The Death Bell Tolls

Almost three months ago, I wrote a blog about the helplessness that I felt when my husband and my friend were dealing with loved ones in the hospital.  Now, my friend’s mother has passed away, and the helplessness has only increased.  I just spent a very stressful and emotional weekend in Pennsylvania, going to her funeral and helping my friend’s family cope.  Although I know they appreciated my efforts, I still feel utterly helpless in the situation because I just cannot make it all better.

My friend’s mother has had poor health for many years now, and there have been several serious situations.  It has always seemed a possibility that she could go at any time.  Regardless, it came as a shock to me when I got the news last Thursday.  She had been in the hospital again with ailments related to the previous stay.  She went through surgery successfully and had been moved to a nursing home for further recovery before going home.  Every bit of news I had received from my friend had been positive.  Her mother was doing well and it seemed she would once again fight her way home for a while longer.  Indeed, my friend’s father said he had spoken to her not even a half hour prior to her death and all was well.  Unfortunately, there was a sudden turn for the worse and she was gone before they could do anything for her.  When the text came from my friend, I had to read it several times before I could believe what it had said.  All through the evening and the next day, I just kept rereading it, trying to convince myself that I had misinterpreted her words.

Although my initial response was to get into my car and drive to PA immediately, my husband’s cooler head prevailed.  Even if I packed swiftly, I still would have been 8:00 or later leaving the house.  The six hour drive would have gotten me to PA at 2:00 in the morning with no hotel room, no one knowing I was there, no one awake to contact, and nothing to do to help anyone.  Plus, I was due at work the next morning.  Friday was weird as I tried to concentrate on my duties and not think about what had happened so that I did not break down at my desk.  At the same time, I was paying close attention to my phone, waiting for any kind of message from my friend.  Eventually, I got news that the funeral would be Sunday evening.  I made the arrangements to take Monday off work, against my vacation time because my employer thinks that this was not a close enough person to warrant bereavement leave (why is it based on blood instead of importance?).  I headed up there Saturday to spend a couple of days with my friend, her father, and the rest of her family.

The three days of the trip went by in a blur.  Although I was physically present, there was not much that I could do to help anyone.  The funeral arrangements were already made.  Their immediate family surrounded them.  Another friend was staying at the house to help out already.  I do not say this to complain, but just to emphasize the fact that my presence, while valued, was not really needed.  My friend was bearing up under the pressure a little too well.  She was focused on the details of arranging the funeral, switching her mother’s accounts to her and her father, and cleaning the house.  She did not cry, and I fear that she will probably break in the future once we all have drifted back to our own homes and lives.  I will not be there, but hopefully she knows that I will listen if and when she is ready.  The Sunday viewing was a chaos of family members, few of whom I knew well.  I stuck to those I knew and tried to stay out of the way.  The funeral itself was short, though amusingly punctuated by another friend’s three and half year old boy.  My friend’s mother would have loved it, and I know my friend and her father enjoyed his innocent interjections into the preacher’s words.

Now that it is over, we move on with our lives but we remember the wonderful woman who has gone before us.  This weekend was punctuated with the many people sharing the memories of the woman we all gathered to honor one final time.  I remember a woman who sat in her kitchen and directed those around her.  She was not very mobile, especially at the end, but she knew everything that everyone else was doing.  I remember a woman who loved to cook and entertain, and who appreciated that I was a non-picky eater.  She could always count on me to eat whatever she wanted to make.  I remember a woman who baked hundreds of Christmas cookies every year.  Some were sold to people in town, and some were in the house to share with those who came to visit.  My favorites were thumbprints with icing.  A few years ago she gave me the recipe, so now I can make them for many Christmases to come while I remember her each time I pull it out.  I remember a woman who was always kind to me, who always made me feel welcome and at home.  I will miss her.

Here’s to Ginny!  See you next week!