Learning to Die

Day of Dying by Sandi Baron

The priest had been called from his vacation in Ireland to come home because his mother had passed.  He realized that she had been dying of Alzheimer’s for so many years that this was truly a blessing for her and him. His retelling of her death last Sunday reminded me of my mother.

For any of us, who have lost a parent to Alzheimer’s, we understand that the end is a blessing.  I remember as Mamma went through each stage of this dreadful disease, I wondered how long before she didn’t know me.  She brushed her hair with her toothbrush, feared her showers, and asked me who she was and who I was.  I found some wonderful last memories through the gift of art.

 I would visit her in the nearby nursing home, and take her a tablet to draw me pictures.  She would take the colored pencils in hand, and using her determination to create, she would draw a butterfly, a flower, a tree.  They all were upside down.  I supposed that is how her brain was seeing things at that time.  A few weeks later, she asked if we could paint.  I would hand her the imaginary blue cobalt tube, and she would act as if she were loading it onto an invisible pallet held in her hand.  Next, she asked for viridian green, then cadmium yellow, and light red cadmium.  How could she remember these names when she couldn’t remember how to eat?  She would paint in the air her imaginary landscapes of the sea, or a sunset, or a beach.  I loved these times of air art.  She was happy and content.

Then, after about ten years of watching this disease progress, the week of dying came.  She had taught me since I was seven years old, how to sit with the dying.  She would tell me it was the last and best part of living.  She told me to listen and feel and I could see and hear Jesus at the bedside.  That was a lot for a child, but she explained that others were afraid to sit with the dying, and I should be honored always.  She asked me if I wanted to go with her while Uncle Morris was dying.  I knew Mamma wanted to teach me something so I went.  She would whisper to me what was taking place so I would not be frightened but understand the death process.

“See, he is picking at the covers.  It is a hard decision to leave his family.”

“Why does he have to leave, Mamma?”

“It is near his designated day to go to heaven.  He knows it will be so much better and no pain and Jesus is calling him.”

“I don’t hear him.”

“Quiet, Sandi, listen with your heart.”

After many long hours and three days of sitting with Uncle Morris, Mamma whispered, “He is going through his confessions and forgiveness.  It won’t be much longer.”

“Will God forgive him?”

“Oh, yes, and anyone else that asks for that forgiveness.”

I learned so much from Uncle Morris’ deathbed experience.  Through the years, I have been privileged to sit with many others on their last part of their earthly journey. I could hear my mother’s words and was honored to be in the presence of Jesus, pray for the one dying, and listen with my heart.

This time it was Mamma who was dying.  I sat and watched her changing facial expressions, her small, knotted hands, and her closed eyes.  I was intense because she had taught me each phase that I was watching.  I knew not to touch her because she had explained touching during the final hours made the loved one cling to this world and was an obstacle in allowing them to slip into the spiritual world. I had loved on her, hugged her early in the morning and told her goodbye and that I loved her. I told her my sister, Betty, and I would be fine, and we would take care of each other.  I wanted to give her the right of a peaceful passage in these last few hours, so I just sat and watched, prayed, and read the Psalms out loud to her.

It was a tranquil time for her and a bonding time for my sister and me.  We knew we were in the presence of the Almighty.  Mamma’s day had come.  Her last breath was light and peaceful.  Jesus showed her the way, and it was a blessing for all of us.

When Shadows Fall

Shadows in Our Lives

            This past week I have had two dear friends receive bad health reports for their grand children.  I have two other friends that have had to readjust their lives because of children or grandchildren moving to another state.  As I prayed for these friends, I could feel the shadow over their lives.  Things appeared more gray than light. Life seemed harder instead of normal.  My heart hurt for them so I asked God to lift these shadows from them, give them hope, understanding, and His wisdom. 

            As I prayed I learned a new truth.  If there is a shadow, there must be light.  His light would prevail through all these hardships.  His faithfulness would endure all the crises, sickness, and loneliness.  He would be their help by giving them the light of hope that would dispel the shadow.

