TODAY!! This happened…
Two things happened this morning, one huge and one just wonderful. OK! Wonderful first:
Today I realized I have done at least one parenting job right. As we all worked to get ready for the day — which is quite a scene, even with our reduced census, all that hair and makeup and getting Jack into the crate (we hate to say goodbye, so it’s quite drawn out some mornings) — my daughters were talking about some iSomethings (you can add “pod, touch, nano and shuffle” and you will know as much as I do) their friends have.
We, save for one second generation iPod shuffle, have none of those things. And I am not planning to buy them, either.
But my girls were talking about this group of kids they adore and the electronic stash they have among themselves. As I listened about movies on tiny screens and this feature and that, it dawned on me…my daughters had nothing but delight for their friends in their voices. Not a note of jealousy, feigned disdain or whiny entitlement was to be heard.
Like a choir of angels it was! Meaning, somehow, I managed not to blow that parenting assignment. OK, yes, this is a written pat on the back for myself, but I don’t care…it was like seeing the first daffodils outside. Unexpectedly wonderful and a bright spot of hope.
Alrighty then, let’s move on to HUGE! And, yes, I realize I have used up a year’s allotment of exclamation points in this post.
Today, as I applied makeup in the same spot my husband died (well, a few feet higher to be precise), I asked myself my usual question — will mascara be a good idea today? The answer is almost always “No. Nope, forget it, it’s too embarrassing when it runs.”
And, as always, on the heels of that reasoning comes the cloud my guilt trails behind like toxic gas: “If you would have just called the ambulance sooner, David might be alive.”
But today, TODAY, in a blinding flash came another thought, “Yep, alive and in crushing agony.”
People often talk to me about the suddenness of David’s death. And it totally was — sudden and terrible in how it came about.
What I don’t talk about enough is what preceded that Jan. 27.
In April, 2008, David had an industrial accident that caused a spinal cord injury. A severe enough event that a surgeon later told me it was a miracle my sweet boy was able to get up and walk, after being knocked unconscious.
His spinal cord swelled, becoming a Nerf ball crammed into a Lifesaver candy.
It happened just over nine months before he died, a detail I find fascinating — just about enough time to be birthed into a new life.
The surgery meant to stabilize his neck came two months later and added a bonus serving of torture, a pile atop his already-severe suffering.
It never dissipated. In the last months of his life David was, at best, highly uncomfortable. At worst and most, in absolutely excruciating pain.
Hasn’t every loving spouse of an ill person longed to absorb some of the load? Yes, of course, because that’s what a good relationship means — a sharing of woes, an innate desire to alleviate suffering in the other.
I know I said this before, what Grandpa Vern told me, that I was left behind to do the hardest work of all — to grieve.
And TODAY, this very morning, my heart accepted that. I DID take over David’s suffering. He WOULD have continued to be in unbearable torment, wishing he could die and be done. I AM here, Baby Boy, to take this on my shoulders.
Exactly what I would have chosen to do, my love, because you had had enough.
Grandpa Vern is right, David. It’s my turn. Not calling the ambulance in time came at exactly the right moment for you.
And I finally BELIEVE it! But I should not have worn mascara.
I’m buying pizza for the newsroom today, it’s that kind of day. Anyone need a hug? C’mon over! It’s on David.
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I am happy to hear that you are doing well.
Hugs and Kisses from Louisiana.
Thanks for sharing such great thoughts today, Sheila. I don’t think I ever knew the extreme amount of pain David was in. We think of him all the time. And we always give our love to you and the kids. We are here anytime you need us.
Sheila, this literally gave me goosebumps. Any death is horrible and tragic, but a sudden death is all the more difficult because you wake up in the morning thinking it’s going to be another ordinary day, and go to bed that night with your life turned upside down.
Thank you for sharing this lovely, inspiring and moving vision. I just pray that I have my own such epiphany one day. I’m still not there, but you give me hope.
XOXO
Oh, Sheila, I second the goosebumps comment above! What a miracle of healing you have received. It’s so hard to find the words to share a miracle that happens inside our hearts like that, but you certainly did find words, and I am so grateful. Early Monday morning, Ole’s Mom had a heart attack on my watch. I was with her for an hour and didn’t realize what was happening. When it hit, I thought she was dead, but she has amazingly recovered. I have been suffering guilt, too, thinking I should have called for help sooner, but how can you recognize something you’ve never seen before? God says in II Corinthians that we will be able to comfort others with the comfort we receive in our suffering, and you have comforted me today. I’m thrilled for your new freedom and joy! About the parenting: AWESOME!!!!!!! You’re one in a million!! What an achievement!!! (Have I used up my quota of exclamation points? Too bad, because you deserve even more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) Love, Vonnie
I have been following your blog for a bit and my heart goes out to you and your girls. I have much empathy because my dad died at 32 and I was 4. This happened in 1958…and my mom raised 3 kids by herself! She is my hero and you are and will continue to be one to your children. Keep up the great work!
You’ve done good, Mom! That definitely is something to be proud of!
And after hearing how much pain David was in, I understand how you feel today – and I’m glad I wasn’t wearing any mascara. I hope you enjoyed that pizza!
You’re my hero.
What a fabulous, comforting “Aha! momnet!” God does things for a reason….we’re not necessarily entitled to know that reason…but sometimes, the why is a ‘gift’ to us…. Happy first day of the rest of your life…
Oh, Sheila, I wish I was there to buy the pizza and give you a hug and tell you just how wonderful you are. You did call at just the right moment and I am glad that you now realize that. Hugs and kisses all around and pass me a slice of the Hawaiian pizza… Toni
Thank you, Sheila, for sharing your words and thoughts with so many. Because you’ve done this, I can see my own heart thoughts accepting peace about the past. Thank you!