Death in the Family

This is D with his mom, Helen. We lost her yesterday, at the age of 62. We have spent an awful lot of time in the hospital the last few weeks, and the Internet has (rightly) taken backseat. I will return to my frequent comments, tweets, Facebook updates, and (semi-)regular blog posts soon, but I'm not sure when.

I met Helen six years ago today, only three weeks after meeting D. We already knew we would end up married, although it was over two years before we did it. I didn't feel like I knew Helen well until the last several months, though. She was slow to open up to me, and I suppose I was in return, until she became sick and we both started to reach out to each other.

I am so grateful that I was able to really know her, to love her as family, before she died.

I am grateful that Molly loved her Nana and got to see her often.

I am grateful that D and I were by her side when she took her last breaths, and that she was so peaceful and free of pain as it happened.

I am grateful for the ICU nurses, who learned the family members' names and greeted us every time we came to visit. It takes a very special type of person to work in an environment where the private grief of families is so prevalent. They were amazing.

I am grateful for last Sunday, Easter, when Helen had a very good day. She was talking, the breathing tube out for a few days. She knew where she was, and she was able to see and talk to four of her grandchildren. Her room was a celebratory place that day, with Irish folk music playing so loudly that it must have entered the rooms of patients halfway down the hall.

I'm grateful for the funny memories that keep popping up, like when D told me about how his mom used to put him on the handlebars of her bike and ride him to Cub Scouts. And yesterday, when we passed a Christmas Tree Shop (a discount store full of trinkets, figurines, and the like - not all holiday-oriented), and I commented that we should have her memorial there, because she loved it so much. D said that they'd see a dip in their sales now, and we both laughed and cried at that.

We are exhausted, and it hasn't completely sunk in yet. We're discovering that, although we know she is gone, believing it is something altogether different. The belief comes in waves, and I think it will gradually build over the months. Some day, her death will be fully real. I think we're all kind of glad it's not yet.