death

Finding Closure

/ Shirleyjdietz / Leave a comment

I spent the week after the husband’s death thinking about his memorial service. I was afraid that if I didn’t have something right away, the pace of life would accelerate and make it harder to return to that needed task. I needed whatever measure of closure a service could provide.

The church was available June 30. We were penciled in for a 1:00 pm slot and the planning began. And that is how it has to be done – I picked a time convenient for my purposes and then found out who could be there and who couldn’t. It’s very hard to find a time that’s good for everyone.

I was surprised, as the word spread, that many friends and relatives were making time in their busy lives to come. Since Dennis had been disabled, at best, for the last five years we had been in Hayward, I was concerned that our gathering would be small. Not many knew him well. I wanted to make sure that those who did come would know him better when they left.

I knew that one important person would probably not be there – daughter Julia, who was due to have her first child 20 days later. It would not be in their best interest to make that trip from North Carolina to Wisconsin. We planned the service to be shared live online, since our church had that capability. It was a good choice since nearly as many watched online as were present in person.

Family began to gather the weekend prior to the service. In between fixing meals and visiting, ideas were presented, volunteers were conscripted, and plans fell into place. Every time I wondered how to do something, the answer came to light shortly afterward. I did not worry. I enjoyed the planning, and I was greatly blessed by the service. It was what I needed, and I think others found it meaningful as well.

One of the striking moments of the service came at the end. A recording of one of Dennis’s favorite songs was played, followed by an audio clip that he left on daughter Esther’s phone. Hearing him speak that message to her was like hearing him speak from the other side of death. It was joyful and full of hope, and that is how Dennis should be remembered. And I expect that now his joy is even more real, and all his hopes have been realized.

Many who heard the song have asked to hear it again. This is the link to click for the song “Slow Down” by Chuck Girard

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=OAiKCpX8KtE&feature=share

It’s over, and hardly seems real.

Where We’re At

/ Shirleyjdietz / 2 Comments

This was written a couple weeks ago, so it’s more accurate to title it “Where We Were”, but I’m not changing it.

It’s spring. Dennis and I are sitting in the living room. I am trying to feed him sips of coffee. He coughs and chokes each time he swallows. He wants to know where Shirley is, his wife. I’m not sure I’ve convinced him that I’m here. In a voice so soft I can barely catch every other word, he says he has had something he wanted to tell Shirley but she wasn’t here. Where did she go?

He says that he got a call from someone telling him that everyone should read the book he’s written. It’s a book about blood pressure. He wants to know if my mom has read it. While he talks he is always staring up at the ceiling as if he’s connecting with something up there, or in another world.

Yesterday’s conversation was my attempt to talk with him about death. I asked him if he was afraid to die. There are many questions I ask him that he takes the liberty of not answering – this was one of them. I explained that I was asking because I wanted to remind him there was nothing to fear. Death would be a good change because of what we believed about Jesus’s promises. I told him God would probably be in favor of him playing the trumpet again, give him back his ombissure. He would likely be able to walk again, swallow and eat again, and maybe even be with “his dog, Blackie”. He would be able to ask all the questions he ever wanted answered. I could tell it sounded good to him and he repeated some of it with as much excitement as I’ve seen from him lately. Then he went to sleep for the rest of the morning.

And he is sleeping again now. It is his default state, to be off in another world where none of these weird things are happening. He rouses only to inquire about new voices he hears in the room – some of them are real, some are in his head only.

I have been reading a book about another man who had Lewy Body Dementia, written by his wife caregiver. There are so many similarities. That man did not know he had that diagnosis until after he had a stroke. Like Dennis, his disease progressed much faster after the stroke. His time at one hospital after another and finally ending up in a nursing home sounded very familiar to me. I remember pushing Dennis around the halls at Maple Ridge, seeing all the elderly lined up in their chairs around the nursing station with vacant expressions on their faces. It was depressing to him then and he didn’t want to look at them, or to be them. The man in the book felt that same way. I am glad Dennis is not in a nursing home now, although I’m sure they try to be as kind as possible. I feel that I’ve been able to protect some of his dignity.