A Christmas Miracle

Last Saturday morning, my husband had a seizure. Actually, he had another seizure. They don't happen often, but they do seem to always happen on a Saturday. I haven't figured that one out yet. Every time the phone rings now, I answer it with dread. Anyhow, his medications were reviewed, adjusted, and a new medication added. I don't know if the meds had anything to do with it, or if it was ardent prayer, or what, but what we've witnessed the past couple of days is a Christmas miracle!

He gave me a hug!

On Christmas Day, our eldest son and I went out for a visit to the facility together. We expected that my husband would be roaming around aimlessly, barely acknowledging our presence, and perhaps even sleeping intermittently. Like last time. Instead, he was animated (for him at this point) and obviously excited to see us. He was all smiles, reaching for my hand, reaching for our son's hand, drawing us close and sighing with satisfaction. I think he definitely knew who I was, and I'm sure he also recognized our son. He even responded to our questions and comments with a word or two. We were both absolutely thrilled!

The following day, my husband's sister (or, as she says, "his MUCH older sister") called to ask if it would be okay to visit my husband with her daughter. Of course it would! I had been at the facility for a while, doing hugely successful music therapy with lots of smiles and even dancing, when they arrived. The last time his sister visited, not that long ago, she cried when she left because my husband looked so poorly and seemed so weak. It hurt her heart. But this time, there he was smiling at her and smiling at her daughter, holding her hand, responding to her words and touch. And not just because she brought Christmas cookies, either. It was wonderful and so unexpected. Two good days in a row. Two extremely good days, two miraculous days.

Dear reader, I am well aware that the next visit might not be as fabulous, or that I might at any moment get another dreaded phone call about my husband's condition. But on this, the First Day of Christmas, I am deeply grateful for this Christmas miracle.

Final Arrangements

December 6, 2018

When my father died, I went with my mother to the funeral home and to the church to arrange for his burial and memorial services. She had been hit hard by his demise, as is generally the case, and she was in no condition to make even the slightest decision. Instead, she just looked at me, her eyes tearful and pleading for it to all go away. It was an effort for her to breathe, and she was utterly devastated and in a fog. It broke my heart, which was already hanging by a thread because of my dad's death. It wasn't even an unexpected death, as he had been suffering from dementia for years and had suffered a major stroke almost a year before his transition to Heaven. Yet, when the end of life comes, it always seems to be a surprise. One is never quite ready for that last breath. Ever.

I have been thinking it would be a good idea to get the initial planning underway, should my husband predecease me, so I won't be caught flatfooted and completely unprepared when the time comes. The hospice chaplain had brought up the subject during our visit, and I decided I'd put it off long enough. So this afternoon, I went to see our local funeral director.

I've known him on a professional level for years, as I was the administrator at a church and had assisted the pastor and the undertaker at countless services. I appreciated the caring way he had shepherded families through this difficult process in the past, and so I had made an appointment to talk things over. He couldn't have been nicer, and I was pleased that he remembered me.

I told him what I had in mind, and he helped me to think through what was needed without pressuring me, "up selling" me, or making me feel like a cold, heartless person for asking him mercenary but necessary questions about costs. He gave me all the information I needed in order to come up with a basic plan, more or less firm but allowing for unforeseen circumstances. Then I went to the church to lay a foundational outline there, basically giving the administrator a "heads up" and receiving much information and encouragement in return. The world is full of good people who want to be helpful.

Feeling relieved to have taken an important and difficult step, I did what anyone would do under the circumstances:  I had a massage to get rid of the tension in my neck and shoulders! Caregivers, self-care is so important. Believe me, I know it is difficult to set aside time for yourself. But for your own health -- physical, emotional, spiritual -- and well being, it's vital that you do so. As others have been telling me for years, you won't be able to take care of your beloved if you haven't taken care of yourself. Please take this to heart, because it's true. I learned it the hard way.

Holy Communion

One of the services provided by hospice, along with nursing, social workers, physical therapists, and so on, is chaplaincy. Spiritual concerns are naturally a part of dealing with a terminal illness, and Chaplain David is there to help us and our family when we need spiritual or emotional support during the difficult days ahead. We have a wonderful and supportive pastor and church family involved, too, but it never hurts to accept help when offered. Since hospice chaplains serve hospice patients exclusively, they have a lot of experience caring for people in this specific situation.

One of the things that started weighing heavily on my heart recently was that my husband had been without the opportunity to have Holy Communion (Luke 22:19-20) for months. What with being transferred from place to place, hospital visits and stays, stress upon stress, I'm kind of embarrassed to admit that it hadn't crossed my mind. So, when I requested chaplain support and met Chaplain David, one of the things I asked him about was Communion. Would he be able to do that for us? The answer was, "Yes, of course!"

We scheduled an appointment at the facility and sat, just the three of us, in the "quiet" sitting room. There are two sitting rooms in the L-shaped great room:  one with a television set and recliners, and this one with couches and a fireplace. The chaplain prepared the elements, all the while chatting to  keep my husband as engaged as possible. I held my husband's hand as the chaplain prayed. When the bread (a small wafer disk representing Christ's body, broken for us) was served, I took a piece for my husband and held it up for him to see. He opened his mouth, and I placed it on his tongue. I heard it crack as he bit it, and he clearly said, "Thank you." It was heartwarming.

Next we were served tiny cups containing the grape juice (representing Christ's blood, shed for us). I lifted the cup to my husband's lips so he could take a sip, then nervously wrapped his fingers around it so he could hold it himself. I watched him carefully to make sure he didn't spill it. He finished the juice and sat back, leaning against me. He closed his eyes and nodded his head. Was that a smile on his lips? "Glory," he said.

Glory. That is not a word he would ordinarily use, especially now that he's almost completely non-verbal. It was stunning. Did he see something in that moment? Did he hear something? What was going through his mind to prompt him to say that? I wish I knew. And someday I will.

Dear reader, perhaps you are a believer, and perhaps you aren't. Either way, something mysterious and spiritual happened for my husband and me that day as we shared the Lord's Supper. It was a gift from God that brought peace to my heart and rest to my mind. He is so, so good to us!