By far the most beautiful.

It has been a week since the death of my mother. A week ago right now, I was going on 14 minutes of sleep knowing that my mom had made her transition to heaven. That day brought many emotions for certain. A lot of sadness and grief knowing that she was gone from this world. Sadness in knowing that I would never again hear the sweet sound of my mother's voice calling my name from somewhere off in the distance. Knowing that my children would no longer run from here to there shouting "GRANDMA!" as I have so many times seen them do with such joy in their hearts. Knowing that I would never again on this earth see Hon and Hon holding each other. Kissing. Making each other laugh. This doesn't seem like a moment to speak about the beauty of life, yet I can only find myself focusing the last few days on just that - the beauty of life. I can say with some certainty that I did experience one (if not the) of the most beautiful things I have ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Two weeks ago tomorrow, my dad called and said that hospice was coming to set up and serve my mom. This was only a short 4 months after being diagnosed with cancer. Hard to take. What to do. We went. So glad we did. Just over a week in MI, and each day brought more beauty into my heart, my mind, and my soul. Broseph and I worked out a system. I ran the night shift until 3 or 4, he ran the early morning shift. These moments were filled with so many beautiful things. Serving my mother in new ways that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy, save perhaps my closest friends. Because I would want them to see the beauty I saw. Listening to my father tell and retell beautiful stories of their romance in the early days. Singing praise songs in the middle of the night. Playing the guitar quietly to bring some sense of calm into this storm that happened. And kept happening. Understanding the process of death amidst the beauty of family and friends stopping in to say how much she meant to them. Praying to Jesus to take her quickly and relieve her pain and suffering. Seeing the look in my mom's eyes, even when she couldn't communicate verbally. That look in her eye that screamed "I LOVE YOU". Her motioning to you by putting her head closer to your shoulder or hand or your head. Watching her sleep peacefully for minutes that turned into hours. Cleaning her face, her eyes, her mouth, and her body. Placing a cold washcloth on her head to cool her temperature like she would do when we were children. Loving her with a rub of her back. Her arm. Her incredibly soft skin. (I think it was my dad that mentioned her skin was that soft because of how many things she did for us, how many plates she washed, loads of laundry, all the work to serve all of us.) Knowing that she understood everything that was going on throughout the week. Seeing her beautiful head nod when you offered to help her, clean her, ask her questions. It was all so beautiful.
And then there is my dad. I think I will have to post again on the things that he did and said last week. They are beauty in and of themselves.
Now comes the beauty night that I hope to never forget. The kkft was to all fly back to NY Tuesday. I wasn't even sure what to do. Stay. Go. ? I never felt like God clearly told me what to do, I just felt like staying was the right thing to do. I even explored leave options at work. So I put them on a plane and I stay. More beauty that night. When I get back, the boys had gotten mom to lay on her back for the first time really all week. See, she loved to sleep on her stomach. But on her back, she seemed much more calm. The morphine doses had doubled. The time in between doses cut in half. But on her back, she lied calmly. My shift went on for hours without need of morphine or ativan to calm her. She did sound more raspy, and you could hear the build up. But then that stopped into the night. She began to pant in her breathing. But she wasn't in pain. Just panting quickly. Lying there, broseph and mattsy fall asleep on the bed surrounding her that night. I prayed each night so long. It was beautiful. Then my shift was over. I went to lay down maybe 3:15 am or so. Probably more like 3:30. Mattsy comes in and says 'her breathing is slowing down, you probably want to come in there.' So I do. 3:38 am. Dad is saying beautiful things to her. Her breathing is calm. Serene. Like the calm waves of the ocean just barely pouring onto the beach. Calmly. Restfully. No pain evident. No struggle for comfort. No anxiety or angst at all. Just calm breathing. And it slowed. More time in between breaths. More beautiful things said in her ears. My brother swears when they moved her onto her back that she opened her eyes wide, stared and looked out the window, and he thinks she saw the lights of heaven and she knew it was time. More calmness in her breaths. Beautiful peaceful calm breaths. Like a movie scene that is perfect in every way. She breaths in comfort. No more disease. Just the most beautiful breathing. That gets slower. More time in between. 3:45 am, she takes her last one. And it was by far the most beautiful thing I have experienced. The love I have for that woman is inexplicable. The fact that I got to be there and see that beauty in person is something that I will cherish forever more.