Walking in on death is tragic. The trauma of believing your loved one has taken her life with the surroundings suggesting the same— empty pill bottles, a goodbye letter with specific directives, a conveyance of monumental failure, an “I’m sorry” and a “I love you” with specifics not to resuscitate.
How do you bear that scene alone, and as your chest begins to heave, ready to scream, you hear a faint breath in the stillness, find a weak pulse.
The visual of seeing Elaine heavy on her couch, vomit coming through her nose and mouth, the electricity in her home cut off, her body cold to the touch...waiting for 911 to arrive.
Shock would seem to come first, and, yes, shock was there, but we called out to her begging her not to leave. We whispered her name. We declared our love, and we helplessly stood by as the police arrived, the medics treated her with an overdose reversal drug and eventually carried her to the ambulance.
It was chaos. One medic asked me her name 4 times. I wanted to shout at him, “Can you not hear me? Can you not remember her name for 30 seconds?”
The medic is not to blame. He was doing his job to save her life. The same questions came from the police all while I stood in that dark, freezing, foul-smelling room with my sister (in-law) having been moved from her couch and now laying helplessly on the floor; her life at stake.
What do you feel when you find someone you love in this traumatic scene? I hope that you never will, but what I felt was tremendous confusion between whether or not is was better for her to live or better for her to pass on to an eternity free from pain.
How do you reconcile those thoughts? I could not. My human nature could not process wanting life for someone who did not want it and, at the same time, wanting the peace of crossing over for my loved one who has lived decades with sometimes “functioning” mental illness, agoraphobia, high anxiety disorder, depression, a very low sense of self-worth...an inability to receive the help we had offered to her.
This failed suicide started on February 5, 2021.
At the hospital where she was taken, we experienced the verge of death but then miraculous turns of events. She continued to murmur “I’m sorry” from her almost toothless mouth. Her guilt drove her quest for forgiveness. Our repeated answer was, “it’s okay” until we finally told her that the apologies were done, and that our focus would be on love and love alone.
Elaine was in the hospital until February 12, 2021. She had begun to refuse to eat and did not want to be on an IV providing the minimums of nutrition and hydration.
Everyday, we woke to new, different news from the hospital. No matter the condition of the day, each day became more difficult than the other for us to shoulder.
The palliative care physician was able to go through a series of questions with Elaine about living and dying. With cognitive faculties in place, she chose dying.
Late evening on Feb 12, she was moved to Alive Hospice, the very facility where my father-in-law passed too soon from the complications of diabetes and 10 years later, my mother-in-law said goodbye too young—dying of a broken heart.
We, ourselves, visit Elaine at Hospice as does her sister and brother-in-law. We are not all there at the same time but someone is there every day.
Today is February 22... 10 days in hospice, not eating (which is by her choice and why she is there).
We walk-in her room, taking turns by her bedside. We hold her hand, hug her. I sometimes lay my head next to hers.
She moves her body in a now, well-known pattern. She raises her left arm in the air and as it begins to lower, she pulls her knees in and then drops them to her right side... somewhat like being in fetal position. She then turns her head to the right for a second, and the pattern repeats in the reverse.
We don’t know what it means. Some have said that arm-raising is one step closer to death, but she has been raising hers for weeks.
There is no play-book for this type of dying. So, we just have to wait. Her day is not predictable. What do you do with that? You wait. There is no other option. You wonder when hospice might call. You wonder if one of us will be with her. You wonder what she is waiting for.
We’ve given her release. We have sung over her. We have prayed and have spoken scripture over her. We have assured her of God’s love and mercies that are new every morning. We have FaceTimed her with the whole family. We have had friends send their love over telephone calls, video and letters.
What else do we need to do? Yes, I know about self-care and I am doing it to the best of my abilities. Yes, I am praying and asking for God’s strength. Yes, I’m resting at night. Yes, I have a counselor to talk to. Yes, I have encouragement from my parents, my brothers and dear friends.
All of the above provides relief, but none of it is able to remove the wait...only death can do that.
Waiting for death is heavy. Being given the opportunity to say “goodbye” is a gift; however, bearing the burden is overwhelming, tiresome, extreme.
I understand the importance of laying my burden down, and I also know the intensity of the tendency to return again and again, trying to pick up the pieces and put them back on my shoulders—if for only a sense of control. It doesn’t work.
I seek to relieve the weight on my shoulders and lay my burdens down at the feet of Jeaus, but I am human and it is hard.
Come, Lord Jesus. Come. Fill me with your SPIRIT. For
your yoke is easy, and your burden is light and, with you, we find true rest for our souls.