The Other Side

We were up at 4 this morning to catch a plane. I crawled into bed shortly after we got home and woke up past suppertime. So ya. It's past midnight and now sleep is elusive.

Our house looks like we got up in the middle of a meal and left. Although honestly, it looks like that most everyday. Housekeeping is not my strong suit.

I'm not sure what my strong suit is. Maybe it is showing up. Not always in person, but in heart felt companionship, during hard times. I look over my texts and other forms of messaging and there's a lot of hurting people in my life right now. And I hurt along with them although my pain is not theirs. Theirs is the kind that cuts to the bone. Death and sickness has a way of dealing that card.

I was looking forward to what seemed like endless downtime for our Christmas holidays. I even took several extra days off so I could luxuriate in them to the fullest. I decided that I was not going to fill my days with must get done lists or I've failed as a human being kind of thinking. I would putter and read and relax. Who knew, maybe I'd even find time to write.

We had a death in the family mid December. A teenager. I just caught myself beginning to purse lip breathe as I typed that and remembered that my therapist suggested that I try to open my mouth and let my breath out instead. She said purse lip breathing was akin to trying to contain feelings. I've been doing that a lot lately. And now tears are pooling as I breathe out my feelings. I can't even go back and read that sentence without starting to purse lip breathe all over again.

A family wedding was scheduled for New Year's Eve and I found myself telling coworkers that I'm more of a funeral person than a wedding one. (Make of that what you will.) Even so, we booked tickets to fly to the nuptials. I had yet to book hotel rooms or car rentals with 4 days to go before we boarded our flight.

On Christmas Day we got a call telling us Dearest One's closest in age sister had suffered a brain aneurysm and was in ICU on life support. I don't know why a person gets surprised as if we are immune to tragedy. We'd already had 3 deaths in our family in 9 months. Surely that would tell us bad things happen to everyone.

The next morning we got up and made plans for our day. I wondered aloud if we should fly to be with family. This particular part of our family has isolated themselves from the rest, or at least it has felt that way, ever since they moved away three decades ago. In our early days of marriage we spent a lot of time together. Dearest One made a phone call and shortly after lunch we dropped what we were doing, packed our bags and were on a plane going in the opposite direction of the wedding.

We found our family members in the waiting room of the ICU. The last time I had seen my husband's brother in law was in the 1990's. It was a joy to greet his children, most of whom I hadn't seen in decades. There was even a great grandchild to meet. We sat among them in the little quadrant of the waiting room that we took ownership of as ours.

Communities built in microcosms are one of my favourite fascinations. For many days there were several families gathered in our respective areas. We'd nod to each other, sometimes sharing the bare essentials of who was on the other side of the locked entry door of the ICU. I took notice of the matriarch across from us who made sure every member of her extended family was fed before she went in to see her husband. Foreign languages were spoken all around us and for a few minutes, with everyone in one family hugging and having a semi reunion in the waiting room, there was a celebratory feel.

But mostly faces were grim with a dash of hope. Or hopeful with a shadow of grimness. Progress came in minute improvements. Or was dashed in the same blink of an eye.

We spent nine days holding vigil from morning until night at the bedside of Dearest One's sister. She turned 61 years young while we did so. There were family meetings with her medical team. Holding out hope. Fearing the worst. Feeling guilty when we felt no hope. Putting on a brave face. Mostly shock that this was reality.

Yesterday we gathered with the medical team late in the afternoon. We knew it was time to cling to a different kind of hope. The forever kind.

Machines were turned off. Medications were halted. Tubes were withdrawn. The end came mercifully quick.

Seven hours to the minute later her great grandson entered the world. We'd like to think they passed each other on the way.