Eyes Wide Open

I sat in a church pew this morning with my four children at the funeral of a dear friend.

Our families have been close for more than a decade. 

He was a father of seven (6 adopted and 1 foster child) and died suddenly and tragically in a car accident on his way to work.

The experience was sobering and painfully reflective -- one can’t help but imagine his own life changing in the blink of an eye – and, as one might expect, it was wrenching.

That this senseless aberration happened to them is a potent reminder that life is not only unfair but cruel and vicious and numbing as well.

But my friends are really quite special and will, in time, persevere.  They are a strong and selfless and remarkable family  -- the kind of people that secretly make you question your own moral wealth.  

There’s not a doubt in my mind that when, in time, their cloud of indescribable grief starts to lift, they will continue to be an enviable family to the rest of us. But it doesn’t diminish the sheer magnitude of their life stopping on a dime.

To say that I took offense to each and every insignificant whine and complaint on Facebook this week in an understatement.  Full disclosure would reveal that I am incredibly judgmental on a good day.  Throw in some friends who were kvetching about stupid shizz the past few days and it’s fair to say a contemptuous side of me simmered.

Sometimes people just don’t get it. 

Still, given this past week, my thoughts wandered to a question that I really only think about in times of death.  I honestly don’t know which might be a more harrowing ordeal:  losing a loved one suddenly, or over time.

When my mom was in hospice in the final weeks of her life my sister and I would sit with her for entire days at a time, sometimes going home only to sleep.  I was far away from my own home that summer (a blessing that it WAS, in fact, summer) and slept in my nephew’s bed while my husband kept our home wheels spinning in my absence.

We’d sit.  And sit.  And play Scrabble on the I-pad.  And Words with Friends on our phone.  And sit some more.  It was excruciating.  And grueling.  And soul splintering.

Some nights, long after I’d turned off the bedside lamp that, I’d cry.  And pray.  I’d actually pray for God to take my mom because that hospice room, with its lovely décor and beloved photos from home and cheerful flowers, was horrific.  It smelled of death and dying and hopelessness.

And our mom was suffering.

And no person should ever have to endure that.  Ever. 

The time in that room represented the most inhumane and maddening lapse of time a person could ever experience:  waiting for a loved one to die.

It lasted for weeks and each day a little bit more of her slipped away from us in every way imaginable.

We got to say goodbye to my mom and tell her (well beyond her capacity to understand it) that we loved her.  But she suffered.  Awfully.

My heart breaks for my friends who didn’t get the chance to say “I love you” but I too believe it a blessing that he didn’t suffer.  Most reassuringly even, due to the heroic generosity of a total stranger, he wasn’t alone either.

I’ve been trying to remember to kiss my kids every day.  That sounds wrong, right? Trying to remember …

But it’s the truth.  They’re no longer squirmy, bubbly, sittin-in-the-bathtub little kids anymore.  Most days they’re barely around and when they are, they’re super busy, kinda tired, or somewhat moody.  With tweens and teens – not gonna lie – even the best of moms can forget to be warm and fuzzy.

So I’m trying to be better at saying and showing the love every single day (yes, even if it means waking up my daughter before I leave for work) because, well, nothing else really matters, does it?

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