Merciful Rest

Today. May 14, 2022.

A day that'll be etched into my memory for the rest of my life.

It's the day my wife died.

It's the day that holds moments that hurt worse than anything I've felt before.

It's also the day that has brought some of the greatest episodes of hope I've ever seen.

The past 72 hours have been some of the most rigorous as a caretaker.  These day have reminded me so very much of where we began this journey four and a half years ago in the ICU at UAB after her surgery, though, with one major difference... during those days I prayed earnestly for my wife to be saved and to recover.  These past few days have been filled with nothing but prayers of thankfulness and for mercy.

I didn't sleep Thursday into Friday.  Ash required medications every hour and she was already showing signs of getting ready to leave her earthly body.  So aside from 15 minutes here and 20 minutes there... I embraced my former collegiate life and pulled an all-nighter. (Definitely not built for those anymore) 

Honey and I really thought that yesterday (looking at you, Friday the 13th) was going to be the day she passed.  Her vitals weren't great at the start of the day.  She was moving into an unresponsive state. Around 10am, we thought we were in the final hours.  We were making plans around how and when to pull the girls home from school. By 5pm, those thoughts became, 'How are we going to juggle her passing with the girls home?'. Didn't matter.  By 10pm, we had spent over 12+ hours at her bedside, holding her hands, talking to her, loving on her... and all of that carried on through the night.  There were a couple of hours where we traded off and let one another get some rest; we were otherwise both by her side.  Her breathing became more labored over the course of the night, and she continued to work through the active stages of dying.  

Through this morning, she was essentially holding in the same pattern.  This allowed me to make a quick run to the store and pharmacy.  The girls were heavily occupied with the TV and iPads this morning [of which I have zero shame... I'll break the iPads later :)].  Around lunch, all was still roughly the same, but Honey resolved she was going to try and rest while the youngest was having her midday quiet time in her room.  The oldest was headed to a birthday party (I'll detail this whole event and the decisions regarding it in another post).  With Honey resting, the girls occupied and Ash is a holding pattern... I figured I'd try and rest as well.  I moved to my office and started to do some reading.  I got a text from Honey about 45 minutes into rest time about Ash's respiration rate had dropped somewhat and she told me to come in to the front where they were.

I quickly put my stuff down and scurried to the front.  It was clear that we were at death's door.  While I'll hold the remainder of the details, Honey and I were holding her hands, loving on her and ushering her as she took her final breath. 

Hands down the most painful moment I've ever experienced.  Literally, part of me died in that moment. I can somehow remember vivid moments of that experience and yet, it's such a blur that I can't fully grasp that my wife isn't here any more.  I am not ok, and that's just going to be the way it is for a while.  The only solace, and arguably the only thing that really matters here, is that the hope that Jesus assures us of is the most tangible in the moments of greatest despair.  As Ash drew her last breath, I knew that she pulled her next one in a place where there is no suffering, no sickness, no sadness.  She was restored.  At peace.  In perfect rest.  Worshipping the One [Jesus] who holds all things together.  The One who has prepared a place for us. The One who is the Way.

I had to recall my oldest from the birthday party she was at.  She made her way home and has asked several times to be there after mom is gone so she can say good-bye.  (The 7 year old is more mature than I ever could have dreamed of being when I was that age.)  Being that she's the oldest, I waited on her...  to tell her before I brought in her younger sister.  Walking from the front to the back yard when she got home... she saw it in my eyes and started to lose it.  Cue, the second most painful moment I've ever experienced. Holding my daughter as she's pleading for her mom to come back.  The Lord was gracious to us both in those moments.  He gave me strength to hold my daughter, and He gave her freedom to be fully unreserved in her emotional release.  She's so sensitive at times to hold in her emotions because she doesn't want others to be hurt or to be sad... but not in these moments and I could not be more thankful for them.  The youngest dealt in her own way as well. It wasn't quite as emotional, but she's also still learning how to express all of those feelings/thoughts.  She definitely wanted to be near and to play with me WAY more than normal... and I know that was her way of starting to deal with some of this grief.

All in all, it's been somewhat of a tumultuous season in life that was capped with a bittersweet crescendo as Ash stepped into eternity. There are plenty of thoughts/feelings to work through, and I'm sure I'll write about some of them.  But to everyone who is reading this and has been on this journey with us in whole or in part... please hear me when I say this, 'Thank you.'  For the medical advice, the food, the words of encouragement... the wisdom imparted, the empathy from those who have been here, the sympathy from those who have not, and most notably the prayers said on behalf of my crew... Thank you. I cannot tell you how those things have shouldered a burden for us.  Though the first half of this battle is done... it's time to grieve well.  If you see Honey or my girls, say hello to them.  Give them a hug.  Tell them kind things.  Point them to Jesus.  Encourage their spirit.

Details about the next few days will be forthcoming.  I'll post what's relevant.

Thank you again.  More to come soon...