching their legs and gathering their thoughts about THEIR loved ones, the dogs on leashes prancing up and down the hallway during their weekly visit to the Oncology floor, etc. She is laying with her legs tucked under a pillow and her arms resting on her belly. She is thin. The bed is elevated just enough so that she feels interactive and a part of things although she spends much of her time roaming in and out of consciousness. Her hair is clean but sticks straight back from her forehead as many people have spoken comforting words into her ear while running their hand gently over her forehead and back over her head, or they've simply used it as a way of caressing her as she falls back asleep for what may be the last time.
The 'edge' is gone. Grandma's frustrations about her body and the cancer that has taken over, her irritation towards anyone who tries to care for her TOO much - which simply means more than her dignity can handle, her brash comments about anything or anyone... all have simply vanished and all that's left is a frail, meek, beautiful spirit that speaks oh so softly and soaks in only the most precious of moments. She keeps her attention on Katie and wants to make sure that Katie is close by - they speak to each other in another language about the baby in Mommy's tummy, about the stuffed bird that chirps when you squeeze it, about kissing the teddy bear, about holding hands, about ANYTHING!, and each of them thoroughly enjoys the company of the other - it's written all over their faces. I take a moment to step out into the hallway and speak with Aunt Barb who enlightens me to the latest information - the simple fact that Grandma's not so sure everyone ELSE is ready for her to go. The fact that Grandma needs to be told, "it's ok to go." My throat catches and I ask myself, 'is Grandma onto something? ARE we ready? Is Katie ready? Is Kyle ready?' I think for a moment to make sure I'm not about to tell my grandmother something that isn't true. 'Yes, I'm ready. We are all ready.' I walk back in with a different agenda than I had walked into the room with only minutes before when we arrived. I sit down at Marian's side and gently grab her hand, she turns her head ever so slowly towards me and peers at me from underneath her heavy eyelids. I think she knows I have something to say and before I have a chance to speak she says, "Krista." She licks her lips and takes a deep breath. She continues, "I don't have..." another long sigh and deep breath, "many hours to go." I smile with a peace that God is WITH ME. I tell her that I know and it's ok. Katie jumps from Kyle's lap and around the end of the bed into my arms - she wants to be a part of the conversation that Grandma and I are having. I affirm in her that Katie will be telling her baby brother (name inserted here because we told Grandma on Monday) all about her Great Grandma Schei. Katie points to my belly when I say her brother's name and Grandma smiles peacefully. With a few more shifts in conversation and events such as getting Katie some more juice, Grandma insisting that we get Katie a cookie (there were always cookies on top of Grandma's fridge that Katie was allowed to eat), and readjustments of the bed, Kyle and I switch sides so that I can sit in the chair to her left and he stands opposite me. Barb takes Katie to go look at the puppy roaming the hallway so as to give Kyle and I some alone time. This is it. This is the moment. My heart is racing and I pray for courage. How do I convey to Kyle what we need to be using this moment for? He doesn't know that Grandma needs his 'release' so I begin speaking to Grandma in hopes that Kyle will understand and assume the same posture. I whisper to her the 'release' that God lays on my heart and she listens so intently - a calm comes over her and I look at Kyle. "Kyle will you pray please." Kyle bends over Grandma's face and asks quietly, "Grandma, can we pray with you?" She responds with a confused look on her face and Kyle repeats his question. The moment she comprehends what Kyle is asking permission for she quickly lets go of my hand and takes Kyle's one hand in both of her's. She's surprisingly energetic all of a sudden and with such thirst she shakes his hand and says, "oh please! Yes! Please!" She stares at Kyle's face with desperation as she awaits the next few seconds before he begins to pray. She is so hungry for prayer! I've never seen her like this before! I begin to cry and Kyle smiles at his grandmother as he looks into her eyes and begins to pray.
It is an incredible time of communion with the Living God. He touched us. He was there with us. For a moment I thought that maybe everything would just stop. The machines would go quiet, the room would be completely empty, the sounds right outside the window would fade away and we just may get the opportunity to see God for a moment with Grandma. It was so intense for me. I will never in my lifetime forget what that felt like. We opened our eyes and Grandma sat in complete stillness. Peace. Calm. Katie's wonderful voice brought us so sweetly back to the earthly moment as she entered the room - perfect timing, Katie. Perfect timing. We spent only minutes after that prayer in the room with everyone. We caressed Grandma's hands and forehead and kissed her face for one last time, as did Katie. I walked from the room light as a feather and briefly chatted with Uncle Loren who was right outside. Down the elevator and back out into the fresh, crisp almost-Spring air. There was almost a gallop in my walk while at the same time a dense-ness about my spirit. Kyle, Katie and I followed closely behind a family with a young daughter who resembled, what I remember thinking, Katie may look like in a couple of years as we strolled down the sidewalk - long, blonde curly hair halfway down her back. She was wearing a little jean skirt, pink long-sleeved shirt with fur around the wrists and tennis shoes. I remember everything so vividly. The smell was incredible, the wind was chilly, the Subaru was so clean! (I do remember thinking that as we walked towards it), Katie was beautiful as the wind tossed her tuft of curls around her face, my husband was everything I could ever hope for, and I was a lucky woman for getting to meet Marian Schei. We got to the car and I opened my door. I spoke out to Kyle and broke the silence with, "Hey. Why don't you drop Katie and I off at McDonald's while you go exchange your IPod at Best Buy. That way she can play and we can grab a bite to eat while you're busy talking with the sales people." I got in and buckled my seatbelt while Kyle finished putting Katie in the car. He slid behind the wheel, closed the door and agreed that that would be a great idea. We drove away from the hospital with a new perspective on our day - at least I know I did.
