WATCHING THEM GROW UP

I was just watching the movie The Last Song. I didn't know anything about the movie... it just looked like a good clean family movie to watch.

My father-in-law died in an industrial accident years ago, before he was my father-in-law. Our families were friends, so I still remember very clearly when I was told he had passed. There had been an explosion, he was burned badly. He had survived a couple days, but then passed.

In the early days of the TV Show ER, I used to enjoy watching it. My mother-in-law would watch with me. I remember one time the subject matter of the show was a case involving a burn victim. My mother-in-law left the room. She couldn't watch. I understood, but didn't understand what that felt like.

Tonight as I was watching the movie, I found it was about a father who had been estranged from his children. He has them come stay with him for the summer. As the movie unfolds you discover he is dying from cancer. It is still hard to watch that. I find it impossible to watch it - without feeling those feelings all over again. Without looking at the 'reality' of life as I know it.... as my kids know it. Without feeling the pain all over again of my kids growing up without their father. Now, years later, I can truly understand what that must have felt like for my mother-in-law. Why she preferred to change the channel on those nights.

In the movie the older sister comments regarding her younger brother that her dad won't get to see him grow up.

I would just like to disagree with that, if I may. My kids are not the little kids they were when their father passed. They have grown up. They are turning into teenagers, young adults with mature thoughts and decision making power. They have missed the daily interaction with their father. Had he been here, they would have become someone else. But, even though he was not here... I know that he has watched them grow up. He has been there for them in moments he could not have been otherwise. He has not been able to physically hold them or discipline them, but he has been able to help them feel his love for them when they needed it. He has watched them grow up. Death takes away many things, but that is not one of them.

FINAL HOURS

When I walked into Chris' hospital room with the children Sunday morning, I saw Chris was resting peacefully. He still had the oxygen mask on and was still talking and moving some in his sleep from time to time.

We tried to wake him and tell him the kids were there. He woke slightly and acknowledged the children. Chris' oldest brother had flown in overnight so he was sitting there with the other brother that had kept a vigilant watch night and day since he had arrived a week earlier.

Our good friends came up. The plan was for them to take the kids home with them. Another childhood friend of Chris' showed up with his wife as well.

Chris' sleep grew deeper as the day went on. There began to be less and less talking and moving in his sleep. The afternoon was enjoyable. We visited with all who were there. I rubbed Chris' feet and cut his toe nails (oh come on... this can not surprise you. I WAS a little crazy before I was even a widow).

As the afternoon pressed on, our friends needed to leave. We got the kids ready to go, then tried to wake Chris and tell him to say goodbye to the kids. Chris awoke - wide awake for the first time all day. He started talking and said he wanted to say something so to listen because he could only say it once (he still had the oxygen mask on - it was difficult to understand him as he was still struggling for air). He said he was grateful for this opportunity to speak to the children, then called them each by name and expressed his love for them. He told them to be happy and to do what's good so that we can be together in heaven. He ended, as he would a prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

My friends walked out with the kids. I walked into the hall with them and struggled to compose myself. That was the most difficult time of my life. To watch my husband say good bye to his children. I broke down in the hall for a minute, then went back in his room.

When I walked back in Chris was having a seizure. The nurses gave him some medicine and he calmed and went back to sleep. He didn't wake up again after that. Chris' mom and step-father arrived about a half hour later. His other sister got a flight and flew in around 7:30pm.

Once she arrived, we had a family prayer. It was 8:00pm

I asked everyone to leave for a bit so I could have a moment with Chris. I felt at total peace. I was so happy that he was done suffering. The nurse, Debbie, came and sat and talked with me for a little bit. I asked her how this would work.... would he just stop breathing? She explained that his breathing would slow. There would be long pauses between his breaths - then it would stop.

Everyone came back in and I sat there counting. Sometimes he would go 30 seconds without taking a breath.

I felt peace. I was just waiting. 3 of Chris' 5 siblings were there. I decided to go home.

I walked in my home at 10:15pm. My friend was there, she had come over and put the kids to bed. The phone rang within two minutes of me getting home. Chris had died shortly after 10:00. His siblings said his last breath was a long exhale - and they knew that was it. They sat there a few minutes with him before calling the nurses in.

It was January 16th.

IT WILL BE OVER

On January 14th, a Friday, I came in the morning the way I usually did. When I got there Chris and his brother (who had been spending days and nights at the hospital, much to Chris' joy) told me that the Chemotherapy doctor wanted to talk to me with Chris. It didn't feel like it was going to be a good thing. I ended up having to wait until the afternoon for him to get a chance to come up to talk to us.

While I waited I talked to Chris some. I asked him if he felt like this was it. He said no. I felt the same. He looked good, despite the fact that his health was declining daily.

When the doctor came up, he sat down with us and explained that they had not given up. They would continue to treat Chris as soon as his health started to improve. But, his health was not improving. He had gotten an infection that wasn't going away and he had an infection in his lungs. Terminal care was something we were going to have to consider. He asked Chris where he wanted to be when he died; in the hospital or at home. Chris said he'd prefer to stay there at the cancer center. He didn't think it would be good for the kids to have him like this at home.

It was a surreal day. I couldn't believe they were talking about TERMINAL care. His brother stayed with him again that evening.

I walked in Saturday morning and it seemed that everything had changed. Chris had an oxygen mask on and he was struggling to breath. I has nurses and doctors coming to me to get all the "DNR" paperwork signed and straightened out. Signing the paperwork was extraordinarily emotional and difficult for me.

When I walked in that morning and saw the condition Chris was in, I felt this WAS it. He was on the brink of death. The question lingering in my mind was... is he coming back? I felt overwhelming peace.

Many people stopped to see him that day. A good friend and the leader of our congregation gave Chris a priesthood blessing. Again, I felt such peace. I knew this trial was over for Chris. I knew that the outcome was completely up to Lord and that His will would manifest itself. I knew that he would make a turn for the better, or as he sat on the brink of death - he may cross over. I knew it could go either way, but I felt peace.

Chris struggled to breath all day By evening he decided he'd like some morphine. The doctor took me into the hall to make sure I understood this. The morphine would make him more comfortable, it would slow his breathing. But this could also expedite his death. My mother-in-law was there in the hall with me. She was tearful. I felt such sadness. For her. For Chris. For my kids.

I gave the doctor my approval and returned to the room to talk to Chris. I told him they were going to start him on the morphine and that it would make him more comfortable... that it would slow his breathing... but to the point that eventually... He finished my sentence with "it will be over". I replied with a "yes". He said, "OK".

I left early that evening so I could talk to the kids.