.. that can be had hiding within the heartache. My brother died yesterday, after a long lingering as his health declined over days and weeks since the horrific diagnosis the end of last year. He had become bed bound and immobile, so as the sons came in and out for brief visits, his wife was the faithful-est of faithful providing round the clock care for months. There were some paid caregivers who came through, often overnight, and occasional day sitters who provided little bits and shreds of relief. We are all thankful he is no longer struggling. He knew where he was going, and we can rejoice through tears.
As she has begun to sort out the process of the final goodbye, talking to pastors and end of life personnel, there have been spots of gleaming sunlight streaming through the gloom. She and I have spent a good deal of time in their breakfast room, with windows on three sides, where you literally sit out in the woods. Nearly twenty feet above the ground, up into the trees. Sharing meals, talking about Tom, reminiscing, remembering, telling stories that are sometimes brand new to other ears, often repeated and embellished over time.
Oddly enough, as it was obvious the end was near, she found it more difficult to go in the room where he was lying, nearly immobile, when each breath was a struggle, in a slow heart-wrenching decline. While I found it easier to sit with, hold his hand, talking to him, or just being near without words. It has been mentally, emotionally, physically exhausting for her as the constant, round-the-clock caregiver. So even though grief is a sharp pain, constant companion, there is comforting knowledge that he is at peace, feeling none of the things that made us all ache for him as we were helpless to change the course of this awfulness.
If you have been to memorial services in recent years, you have seen a collage that condenses family history to a series of interesting and amusing photographs that depict years of an individual life. The ones gathered here on the floor of the den have laughed and cackled, groaned, and giggled while looking through boxes, albums, envelopes filled with the past forty years, memorialized on paper.
Looking at photos of spiffy little guys dressed in stiff new clothing for on Easter Sunday. Galloping high energy little boys in hilarious costumes at birthday parties filled with super heroes. Family gatherings including generations now departed. Young guys in cap in gown as they progress through the years: graduating from kindergarten, high-school and college. Serious young couples, dressed to the nines, with astoundingly bad hair, headed off to the prom. And a few photos of the guy who was usually the one behind the camera. Where Tom's beloved face showed up often enough to provide a number of candid photos, allowing those in attendance a sweet remembrance. When they gather in a week's time at a service for friends, family, co-workers, fellow Baptists to view a long happy life of a devoted family man.
It has been good to be here with them, to share the companionship, and see them interact. To have the time to spend unhurriedly conversing about things of importance, as well as trivial words of little consequence. To be here, offer the small comfort of presence, during this season as they experience and learn another of life's hard lessons.
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