Just want to start back blogging today for all the right reasons. On a personal level, writing is therapeutic. On a social level, I may have something to share that could help others through some of life's challenges.
The last time I wrote was December 3rd. My younger brother (age 53) passed away that day. He had prayed to God to take him HOME for more than a week. He was tired and his body was ravished with pain from the colon cancer. I flew to Iowa from Texas to be with Milt and his family but I had no idea how close we were to ending his struggle with disease.
Before I flew to Iowa, I anticipated the challenges of being with my brother and not letting it cause me emotional setbacks as I continued my grief recovery. So what I did was give "birth" to this blog. For me writing is therapeutic. I had a close friend help me set up the blog so that on a daily basis, I could keep on track with my recovery and start writing .. when I wasn't caring for or spending time with Milt.
I was blessed to not be working so I could respond quickly to a call for help. So on October 31st, I put myself in the direct path of imminent death once again. I was in Davenport only 3 days when Milt was taken to the hospital as a result of falling. He was hospitalized for a few days when it was determined he had lost the battle and would go home for hospice care.
Keeping in mind that I would never willingly walk towards being the primary hospice caregiver (during several days a week) -- it was all a bit frightening to me in the beginning. Milt's wife had to work 4 - 10 hr days a week to keep health insurance so I stepped out of my comfort zone to provide what care I could with the assistance of an incredible hospice team. So while I was needed, I got up at 6:00 am and was relieved at about 6:00 pm.
God has a plan. Sometimes we would run from or choose not to follow His plan if we have a choice. But I can tell you these weeks with Milt were nothing short of a "gift". The emotional connection that he and I shared during those four weeks were beyond anything I could have expected. You see, Milt and I had never been that close. I am eleven years older than him and since moving away, we never had much more than the normal family conversations and exchanges. He had always demonstrated a tough exterior that almost seemed cold and aloof. He demonstrated many of the same characteristics as our father and his father.
But what I experienced was seeing this rock solid exterior... with a heart of gold and a love for family ...that honored family values and faith. When it was just the two of us, we had fun remembering events of our childhood. He told me stories of family gatherings that I had missed. And above all, he made me promise to have a family reunion once a year where the guys could fish, the dogs could run, the children could run and play and the women could produce there best recipes to share. I had to laugh since I live in Texas. I told Milt, " I have a hard time just getting my kids and grandkids together". But I assured him I would do my best.
Milt's oldest daughter from a previous marriage had been somewhat estranged. Milt's wife looked past any issues that might interrupt Milt's and his daughters time together. It was her efforts that brought great healing and great joy to Milt as she made numerous efforts to come visit, then to come stay and help the family -- more importantly spend time with her dad, her step-mother and little sister (age 11).
Ironically, Milt had the ability to make others laugh and draw them to him. He cracked jokes! He had great one-liners! And even though he couldn't eat solid food, he always wanted us to gather around and eat in front of him. He explained that he had NO interest in food -- he just did not like being in that bedroom alone. On more than one occasion, there were no less than 10 people gathered in his little bedroom to watch a movie! Movies were something he enjoyed but it was exponentially better when it was with family.
Visitors came and went during the day! He loved the visits. He asked me to contact others at the schools where he had most recently worked to let them know his days were numbered. I did so. Some came to visit while others found it best to let the children sign cards and even send pictures. But it was indeed evident that Milt was loved by many. He had touched lives in an everlasting way.
Milt's passion had been dirt track racing. He came by it naturally because our father had started that enthusiasm when we were kids. He had not raced in several years but those friendships from racing were solid. It was that group of men who comforted Milt during these final days. Over an over I heard what a great guy he was on and off the track. He was known as the guy who could keep his head straight in the heated competitions and always present a class act. And if you have ever been around dirt track racing that is not usually what you would expect.
The final week I spent with Milt was tough. The morphine levels had to be increased measurably to try and manage the pain. It was not working. He would talk about seeing Dad at the end of his bed and wonder where he had gone. He would tell our younger sister, "I am ready to go but I thought Mom and Dad were coming for me. I don't understand." Then one day I heard him speaking quietly in a conversation with God. He was asking to go HOME. He wanted to make sure God would take care of his loved ones. He prayed the usual words of a man who is ready.
Then I heard him speak of individual children. I recognized their names as those of his former students. Milt worked as a para-educator being assigned to some of the more challenged students. He was praying that God should watch over them and keep them safe. And I can tell you this was extra special! As a retired school administrator, I thought of parents who would give anything to have a teacher working with their child or children who on their dying bed would include them in his final prayers. It was so touching and once again spoke volumes of the character of my brother.
One particular conversation Milt and I had was when we were talking of death, faith and Heaven. I asked if he would please let Denny know that I am doing well. He said of course I will! "You can count on it. And when I see Mom and Dad, I am going to tell them what a great job you did of keeping this family together." I was taken back and responded only that it took all of us to keep the family together. He replied, "No it was you." Even though I cannot agree with his comment, his sentiment will be in my heart forever. Even though I did not feel he and I were particularly close -- somehow I had touched his life at a deep level. And to that I say, "Thank you Jesus!"
For the last week of his life, Milt kept begging us to help him die. He would ask our brother to give him extra pills thinking that would help. His pain and anguish was great. He asked the hospice nurse and caregivers to please give him more to help him pass. He would say, "If you can't do it -- then get someone here who can." Never before had I heard someone beg to die. He was ready! He had faith! But it was God's timing not his that would prevail.
When it was evident that death was near, my youngest sister took time off work to stay with Milt and I during the day. It was such a blessing to have her with us. I was emotionally and physically teetering on exhaustion. As with all the other weeks and days, family and friends would come by as comfort for Milt. Now I could relax with Anita taking over primary care. I had long been concerned about Milt's youngest daughter being home when he passed, having to call everyone, and being worried I would do the 'wrong' thing.
God's perfect timing never ceases to amaze me. When he took his last breath, his wife and his oldest daughter were by his side. His youngest daughter was at school where she wanted to be. Anita and I were in the living room giving them time together. Then in an instant -- his last breath. We rushed to the room. I felt such an incredible relief knowing Milt was ready.
And then it happened! I started sobbing. I could hardly stand. My body was shaking and I could hardly breathe. I tried calling my daughter (no answer) then I called our son but could barely speak. First chance I got, I went to lay on a bed trying to get my body to stop shaking and to take deep breaths. During that same time, others were going through their own reactions to the death (and from what I hear it wasn't pleasant).
The next morning, it came to me what had happened. After all, I hadn't cried that hard when my own husband died. I had held it together and been strong so I could take care of business. I held it together so my kids would be proud of me for being strong. Those uncontrollable tears started as relief for Milt's passing and the earnest grieving of my beloved husband. I had held onto those tears for so long that they just came gushing out at the most opportune time.
What I can tell you today is that those weeks with Milt (being able to talk with him about faith, hope, love and dying) were instrumental in my healing process. Giving in to those tears lifted my heart (previously filled with sorrow) to a new awareness of life and living. I have been blessed by the love of my husband, my brother, my family and friends who were there for me!! Praise God.
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