Twelve hours before, Maria was waking-up to me with my hand on her shoulder, "Maria, we're going on a trip, today." Geoff made all of the arrangements, and the rest of the day I attempted to do every single chore, errand, and gesture of love I could make for my family, before leaving for Oregon.
I love traveling with my children, and always have. Of course, some trips are difficult in spite of good companionship. This post is to recall moments during our visit to Oregon when we found beauty in nature, in family time, in walking and seeing whatever was around us.
We found our way to Grandmother, to my Mom and Aunt, to the days ahead of being company, of doing what we could to be helpful, to support, and... anything of use. Shifts were being shared between my mom and her siblings, with dad coming in between conference meetings. Maria and I would try to give relief to anyone in need, to fill in gaps.
Morning at Aunt Becky's house, before we took the day shift at the hospital. Henry and Eve were there all night, now Maria and I could go in, and share the time with Aunt Becky and my Mom.
This shawl was crafted especially for you with love and prayers... may you be cradled in hope, kept in joy, graced with peace and wrapped in God's love.
Later, Maria and I went on a second walk, in search of the pink house we could see between trees, through the third floor window.
Grandmother asked me and Maria to hold the quilt up so she could see it. We lifted it off her legs, holding it until she nodded. We sat at her bedside, pointing to each print we recognized, running our fingers lightly across the patchwork strips. What is this pattern? I see half-square triangles. And then? Details. Distracting myself with questions about details. Recording details. Grandmother slept. Maria and I stayed the night with her.
There are many reasons I blog, remembering is an important one. I like to write, I love to take pictures. The blog makes for a nice place to keep my pastimes in order, and to give us a story, memories to revisit. My head, even my heart, are full of that last night we spent with Eunice. I could write it all down, literally every detail, by the hour, by the minute. Something in me feels a sense of capturing, holding her in those recordings. I dread losing any memory, as though she is in them, as though I can retain a part, any part, of what I love about her.
It's a terrible and muddled place where I am, in my head. At once heartbroken, anxious, even in denial, and then thankful, humbled, in awe. Every bit of our time there, at the hospital, in the hospice room, was sacred, private, dear for it's blessings, anguished for the suffering. The muddled parts comes from wanting to write it all down, to keep all the details pinned to paper, sealed, and even to share it... because I want everyone to know her, to see her, to feel how precious and dear she is. But the scared pieces, intimate aspects... I couldn't do it justice, it's not right. We cannot pin things down, we break them, when we try. It's a blessing that we felt it, and in time, in natural and gentle ways we will share what we can, and always hold the memories dear.
And the vigil, the time between, is with us still. My thoughts are on my Grandmother, and with my Mom... and I am thankful, humbled, in awe, again, and again, as I hold them, and all of my family, loved ones, close to my thoughts, in my heart.