Life and Death

Yesterday, my wife's family made the decision to remove her dad from a ventilator. He's been declining since having broken his hip. For weeks, he's been on oxygen and the last several days on the vent. When we got to the hospital yesterday after church, his doctor told us he doubted Charles, 87, would last through the night. The family decided to not keep him alive artificially.

We'd agreed that everybody could be at the hospital by 4:00--many live in Arkansas--and that would be our target time. It actually ended up being 4:30 when we all left the room and the staff began disconnecting him from his various tubes and removed the vent tube. Within five minutes, we were all back, not knowing if Charles would last a few minutes, a few hours, or even a day or more.

For the first time in over two weeks, he was able to open his eyes. He couldn't speak, but I could see him looking deeply into the eyes of his wife of over 60 years . He stared for what seemed to be five minutes as if he was aware she was there looking back. It was a beautiful moment. Then his gaze drifted and his eyes closed. We watched the monitor that showed his respiration rate, his heart rate and his oxygen level in his blood. They all began a slow descent. At 5:15, they showed zero and nothing but flat lines appeared on the monitor. Charles was gone. His last moments had been peaceful as we had prayed they would be.

Slowly we drifted from his bedside and prepared to leave the hospital for the last time. As we gathered in the lobby later, someone said, "I'm hungry. Let's all go somewhere." So three generations of survivors headed out in search of food. Half an hour later, we were sitting together at a long table at a local restaurant. The conversation was light-hearted for the most part. There is no weeping. No reminiscing. Just banter as we ate so we could go on living.

I have experienced the death of my grandfather, my father, my mother and both my two brothers. One of my brothers died in his home, to be discovered later. But, my grandfather died in our home. My father, mother and older brother in hospitals. Watching Charles decline over the past several weeks has brought back a lot of memories. I watched my grandfather, my parents and my brother, decline with death approaching and inevitable. All those memories were stirred up. My sympathy for my wife and her family, my sadness at Charles' passing, were all bound up in my own reexperienced pain.

At my age, the death of others close to you offers an opportunity to project into the future, too. I know that the day will come, probably within in the next 20 years, when my family will be gathered at my bedside, perhaps making hard decisions. I don't mean to sound morbid about it, but I am very aware today of my mortality.

Still, life goes on. We will experience the pain of the funeral and burial later this week, but in the meantime and afterwards, life will go on. We all have to make the most of it. That's what I've been thinking.

Peace,

Jerry+