Sometimes not here

The noticeable change for Susan over the past week is a slight decline to the point that she’s sometimes not here. She sleeps most of the time, often deeply, and is often weakly alert when she’s awake. When she is alert just after waking up, she doesn't have a lot of stamina. She's otherwise comfortable and sweet-spirited. Word-finding is really hard, so she doesn't talk much. I noticed the word “paraplegic” in her nurse’s notes, so I guess that’s true since she hasn’t walked in about three months. Medical terms can be jarring in their accuracy.

It’s weird that she’s sometimes not here. She slept through me repositioning her in bed recently. She slept during Adam’s birthday party with 15 guests. On Sunday, after sleeping all night, she slept through late morning. She slept through much of yesterday’s bed-bath with her nurse’s assistant.

Going on hospice is acknowledges that if someone’s about to commence the process of dying, you’re going to support it and not interfere. That’s a hard decision to make. That process on hospice means you’re sometimes not here; then I suppose it means you’re sometimes here but mostly not, and then finally you’re not here at all. I've noticed that Susan’s journey is becoming more private, something she has to do alone. That’s hard too, even though there's no other way. Gradually or all at once, being separated from someone you love is just really hard.

The Fairfield Four sing, “You got to walk that lonesome valley, you got to go by yourself… ain’t nobody else gonna go there for you.” That’s another jarring truth even without the medical terms

The other day I thanked the Lord for being my shepherd, so there’s nothing I will want. I thanked him for making me lie down in green pastures, because I needed that rest. I thanked him for leading me beside quiet waters and enjoyed the sounds I heard. He refreshes my soul. I thanked him for guiding me down the right path for my good and his glory.

I thanked him again that his presence, his perfect love, casts out all fear from the valley of the shadow of death. I thanked him that while it’s a lonesome valley, he’s there with his strong hand to lift and guide and comfort. I thanked him again that the reason it’s the valley of the shadow of death and not the valley of utter darkness is his light. His light gives vision and means the gloom is only temporary. 

"Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings. My soul clings to you; your right hand upholds me.” Psalm 63:7-8