Yesterday, we got a call from Bob Smith, Jim's brother-in-law. Jim's 93 year old mother had fallen and broken her hip. She had been taken to the ER and was going to need surgery. Instead of heading to church, we jumped in the car and drove the two hours to Huntsville to be with his mom.
When we got there, Jim's mom was heavily sedated and the nurse told us that Bob and Ro, Jim's sister, were downstairs in the caf. We went down, met them, ate lunch and then offered to give them the afternoon off while we waited for Mom to be taken in to surgery. When we went back up to the room, Mom was still very quiet, although she opened her eyes and looked at Jim when he stroked her head and gave her a kiss. She went back to sleep.
I went over to one of the chairs in the room, pulled out Sunday's Sudoku puzzle and invited Jim to work the puzzle with me as Mom slept. So, there we sat - Jim's mom, with one of the worst possible injuries that an older person can have, was lying in a hospital bed and about to have major surgery, and I was focused on doing a stupid puzzle. At one point, I looked over at her in the bed and thought, "I may not even have another hour in this lifetime to be in her living presence. She is on the threshold of death, and what am I doing?"
The nurse came and told us to follow her as she took Mom down to the surgery floor. We were taken to a small private holding room where the nurse place a finger monitor on her so they could monitor her pulse. As she put the clip on her left index finger she said "It would be good if those rings could come off", referring to Mom's wedding bands. (Dad died exactly five months ago. With his death, Mom's Alzheimer's had gone from bad to worse.) "They have been on her finger for over sixty years. I am not sure they can come off." Jim responded.
After the nurse left, Jim held Mom's hand and gently tried to remove the rings, with no luck. I was glad. I was standing near the door, watching Jim and his mom, as the monitor kept track of her heartbeats. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. About every tenth heartbeat, it would skip. Jim stood at her side, stroking her cheek and repeatedly reassuring her that the doctors were going to help her. She could only look up at him. No words came from her lips.
As I stood there, watching, I realized that I was observing. I was distancing myself from what was going on. I didn't exactly know how to respond. I didn't want to 'get in the way'. I did start praying. I was praying for the angels to come and be around her bed. I was praying for God's mercy on her, and aching for my husband. I was imagining what must be going on inside her head - not knowing if she could comprehend any of this - either because of the drugs in her veins or because of the disease in her mind.
I quietly said to Jim "Should you pray for her?" He quietly bent closer to her and put out his hand for me. I finally engaged, went over to his side and put my hand on mom's hand under the blankets, and my arm around Jim. Jim prayed for her. Then, I remembered how she had flawlessly prayed the Lord's Prayer at Dad's funeral. I said, "Mom, we are going to pray the Lord's Prayer." Jim joined me and we leaned close over her and said that familiar prayer that is anchored in her bones. Her lips moved with us, but no sound came out.
What do you do at the threshold of heaven - the doorway between life and death? I didn't know how close she was to that door, but we seemed very close to it in that moment.
The nurse came in moments later and said "We are ready. Here we go, Mrs. McCool. We are going to help you." She began to move the bed and both of us were watching to make sure she took off that finger monitor. She did, as the other nurse put tape around Mom's wedding bands.
With a final kiss and an "I love you" Mom went off to surgery.
We went out to the waiting room. In another corner, a family had gathered to wait for news about their loved one. They had ordered a pizza and were sharing it among the clan. One middle-aged family member was pacing and talking on her cell phone. Another was checking to make sure that everyone had gotten a piece. I was watching as one of the teenagers in the family lifted his pizza slice to his mouth to take a bite. "We are all dying." I thought. "We are all at various distances from that threshold. How do we live life? How do we stay fully present, but also live with an awareness of threshold?"
I don't know, but yesterday, my appreciation of life and my awareness of death was heightened. I realized that I do believe that there is life beyond that doorway, and it will be good. And I know that there is life on this side, and that it is good. But I don't know much about that area in between. All I know is, yesterday I was a whole lot closer to it than usual.
(Mom's surgery went smoothly, but she ended up spending last night in the ICU because of some breathing issues. They are going to remove the breathing tubes this afternoon. At least, that is the plan. Maybe we have backed up from the threshold for a short while.)
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