Sunday, January 24, 2010

Death is a funny, crazy, painful, long-time-coming but comes-too-fast kind of thing

Death.

I've known death for many years now, more than I can remember. 

Whenever someone at church passed away, Mom would dress her tiny girls in their little dresses, white tights, and black patent leather shoes.  She would do our hair really pretty, and then our family of four would head off to the funeral home. On the way, Mom and Dad would go over etiquette as if we had never known manners in our lives.  They just wanted to make sure we were on our "best behavior."  And we were.  We would hold their hands as we stood in line to see the body, and while Mom and Dad shared their regards, we would sweetly smile and return any hugs given to us.  As we walked out the room, we couldn't help but notice the people crying, the sadness, the atmosphere.  Though out the doors, it was easily forgotten.  Afterall, it was a sunny, beautiful day and we would go home and run through the sprinkler or play with our dolls.  Meanwhile, a family's world had been shaken upside down.

Years passed and we began to understand.

I think death is one of those things that you wish you never got old enough to really know...  And once you know it, you never forget when it strikes.

My aunt's mom, "Mrs. Coger" was like a grandma to me.  She came to all of our family events and had such a sweet spirit. She made me feel special, and I loved to talk to her.  I don't remember too much about her, but I do remember her love.  She always carried such a peace with her too...  She died on September 11th, 2001.  Her funeral was the first one I really remember, maybe because I absolutely lost it when I saw her in the casket, or maybe because I was old enough by then to realize what it meant.  Either way, I still miss her sweet spirit and gentle smile.

Then there was my parent's friend, we called him "Uncle Phil."  He got sick at my graduation party and we later found out it was multiple mylenoma.  For years, it slowly drained all the life out of him, and we were glad when his suffering ended. Yet even when he was in the worst pain, serving others was his priority.  I remember one time he had just finished a treatment and was sitting poolside with a hat on.  I was in the pool and my leg cramped up.  I didn't say anything, but he knew something was wrong.  I told him nothing was wrong, but as weak as he was, he got up and said, "Well I'm getting in anyways."  Thankfully, my leg released and I showed him as I told him to sit back down.  Then there was the time my doctor thought seeing an oncologist might help with my blood levels affected from my liver disease.  While I waited in the waiting room, alone, the door opened.  It was Phil.  First I was embarrassed for him to see me there, and then I felt awful because I knew how upset he'd be knowing I was seeing a blood/cancer doctor.  We said hello and he asked if everything was okay, and I told him it was.  Worrying about me was the last thing he needed, but it was probably the first thing he did.  Funny... we were all worrying about him.  It rained at his funeral, absolutely poured.  It was a cold, October day, and the wind and water chilled us to the bone.  My parents were out of town, and I went home to a lonely house.  I couldn't get warmed up no matter how many layers of clothes I put on, so I started the fire and sat and shivered until my little guys Bryce and Declan came over to go trick-or-treating.  While the fire crackled, I remember yelling at God for taking him.  Well, not for taking him but for letting him suffer so long before taking him.  But if someone, even one person, came to God from his life, then Phil would have wanted to die.  He was like that.  But either way, why the years of one of the worst, most ravenous types of cancer?  I hate myself for wanting to ask God that.

A decade or two ago, we gladly accepted Grandpa into our lives and shared baseball games, western movies, and fun family times... He didn't say much, but when he did, it was so funny.  We loved that guy... and just like that, lung cancer, and he was taken away. He died after a long fight in the hospital, and I won't forget the day they took his IV out.  My mind put the pieces together - no IV meant no hydration, nutrition, no IV meds... I'm not one to break down in public, but that's when I finally believed Grandpa was going to die.  My grandma held me in the hospital hallway for what felt like an hour as I just sobbed and sobbed.  Grandpa still lived for weeks after that, though.  Our family stood guard on the oncology wing of the hospital, sharing all kinds of shifts, for weeks.  The docors didn't know what he was holding on for, and we never found out.  Completely not expecting it, I got the news that he was going fast while I was in Anatomy & Physiology class. I remember driving to the hospital begging God to let me see him one more time.  I finally arrived, parked, ran inside the hospital, ran to the elevators, ran to his room, and there was my whole family. My Uncle shook his head as his eyes met mine.  He was gone.  I looked at Grandma and the only empty seat in the room was beside her, so I sat down.  We embraced.  I then noticed Grandma was holding his hand like she wouldn't let go.  A few minutes passed and just like that, she got a disgusted look on her face, turned to me and said, "He's cold."  She got up and left.  That was it.  Grandpa was gone.

