Sideways Mornings: A Raw, Real Look at Life When It's Ending

Life is not always kind, nor is it always unkind.  Life is a long road of twists and turns and up and downs and ins and outs.  Just to set the record straight, I am a Christ-follower. I believe that our earthly life begins at conception and ends at our final breath, but I believe in the glorious ever-after as well. 

In the last few years, I have experienced life in overwhelmingly wonderful ways and in terribly sad and depressing ways.  I have laughed and I have cried. I have mourned before and after death.  I have held my tongue at times and at others I have expressed my innermost thoughts, feelings. I've let it all out. And it's not always pretty.

As I begin this blog, to help me cope with everything that is going on around me, this life I have known for some time, goes on.  My husband, the recipient of a life-gaining kidney nearly two years ago, has definitely been my light throughout this era of depressing months.  Tonight he is sitting with his momma who is in the hospital for the third time since last September battling another infection in her lungs. Last night I arrived home from Florida for the second time in a week.  My daddy passed out and had to be revived a week ago today. My family sped down there as fast as we could, a 5.5 to 6 hour trip, in a horrible rainstorm the entire way, so we could spend about 30 minutes with him in ICU before my mom was ready to go home.  

Yesterday we received word that my step-mother-in-law would soon (very soon...like before the end of the month soon) be moving back to a town some 45 minutes north of us, and that we needed to have our storage building moved off the property. Okay. Thanks for the heads up. The warning. As usual, we are the last to know. Especially since Donald is sitting at the table eating the feast and worshiping at Jesus' feet. 

Let me tell you a little about Donald, my father-in-law.  A man I didn't get to enjoy for long enough. He was a man of great faith although, in the end, I would say he struggled with that faith and I think I would've, too.  He was a vibrant individual who loved his family, his grandkids and even his "favorite" daughter-in-law. He loved people. He loved God and served his church faithfully.  He did what he wanted.  He lived life.  

He had, from my understanding, for years dealt with what we now know to be acid-reflux disease.  There were a lot of things he couldn't eat or keep down. So he ate eggs. And ice cream.  And when those things wouldn't stay down he had to search for an alternative solution. Surgery.  Early December a short few years ago he had that surgery. He had complications. He lost weight. Lots of weight. He still couldn't eat. He was in and out of the hospital a few hours away. We drove to see him every time. He had multiple tears in his esophagus from multiple shunts/stints in his throat. He had feeding tubes. They fell out. He was told not to drink sodas or he would aspirate. He drank sodas. He aspirated. He emancipated. Doctors talked of a esophagus transplant. Doctors said he was too weak. It was too late. Family members held a birthday party with a full on buffet in front of a man who couldn't eat. I didn't eat. He ate cake. He loved the cake. I didn't eat the cake.  I didn't eat the buffet. I barely drank the soda.

Less than two months later I was leading the closing hymn at his funeral.

Through worldly eyes it is hard to accept the inevitable that is coming. Death. O death where is your sting? I recently read where someone questioned why this scripture was used at funerals. I have to agree. Death's sting is the worst of all. It is final. I know that I will see him again, but it doesn't mean a piece of me didn't go in the ground with him.

I have mourned for many years the death of my parents, who are both alive. My mom is in great health, my daddy is now struggling.  But why? Why would I mourn someone who is still alive? Because I know it's coming. I know that someday I won't have any blood first kin. How do I know this? Because I am an only child and I don't have any children.  Sure, I have a husband and stepchildren, but I am the last of my kind. My dad's brother adopted a daughter and this Newman generation ends with me. Hard to fathom. 

I have been blessed with parents that I honestly never thought would still be around when I was 40. My mom had me at 41..you do the math. Although not always true, my mom is now my best friend. I talk to her everyday.  And my daddy, he's pretty special, too. Although we grew apart when I grew up these last few years we have definitely rebonded.

Tired. Frazzled. Senseless. That's me. Amazed I have been able to keep it all going in the right direction.  Arms supported by friends who've been there and understand. The prayers keep me going, they keep me sane.