            That is why I love to pray and talk to God about others.  I learn new truths and see things from His eyes.  His purpose isn’t always clear to them or me, but His light and acceptance is.  He is there.

            I think how I hold up these petitions to Him and His hands are extended to take them.  I visualize His hands enfolding the request and wrapping His fingers tightly around them.  I see His hands extended to my friends in need.  I know He cares and will send the Holy Spirit to implement those petitions.  He cares for all of His children.

            Then, I wonder how many times His hands have been extended to receive prayers, and I offered none.  I didn’t take time to petition, to give thanksgiving, to ask forgiveness, to give messages of adoration.  How many times did I leave those extended hands empty?  I ask forgiveness this day for all those times I have not put something into the hands of Christ

The Marriage Formula

            As Denny and I celebrated forty-seven years of marriage last week, so many thoughts and stories were shared between us.  We looked at our wedding album together and asked, “ Who is that slim and dark haired couple?”

            Clarifying time with its mathematical progression has turned us into the elder Barons. Time is trickery. We thought when holding a sick, crying infant in the night, each hour was  an eternity of agony. Waiting two and half years for John’s healing seemed like forever. We learned faith as God healed him.  Staying seven months in bed to save Adam in the womb taught me God’s presence, and Denny to be a server, a caregiver , and accepted  Christ as his Savior. Our marriage took on a new perspective as we tried to keep Jesus the center of our decisions and plans.

Our marriage has shaped us into different people yet retained our personality and passions that attracted us. God intended marriage to be the vessel to make us more like Him.   We were the tools that refined each other.  Sometimes a knife sharp comment would break communication for a couple of days.  Other times seeing the other mate cry softened our heart for months.  Our life began to take on a rhythm of trust and appreciation.  However, this did not come without battles, tears, and a lot of making up.

            Marriage is an endurance contest to reach a fulfilled goal. Every day is different and a new lesson in how to love and give grace.  No wonder long marriages are becoming more rare.  Perseverance is part of the formula.  In 1967 no one discussed the laws and gambles of marriage.  We just fell in love and thought we would be happy ever after with the honeymoon glow thrown in for life.  Defining happy has taken many dictionaries through the years.  One day we realized we couldn’t make the other person happy.  That was their choice.  Another year we learned that looking away when the other mate acted stupid and egotistical and looking back when they acted normal was a key to successful marriage.  We understood early that parenting was a couple-thing, and we must always present a unified front to the boys.  Experiencing teaching every day, rearing children, and attending all their activities was exhausting. Then added to that schedule was the care of our ailing parents, both of us holding second jobs several times in our marriage ,and volunteering in the Young Life ministry for  twenty plus years. These activities changed our focus and created giving and compassionate spouses. 

The boys have become men of integrity and hard workers. John and Christine are now making those “parental” decisions. We enjoy watching them parent, discipline, motivate, and love their girls.  It seems they have learned in fifteen years what it has taken Denny and I over forty years to understand. 

In retirement we have learned all those years of sacrifice and putting up with our mates's “druthers” has been worth it.  We have learned to love better, be less concerned about a misplaced comment, and laugh at ourselves.  We spend many days accusing “somebody” of not putting something back in its place, locking a door, or some other task like putting the wash in the dryer.  The"somebody” makes us aware but not angry. No longer is it important to be right or do we feel wrong is threatening to our egos. Well, at least most of the time that is true.  Time has knocked off most of our gnarly edges and our memories represent artful forgery. It is good to remember the best and filter out the discord.

 These years together have refined us and polished our hearts and souls together.  I am feeling very blessed that our marriage is like an old sweatshirt. We are comfortable even when we have wrinkles and sags.  We earned them together, and I am grateful for the ups, downs, turn a rounds, hand holding, hugs, silly smug smiles, and hysterical laughter at our mishaps.  These are privileged memories that walk us to the door of old age. I sure wish we knew these things forty-seven years ago because those early years would have been so much easier.  However, I realize it is now we need smooth paths and understanding, so I guess the marriage formula does work as God designed.