Then there was a girl at church just a little older than me.  She had the same name as me, and although I never really knew her, I was well aware of what we shared in common.  I'd watched her my entire life.  She had cystic fibrosis and always inspired me by coming to church even when I saw the pain swelling up in her eyes. She always wore a black dress suit... I'll never forget that.  She was in so much pain, yet she wanted to look nice for God's house.  She was beautiful for that.  Watching her battle with CF was awful.  It was up and down, up and down for years, and of course, she eventually had to succumb to it.  I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news (Muppet Vision 3D in Disney World, last May) and I cried.  When I saw her in the casket, I cried again.  That could have been me.  I thanked God for ending her pain and realized yet again how fragile life is.  And then I asked God why he took her, too, like Phil.  While He let them suffer for years before taking them.  If it's our time to die, okay, I get that.  But then why does it sometimes come with the most tragic, painful, atrocious sufferings the world has to offer?  Why doesn't God stop it?  I know He can.  But as I said, I hate myself for even questioning Him on it.  The Word says, His ways are higher than our ways, His thoughts higher than ours.

And I remember my precious Nana died almost a year ago to the date.  January 28, 2009. Maybe a year prior, we were out to lunch (like we always did) and while she was going on about her aches and pains, she addressed death for the first time in front of me.  She said it'd be easier than being the old lady she was, with all of her problems.  I interrupted her and told her to stop.  I said, "Nana, you are not going to die.  Don't you want to see me walk down the aisle?  Don't you want to hold your great grandbabies?"  That stopped her for a little while, but I guess it was just her time to go.  Nana & Poppop are "snowbirds" so when they went down to Florida in October 2008, never in a million years would I think Poppop would come home early - with Nana in a casket.  In fact, the thought of it now even makes me sick.  I had the relationship with my Nana that most people can only dream of.  I won't write too much here since I have pages and pages of memories on earlier posts, but she was one of my favorite people in the world.  She got me, and I got her.  She took pride in teaching her "Mandy Mine" a good portion of everything I know.  She was classy, beautiful, and loving.  Now, approaching the anniversary of her death, it takes my breath away to see my mom missing her so badly because I'm sure her very own daughter would miss her more than her granddaughter - and I miss her like the going-to-vomit can't-stop-crying take-the-pain-away type missing.  It's been a year, and although it doesn't feel as overbearing, it hasn't lost its entire heaviness, and it definitely hurts like crazy.  Her life was a big one in every way, and there is no way any of it is going to be forgotten anytime soon.  I still cry for her so hard I feel like my stomach will come up through my mouth - death is hard.  But thank God, I know I'll see her again someday. I can't wait, I really can't.

Then last night, less than 24 hours ago, God took a friend of mine.  His name was Gregory, and his sister was Leslie.  They moved here from Chicago and we went to church together.  Our families became friends, and then in the beginnig part of 2008, the doctors found out Greg had a brain tumor.  He went from worse to miraculously better to spiraling downhill fast.  His parents, sister, and various friends from church stayed at his bedside every day of these last years.  Yes, a lot of us from Akron went to Chicago just to cheer up a friend.  That's the good kind of friendship, I'm sure of it.  A bunch of his Ohio friends even surprised him with a party in Chicago (that made the news!) for his 20th birthday.  But now he's gone, and again, we are wondering why he was in such constant suffering only to die.  I know he's enjoying heaven, and although I'm not feeling my best right now, I know I need to go be with his family in Chicago.  Friends get each other through stuff like this.  Friends and God.  There will be so much of both this coming weekend, I'm sure.

And to think this is all just a normal part of this crazy miracle called life...