Last year at this time I was with my sister, it would be the last night I’d spend with her. She died at 6:30 am on November 30th. I can tell you that no matter how much you think you are ready for death, you are not. There is guilty, there is sadness, there is relief, and there are unanswered questions that all seem to linger.
November 29, 2019, started off with my sister requesting orange sherbert to which my mother fed her, at this point she was no longer able to hold a spoon. She was still very much able to voice her likes and dislikes that is for sure! After Kiya was settled my mother left to go home and tend to her cat for a few hours, it was quiet in my house with just my sister and I (my son was upstairs, soon off to work). It was then, she quickly fell into a deep sleep, she waited until my mother left, she held on for our mother, and she waited until my mother left the house to begin the process of dying. She waited unit it was just she and I….
I knew it would be me that would be the one to stay with her, I knew she would never be able to let go if my mother was in the room. After several hours passed, I realized she was letting go. My mother came back, and she knew. She knew she had to stay out of that room. It was a peaceful day, I was on the couch next to my sister reading listening to soft worship music, the lights were dim, and my dogs were near her- the way she would want it to have been. I slept next to her, waking up every 30minutes to an hour to check on her. But she waited until I fell asleep for two hours, she knew I was next her though. I remember thinking how I could I have fallen asleep that long?! – Not having any sleep for days on end that is how. Our mother was in the next room not ten feet away, having fallen asleep herself again not having any sleep for weeks on end- will do that. Kiya knew were finally asleep, and she let go.
She fought cancer tooth and nail, kicking, and screaming. She fought a good fight. I tried to keep her as comfortable as possible that night. Our mother came in and told her she loved her, she held her, she kissed her, and then I had to make her leave the room. One of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life was watching my mother let go of her youngest child, as she tenderly cared for Kiya during the last few months of her life. I hope you never have to tell a mother she has to leave the room so her child can die, I hope you never have to hear the howl of a mother that has just lost her child, I hope you never have to restrain a mother as the funeral home takes her youngest child away in a body bag. These are things I have to carry, the burdens of love, the duty of love, and the emotion of loving.
During Kiya’s last week alive, a select few loved ones were permitted to come see her and say their goodbyes. Oh, the tears shed, the many hugs, the many wails broke my heart in two. It was me that had to endure that with Kiya, as she sobbed, it was me that had to remind her it was not forever but just for a little while. I could not cry, there was no time to cry, it was not my time to cry, no it was my task to carry her to the finish line while cradling her emotionally as I ushered people out of the house, offering what little comfort I could to them.
What is comfort in the face of death? I will tell you what comfort is- it is knowing that death is not forever, it is knowing that death is but a fleeting echo in the new life to come with your Savior. Comfort is knowing that death is not a permanent situation but a temporary one.
There is no “solace” in death other than knowing your loved one is not suffering any more. There is no relief in knowing that you have to wait what seems an eternity to be united with them. And the truth is there is nothing that can ease the pain of death, the sting it leaves on your soul. Praying doesn’t take it away, it may ease the distress of it, but it does not remove it completely. The raw truth is death hurts like hell, and it echoes throughout the months like someone yelling down a canyon. It reiterates over and over again like a story that is on repeat. It is a picture you cannot erase, an emotion you cannot stop, or a melody you can’t get out of your head.
I am not stronger for having walked my sister to death, nor do I have more strength for watching my mother go through her own private hell, I do not view myself as anything but dutiful. Many things present itself as love but most fall short. Love is more than endorphins that influence our emotions, love is more than just a description (because people love a million things), love in its best form is devoted, duty bound, and encompassing. Lover covers, bringing shelter in the wake of grief and agony. It accommodates and protects as it turns into a place of refuge.
In this I loved my sister until she could no longer love back, I walked her through the valley of death that night, talking softly to her until she regained her sight and she could finally see the light. Her blight was over as her fight was ending, and she was then able to walk into the invite she had received from the One that would make it alright. I knew then as I know now that we will be reunited, as the air turns bright, and it will be so grand to be hand in hand, once again- as the new dawn becomes our delight, and there is never any twilight…
I love you to the moon and back kiddo… and I have the battle scars to prove it. 😊