Thoughts on a cold, gray Sunday afternoon
Today's been the proverbial lazy Sunday, or at least it has been by my usual count. Last week was really busy, so it's been nice to have a day or so to just kick back and relax a bit. I've been kicking back and relaxing, but have also been doing some work, too.
All that I've really done so far is pick up a few things around the house, wash my new bed sheets, and visit with my Dad for a bit. He and I had a pretty good lunch a little while ago, and it's always nice to see him. Since then, I've just reinstalled Adobe InDesign on my Power Mac G4 so that I can help my friend Brian with some page layout issues, and I'll be heading to the gym here in a bit. As for the rest of the day...who knows? I'll probably give Brian a hand when he comes over to work on his newsletter, and I may also work on some award applications and on making changes to the Ethel Austin Martin biography. It's hard to believe that the book is almost finished. All that should remain now is to add Dr. Peterson's foreword, make the changes that Sherry Bordewyk recommended for the book, and then turn it over to the printer.
In the meantime, I've been reflecting on a few different things over the past few days. One thought that I've had recently came up when I was proofreading at the "Brookings Register" on Friday night. As I proofed a page, I read an obituary of a woman who died recently. It said in the obit that her husband had died about a year perviously, and it mentioned that she had been at his bedside when he passed.
Reading that passage brought up some memories of when Mom died a little over a month ago. When Mom actually expired, I wasn't at her bedside. I was in the surgical waiting room in the basement of the hospital talking to some friends on the phone and letting them know what was happening. I was at Mom's side immediately before she died and immediately after she died, but not when she actually passed from this world into the next.
When I read that passage in the obit, I was thinking that I perhaps had done my mother a great disservice by not being in the room with her when she left us. As one could imagine, I've been stabbed by pangs of guilt in the past few days, but thinking about what a cousin of mine said made me feel better. My cousin Terri, who along with her sister Kim, flew to South Dakota from Ohio to help my dad and me deal with things in Mom's last days. Needless to say, nothing would have gone as smoothly as it had if Terri and Kim hadn't been there. But I digress...
After I finished my last phone call, I left the main floor of the hospital and returned to Mom's room, which was on the second floor. Terri and Kim met me at the door to the room and told me that Mom had passed away. Terri also remarked that she thought that Mom was actually waiting to go until I was out of the room. She also said that the nurses had commented that whenever I would reenter the room before Mom died, her vital signs would get stronger, but they would start to decline again as soon as I left the room. As hard as it is, I'm inclined now to think that Terri was right...Mom was waiting until I was out of the room before she left us. And I suppose I should also take comfort in the fact and not feel guilt because by the time I actually left the room to call some friends of mine and let them know what was happening, Mom was effectively gone. Her body technically was still alive, but her spirit had already departed. And she left knowing that all of us loved her, and I guess that that's the most important thing.
The other thought that's crossed my mind several times in the past few days has been missing people. I'm missing people like Mom who are no longer alive, but I also find myself wanting to see people who are still very much alive, but whom I can't see because physical or emotional distance separates us. Physical distance is easier to circumvent than emotional distance, of course. But I do hope that someday I'll be able to see these people whom I long to see again. I guess all I can do about it in the meantime is pray about it and pray for them, and pray that if there are any ill feelings between us that they go away in time.
All that I've really done so far is pick up a few things around the house, wash my new bed sheets, and visit with my Dad for a bit. He and I had a pretty good lunch a little while ago, and it's always nice to see him. Since then, I've just reinstalled Adobe InDesign on my Power Mac G4 so that I can help my friend Brian with some page layout issues, and I'll be heading to the gym here in a bit. As for the rest of the day...who knows? I'll probably give Brian a hand when he comes over to work on his newsletter, and I may also work on some award applications and on making changes to the Ethel Austin Martin biography. It's hard to believe that the book is almost finished. All that should remain now is to add Dr. Peterson's foreword, make the changes that Sherry Bordewyk recommended for the book, and then turn it over to the printer.
In the meantime, I've been reflecting on a few different things over the past few days. One thought that I've had recently came up when I was proofreading at the "Brookings Register" on Friday night. As I proofed a page, I read an obituary of a woman who died recently. It said in the obit that her husband had died about a year perviously, and it mentioned that she had been at his bedside when he passed.
Reading that passage brought up some memories of when Mom died a little over a month ago. When Mom actually expired, I wasn't at her bedside. I was in the surgical waiting room in the basement of the hospital talking to some friends on the phone and letting them know what was happening. I was at Mom's side immediately before she died and immediately after she died, but not when she actually passed from this world into the next.
When I read that passage in the obit, I was thinking that I perhaps had done my mother a great disservice by not being in the room with her when she left us. As one could imagine, I've been stabbed by pangs of guilt in the past few days, but thinking about what a cousin of mine said made me feel better. My cousin Terri, who along with her sister Kim, flew to South Dakota from Ohio to help my dad and me deal with things in Mom's last days. Needless to say, nothing would have gone as smoothly as it had if Terri and Kim hadn't been there. But I digress...
After I finished my last phone call, I left the main floor of the hospital and returned to Mom's room, which was on the second floor. Terri and Kim met me at the door to the room and told me that Mom had passed away. Terri also remarked that she thought that Mom was actually waiting to go until I was out of the room. She also said that the nurses had commented that whenever I would reenter the room before Mom died, her vital signs would get stronger, but they would start to decline again as soon as I left the room. As hard as it is, I'm inclined now to think that Terri was right...Mom was waiting until I was out of the room before she left us. And I suppose I should also take comfort in the fact and not feel guilt because by the time I actually left the room to call some friends of mine and let them know what was happening, Mom was effectively gone. Her body technically was still alive, but her spirit had already departed. And she left knowing that all of us loved her, and I guess that that's the most important thing.
The other thought that's crossed my mind several times in the past few days has been missing people. I'm missing people like Mom who are no longer alive, but I also find myself wanting to see people who are still very much alive, but whom I can't see because physical or emotional distance separates us. Physical distance is easier to circumvent than emotional distance, of course. But I do hope that someday I'll be able to see these people whom I long to see again. I guess all I can do about it in the meantime is pray about it and pray for them, and pray that if there are any ill feelings between us that they go away in time.
posted by DrummerScribe | 2:15 PM
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