This morning I woke up to the phone ringing, though I didn't wake up all at once. I didn't even answer it for the first few minutes, looking instead to the clock on my bedside table. 4:30 am? Who would? There's a vintage spin-dial phone on the other side of my bed, just because none of the other phones upstairs actually
ring (as we rather inconveniently found out at 3am the day of my freshman year biology trip. I had to call someone else to get me. I promise to get over that some day.) Anyway, I answered it.
"Is your mom there?" Aunt Melissa's shaky voice asked me on the line.
"Probably, let me get her for you." Wow. That was stupid of me. Of COURSE my mom is here, it's not like she'd sneak out this early in the morning
I rolled across my mattress and onto my feet. I walked the few steps into the darkened hall before entering mom's room. For the silliest split second, I couldn't remember which side of the bed was hers. But I remembered, and it didn't really matter anyway because Dad was in Utah for his sister's 50th wedding anniversary and wouldn't be back until tomorrow.
I approached the side of the bed. Usually mom has this weird sixth sense that alerts her to the presence of one of her children in the room, so she stirs. But this time I had to actually grasp her arm.
She jolted awake, which both shocked me and made me feel incredibly guilty.
I spoke evenly and pointedly,
"Aunt Melissa is on the phone and would like to speak with you."
She reached for the phone and in a weak, breathy voice, uttered a greeting.
I walked swiftly back to my room. I had no intention of going to sleep, choosing instead to hold the receiver to my ear and listen silently.
"oh wow." My mom said. She said it several times.
In the seconds it had taken for me to cross from mom's room to my own, I had missed the big news.
But it didn't matter. I already knew.
Of
course I knew.
I think I had known it from the moment the phone rang.
She died at 5:00 in the morning, mountain standard time. There was a nurse with her at the time, doing her hourly check up. Grandma was trying to get out of bed, something she has been unable to do on her own for the past year. But the nurse tried to help her anyway. Apparently, Grandma sat up, gave a single gasp, and died.
Aunt Melissa probably felt guilty because she hadn't visited her that day. Her final day on earth without a visit from a family member? It must have been unthinkable!
But she hadn't been alone. Because my darling, darling father had spent the previous night with her, his ailing mother-in-law. He'd driven the 30 minutes each way from Brigham City (from his sister's house) to Holladay. He visited her. He called us, and
every single one of us talked with her. She was excited to hear that my mission papers were submitted and in Salt Lake. She laughed at something David had said (which no one can remember). She was...
there. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally.
Present.
After we hung up, Dad sang a Hymn with Grandma (Sweet Hour of Prayer?) and recited his favorite scripture (1Nephi 1:1) because there were no English Book of Mormon's on hand. They closed the visit with a prayer.
Back to that morning in my mother's room, the remainder of the phone call continued in a fairly predictable, though emotional, stream. Who has been called, what else needs to be done, etc, etc. Eventually, the call ended.
I immediately rolled off the bed and was in mom's doorway within moments.
She started to say something, but I just hugged her and said,
"I know, I listened in on the other end."
I don't know a lot of things. I don't know how to act at bridal showers or how to comfortably interact with former teachers. I don't know how to flirt or act around couples.
But I know how to be
there for people. I know how to be a still, silent, comforting presence. I can play with hair, pat a back, or massage with a gentle thumb to calm the troubled heart.
So I sat there on the foot-end of the bed with my hand on my mother's knee. Every now and then, we'd say something or make some small realization.
"Mom's spending Father's Day with Dad this year."
"I learned 'God be With You 'Till we Meet Again' in Organ Camp and said that I could polish it if I had another week..."
"Dad used to wake at about 5am when he was feeling well. He probably came and got her."
Then Mom called Dad. I went to get the cordless phone from downstairs and a pillow from my room. I had every intention of staying the remainder of the morning with my mother in her room (my theory: I can sleep when I'm dead... though something tells me that I might be even
busier in the next life).
Why? Because she needed someone. And 'Someone' is practically my middle name.
Dad told us about his trip. We weighed the pros and cons of calling Aria right then vs. waiting until later. Though it probably didn't matter, because she never answers her phone anyway (it probably runs in the family). It was a good talk. He's a good man. We hung up.
Then she called Aunt Nan. God bless Aunt Nan. She took the edge off. Yes, they talked about their Mom, her last moments, and what would happen next. But they also talked about... future job openings, receptions, their children... and other things. By the end of this last phone call (oh believe me, it had many false finishes and it only took four times of Aunt Nan saying she had to plan her Sunday School lesson for the call to end)... Mom didn't need me anymore. She never said it, but I felt it. The time was now 6:40 am.
I returned to my room, pulled down my light-canceling blinds, and slept until half an hour before church started.
There are a thousand little miracles.
1) Eliza and I (for different reasons) both have this Friday and Saturday off of work.
2) Aunt Melissa has been organizing Grandma's house, and the division of the assets and such was already well under way by the time the news came. She was trying to beat some sort of tax deadline for selling the house. But the timing is... impeccable.
3) If Grandma had died next week... we would have been in the middle of receptions and weddings and such. It would have been a scheduling nightmare. But now... it's just enough time to let people change their plane tickets for a little bit earlier than planned.
4) An Een isn't truly fulfilled unless he/she is doing at least three things consecutively. Three weddings (2 and a delayed reception) and a funeral? That's how we roll.
5) We ALL talked to Grandma mere hours before she passed. Closure.
And the list goes on and on. We have SO much to be thankful for.
Grandma's health has been up and down a lot over the past few years, and I've heard my mother mention (several times) that she must have
some work still to do on this Earth... or she wouldn't be here. Which leaves me to wonder... what was it? Did it have anything to do with our last conversation?
My siblings awoke to the news that their Grandmother was spending this Father's Day in Heaven. David had new material for his talk in Sacrament meeting. We've had an outpouring of love and support from our ward family.
The Lord truly is in the details of our lives. All things considered, we couldn't have asked for anything more, or chosen a better time.
Today truly was what should have been an emotional time for me.
And yet I'm pursued by the nagging guilt of a single solitary fact
.... I still haven't cried.
And I don't think I will.
I don't know why I don't
feel anything. I feel the need to be there for my mom, to defend Aria's radio silence, to look concerned, to smile, to share stories. I feel the need to live, to breathe, to move on.
But I don't feel ...
grief.
And I don't know whether or not that's ok.
But that's the way it is.
This is my story. These are my thoughts.
And I guess that is it.