God, thank you for our time. You are the God that gives life and you are the God that takes life. The memories that we share with Marian are only a sample of the incredible love that you have for each of your children. May we never see her again on this side of things but may she rest with You for eternity. God reveal yourself to her if you have not already. Give Kyle and I a peace that can only be explained supernaturally. To You be all the glory.Amen.
1 comment:
My mom (Faith) Marian's youngest sister, just returned to her Snowbird home here in Mesa, AZ from Lynnwood. She returned after a really tough visit. 2 of Marian's other sisters, Helen & Marcye are now doing battle themselves.
Dealing with this horrible enemy that seems to strike our family so hard & unfair. As we were talking mom popped up about Krista's Blog that Barb had told her about. She told me Krista had beautiful and such touching things to say and I should try to find it. Actually, any mention of Marian would have sent me in search.
I am Marian's niece, Renee. And, I need to add to your blog Krista because not a day goes by that I do not think of Marian. I have yet to fully breakdown or comprehend that she is gone. Physical distance seems to attribute to that lack of comprehension. I don't know if that is good or bad - but that is the way it is for me. Marian and I have always been close. I have so many funny and beautiful memories with and of Marian that just make me smile.
I thank you for "The Visit." It made me feel like I was there in the hospital room, where I so desperately wanted to be.
The day after Marian discovered her dx we spoke almost daily. We ritually talked during my morning commute every Tuesday before Loren came to pick hee up for their day's adventure. She so loved that. There was nothing left unsaid between us - ever - nothing taboo. I think that's why we were so close.
Even when we moved to Arizona, we still spoke at least 1-2x/week. Having her gone has been a void in my life. Kind of like when you graduate college and have all this extra time - you know you should be doing homework - but there is none. I'll be at home or in the car and think, "I should give Marian a call." And it hits me that I can't. She is still in my PDA with her address and phone number. I cannot bring myself to fully delete any information. Her phone number is burnt into my longterm memory.
In the beginning there was such a fight - as you know, she loved a fight. And being Norwegian - she was a stubborn bird. When we had confirmation of an end, things we thought would be tough became so much tougher.
Marians biggest difficulty was why God was punishing her. We talked about this at length because that was what hurt her the most - it wasn't the physical pain. She didn't believe that God felt for her or cared - or he would have taken her away already and not made her go through this. She & I repeated the same conversation about God's feelings for her over and over. We would grasp each others hands and she would cry. I would tell her that she had touched so many lives, not only when she was a nurse, and done so much good for so many people. People she didn't even realize lives were changed because of something she had done. That He was not ready to let her go because she still had people's lives that she needed to touch. Sometimes she would feel better, but not always.
Kristi, right now, I keep re-reading about her asking Kyle to say prayers. I don't know that I can ever convey how much that means to me that her biggest concern was gone and that she was finally at peace with God.
When I was planning to make what I knew was my last visit with her, she asked me to come soon. She wanted to really visit - not for me to show up after she was gone. We spent a lot of time together and talked alot. She felt so horrible and hurt so badly with both mental and physical pain. She felt she was a burdon - but she really was the only one who felt like that. I asked her if she felt Grandma was a burdon when Grandma was in need - the answer so obviously NO.
She didn't know why she was still around and just wanted to go. She cried so hard because she did not feel that everyone had said goodbye. I talked with everyone I felt like and told them they needed to say goodbye to her. Little did I know.
Barb called to tell me Marian was in the hospital. Marian and I tried to talk, but with all the tubes, the phone could not get close enough to her to hear me. We ended up relaying our words. It was frustrating that I could not touch her or have only her voice for me to hear. When she became unconscious I knew it was even closer, but she just kept hanging on. I called and asked Barb if everyone had said goodbye - she said everyone had. The next day I called realizing that I had not said goodbye - ever. In all the times we spoke - countless, it was me who had not held up my side or heard what she'd been saying to me -thinking it was everyone else. Barb put the phone up the Marian's ear so I could tell her how much I loved her but it was time to go. I told her Uncle Alan and Kobosu were waiting for her. And then, goodbye.
Barb called me an hour later and Marian had passed.
I know writing all this is probably not something that anyone really wants to read - not giving a warm & fuzzy feeling, but I think has been good for me. And I thank you Krista - for this blog and also for putting such incredible words that convey the end. Right now, I wonder as I re-read all of the above for typos (I know I've missed) - should I just highlight and delete - or hit that publish button.
Krista and Kyle - I hope you both know just how much she loved the both of you. Marian told me every time we talked about how "My Katie" was. What she was doing now, saying and getting into. Katie was sunshine in her life and made each extra day worth living.
I pray that Katie will grow up and remember the cookies at Grandmas. My son Donovan vividly remembers Grandma's candy.
I would love for anyone to add memories of Marian to your blog - we all have them that are special to us and would be great to share.
I remember: her special buns, going clam digging, hi-jacking her car, going to bingo, baking cakes, baking cookies with glue in them to go see Alan in the hospital, opening wedding gifts at the mobile home for Barb's wedding, picking huckleberry's, playing cribbage, cards and her laugh.
Bless you Marian - you are missed.
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