“After a long pause, one small spot of dimness
was breathed out; it vanished away, and
never returned, leaving the blank,
clear darkness
without a stain.”
- John Brown: Rab and His Friends
February 12th came on Tuesday
this year.
The morning began like every other…a little
coffee to sweep away the cobwebs from the night’s restful sleep, and some quiet
moments reading or doing a little writing.
Unlike most other mornings, it was a little
more somber… with delicate sensory awareness that escorts one visited by an
unseen presence…a heightened sense of mindfulness not often accompanying the
first opening of my eyes. Of little doubt it was different than my normal
attempts to engage the daily world of reality…I mean, it is the world of
reality isn’t it?
Three
hundred sixty-five days before…
Last year February 12th occurred
on a Sunday…Sunday morning, February 12th had been preceded by a lengthy
and sleepless night. It had been a long
flight the day before and while the slender aluminum tube soared at 35,000 ft.
(10.6km) through the clouds heading east, coffee was not necessary to keep me
awake.
I arrived in the evening and headed
straight to the hospital. The room was
quiet, in spite of a number of people in it.
It was just another room, like the others in the hallway…the lights
low…the slight aseptic aroma in the air.
In many ways, it seemed an odd sort of departure gate…a strange place to
say good-bye.
She lay in the bed, less than a shadow of
her former self…a wraith in process of waiting…waiting as those of us present…for
the transition.
Back
it up a little…
The email had come on Wednesday, December 9th
in our second winter in San Diego. By
then I knew the Beach Boys were stretching the truth a bit when they sang, “It
never rains in Southern California”…it was raining hard. The weatherman said to expect the heaviest
rainfall at the end of the week, particularly after dark.
Heavy rain…more after dark – a metaphor for
the note I was about to read and the gathering storm I was to understand, had
already been well underway. I had been
copied on the email that arrived like an unexpected lightening strike next to
your bedroom window – exceedingly bright…extremely loud!
Mariah,
I hope this is still your email address. I'm
writing because Sarah and I have both had distressing conversations with your
mom and we're feeling a little unsure of how to handle them appropriately.
I guess what we want to know is, what can we do to be most helpful?
We're more than happy to listen and be supportive of her if that's all
she really needs.
I know this is an extremely difficult situation and we
want to help, rather than hinder, what you need to achieve.
Thanks.
Karen
What did this mean? I picked up the phone and called Mariah. After a brief conversation, I dialed another
number and heard an unfamiliar voice, “Hello, this is Karen.” Karen was fellow worker and Nancy's good friend. As the conversation progressed, it was clear
that my sister was in trouble…much more trouble than we could have imagined.
As Karen’s story began to unfold, I was
thinking, “I’m sorry, are you talking about my sister Nancy??”
Nancy…the brightest and best of our family. Nancy…the rock that everyone goes to when
they have a need. Nancy…the girl I grew
up with and who for our whole lives had a deeply resonant sibling rhythm.
Karen indicated Nancy called she and Sarah
on a regular basis, and that the conversations had become more and more angry
and disjointed. They simply were not
sure what to do.
All of this was completely disorienting and
seemed completely out of sync…like a rapid fact-filled early morning
conversation before you are really awake…a dream…a mist that would clear with
the morning’s dawn…a dawn that, in this case would never come.
Signs,
subtle signs…
We knew there had been issues developing,
but they seemed more stress related than anything else. Nance and I talked regularly on the phone…conversations
a little more focused on her growing unrest with work. While it seemed a little uncharacteristic, I
rationalized. After all, Molly and I had
moved to Michigan – then California, Mariah had left home for Undergraduate/Graduate
School then work in St. Louis, and Nancy was now living alone at home with
Riley her dog. It seemed natural that as
the family moved away there would be some distress.
In her professional life, she had thrived
on adversity and problem solving. As a
lot of professional women do, she had fought the battles for success through a
male dominated system. Her consistent
success had been due to her intellect, business/social acumen, rich
professional experience and an unwillingness to be outworked. Now it seemed, something was different and
she wasn’t happy about it.
On reflection, there were a number of other things that
seemed a little out of focus. She had taken
a road trip to Ohio to visit friends, only to return home without having seen
them. On a visit to Detroit, she had
gotten confused on the Interstate and needed a little help to finish the
trip. There were other markers along the
way, but they did not seem noteworthy enough to set off big alarm bells. She had always been independent and
self-reliant…these things were just small hiccups in an otherwise normal
life…right? I mean, really! She was only 59 years old!
We could NOT have been more wrong!
What Karen shared hit with the abruptness
of jumping into a cold lake on a hot summer’s day…breath taking and shocking to
the system. Here, however, there would
be no accommodation to the waters…no quick exercises to bring back steady breaths. These waters were claustrophobic, lethal and
as we would learn in the coming days and months…more and more toxic.
Sunday,
February 12, 2012…
It was now early afternoon as she lay
quietly breathing in ever-shallower breaths.
Being in this room defied reason…the overwhelming desire to deny every
thing about the day, the moment, the life ebbing away with the unrelenting pull
of the withdrawing tide…a cognitive dissonance so extreme as to cause a still
birth of rational thought. All one could
do was go with it…simply go with it…
At 3:45PM CST, my sister exhaled her last
breath, and with a gentle dignity…quietly expired. This moment is hard to express in words – God
knows I have tried. At least for me, there
are none that adequately communicate even the smallest sense of the oceans of
emotion…the immeasurable volume of thought and no voice with which to express, nor hands with which to write…an impotence so overwhelming nothing could be
done but give wholly to the moment, and pray when the emotional ride came to an
end, there would be solid ground upon which to place my feet.
In that moment we said good-bye and bon
voyage into the hands of the angels and the heart of the Almighty God.
Tuesday,
February 12th, 2013
As the time drew close, I created a text
for Mariah…it was sent at 3:45PM CST to remind us both of an indescribable
moment of common linkage to this woman who had influenced us so, and remains
richly in our hearts.
Tuesday, February 12th, 2013 was
a good day…it was a meaningful day…it was an edifying day…a day of celebration.
- ted
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