63 years but probably that's all

Mom and Dad celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary on Tuesday. They talked about the wedding, and laughed about Grandpa just getting released from the hospital for heart problems, and telling Grandma to just "walk over him" if he fell over during the ceremony. Dad remembers how he felt when Mom walked out, ready to leave for the honeymoon. She's wearing this beautiful gray suit on, and Dad had the best smile on his face. He couldn't believe how happy he felt. I've got a picture of that time. "You're a beautiful woman, Marietta," Dad says, gently brushing the hair off her face.

Mom can't eat anymore, so they're putting in a feeding tube. Her lungs are full of fluid and bits of food. She's losing weight. She can't walk or hardly sit up anymore. I'm going up to Bismarck indefinitely, to help Dad with Mom, and to help Mom die. Two of my sisters are out of the country, one's down in Colorado, and one doesn't seem able to help in any way, so I realize it's not only the logical thing to do, but the right thing. Am I sad to be leaving Bill and Steve and my home? Yes, but this is the summer for driving, and for doing important things, so this is the important thing I'm doing. I'll keep up with my blog and HPR columns, and really, we don't know how much longer it's going to be.

It's pretty powerful, this dying stuff. It certainly isn't for sissies. I look at my mom still keeping her sense of humor through it all. Nurses ask her how she's doing, and she smiles and says, "I'm doing all right!" and I think, "How can you SAY that?" but it's not my story to tell, it's Mom's, and I admit it gets progressively sadder if I stop to really think about it, so I'm choosing NOT to think about the sad part of it, but rather think of her life on a continuum. It just keeps changing. There isn't one time that's necessarily BETTER than another, it's all just dots on a line that keep moving. And Mom's right HERE right now. And I'm here right now, and we're together. When I left she told me how much it meant to have me there with her, helping. I started crying. It comes on me at strange times, this crying. I'll be fine, then John Strand tells me how glad he was that he got to meet my mom, and I start again. Crying really hard that time, actually. And crying's fine, too, but I seem to be most helpful to Mom and Dad when I'm able to stay in that calm, clear state that is loving and attentive and present. I'm grateful to be where I am, spiritually AND physically. God bless you all.