Last year

{repost from 8/10/2021}

Last year.

He was slipping more each day.

Waking at night, agitated. Wanting to go somewhere.

More time than normal spent by his bedside. Kids reading books and playing Nintendo, myself snuggling under the big arms I fit so well under. Squeezing next to him in the hospital bed, crawling in there at night when both he nor I could sleep. And then when we were together was when we could slumber.

We didn’t know if this was another dip that he’d come back from, like the many before. Our Hospice nurse was coming more, to check on him and offer support. She said there was so much peace and love in our home. She would hold back tears every time she came.

Last year.

The spiritual battles were increasing. He was despairing, I could feel it. We prayed often at his bedside: Rosaries, Divine Mercy, the Psalms, our Pastor bringing the Eucharist often. We all went back and forth between following and resisting.

Last year.

Emotions running high. Death does that. Sometimes those emotions lend people to say horrific things. To accuse horrific things. We endured that, too. Because when you follow the Way of the Cross Jesus lets you feel all of it, the little nuances, mere glimpses however, of what He did.

But in all the ugly that was despair and warfare and bodies slipping and accusations was a thread of holiness that wove the tapestry that was losing Michael together. Dying dying dying, to self. Dying to Divine Providence. The flames only beginning. The veil being lifted.

Michael’s death, physical. Ours physical too but not bringing the same end.

Those who lose their life will find it.

The culmination of what Michael and I both committed on the altar of God, coming to it’s fulfillment.

Reliving all of this is healing. I wish I could go back. Not to him suffering. But to the intimacy of those last days. To the way we communicated through our eyes. To knowing saints and angels were in our bedroom, providing strength.

It is a great gift that he and us had time to prepare for his final moments. That is never lost on me.

Walking this road again is necessary. And I will be pondering in the silence of my heart these last days of him on earth, last year.

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