Saying Goodbye When Goodbye isn’t Enough

My heart is breaking. During this pandemic, I have been without the comfort of friends or the freedom that Addy’s kindergarten classroom affords. I have been in constant contact with Aaron or Addy for 2 1/2 months and yet I feel so alone. I am appreciative of their help and devotedness. We have accomplished a lot of house projects, planted a garden and had lots of kitty cuddles. Honestly, I have nothing to complain about. I am healthy. I am loved. I have enough money, enough food. I do not want for anything.

Except, I do.

Ann Marie Bond. One of two mothers-in-law has died. I’ve never known a tougher lady and one who chooses joy and thanksgiving every day of her life. She can sew, cook, shoot and always offer a soft landing for her grandkids. She is witty and well read. She knows her classic movies and will beat anyone in pop culture trivia. Her favorite books are the Anne of Green Gables and the Bible which she lives by its story of salvation and hope.

We share a weakness – vanity. Both of us long for pretty things and recognition for those pretty things. 40 years ago, Ann had radiation treatment for cancer. As a result, she lost use of her legs and could no longer wear fancy shoes.

The last time I sat with her, I sang to her and read my favorite Bible passages of hope and courage, grace and life renewed. I’m not sure she heard me. But when my father-in-law came to give her a kiss, she puckered lips and lifted her head. She was certainly aware and listening to me.

Addy spent an afternoon with her, before she lost consciousness. Together, they laughed and sang. Grandma presented Addy with some special gifts: a jewelry box and her Bailey’s Yum Yum cups which are good for hot chocolate! She also gave me a gift: her beautiful red earrings. They were my favorite. I was always quick with a compliment because they brighten up her face as she laughed and told stories of her younger years. I am also now wearing her engagement ring.

After 33 years, my father-in-law proposed again and presented her with the diamond he couldn’t buy years before. It is radiant and upon my finger is a reminder of the love they had and taught both Aaron and I. I hope our relationship will reflect their respect and endurance.

Losing Ann was a surprise. She was in hospice, so we had time to say goodbye and thank you. But she wasn’t supposed to be there. She had gone in for a routine surgery, risky by nature, but one she had had before. After surviving cancer over 40 years ago, the damage from the radiation treatment caused significant digestive issues and lower body challenges. She never complained but the discomfort was evident. Most recently, she had begun to decline, so part of her colon needed to be removed. Unfortunately her flesh couldn’t heal after the incisions and a skin infection extended all the way to the bone, exposing her insides and not allowing her to control her bowels. Again, she never complained.

Once she realized that recovery was not possible, she chose to die in hospice. Without much control she seized that which she had and prepared with dignity. The Coronavirus made visitors sparse and far apart, but all she cared about was her family and grandchildren. Those children were always her love.

*So I started this post when Ann was still alive. I couldn’t finish it. I was too scared to put into words the grief I bore as I watched her last days. I began to question the role of family in my life and the people who I call family. Time with Aaron and Addy has begun to mean more to me than ever before. And thankfully due to the Covid-19 pandemic, we have the time and space to be together. And mostly, it has been good. Like the 3 weeks we spent at the family lake cabin was full of laughter and peaceful calm. Every day on the water is a perfect day. Even our 2 cats loved it and spent hours outside, chasing Barn Swallows and hunting ants! We even found a baby turtle and named him Rainbow Orchid, keeping and feeding him until we released him upon our departure. It was lovely!

Ann, I miss you. I miss your laugh. I miss how we could commiserate about our crusty old men husbands! Well done, faithful servant. I will see you again. I love you.