Watching her go
When I wrote my last post, Sometimes a win leads to a loss on Monday, July 22, I did so with the knowledge that my aunt would more than likely die soon. I knew things looked really bad and that I would more than likely be making the trip to Louisville on Wednesday to say my goodbyes and be with the family. What I didn’t know how long she might have. I received that answer firsthand.
After keeping watch over night, I saw my aunt draw her last breath at approximately 8:27 a.m. that Saturday morning. A quick gasp, a slight groan, and she was gone.
I’ve had so many thoughts and emotions run through me since that moment. I’m really not sure how to feel or what to think. If anything, I’m just numb. I’m struggling to function at all really. What can I say? Watching someone die is quite the mind altering experience. And I know it is going to be a while before things get better for any of us.
On Monday, April attended the funeral of a sweet lady who sang in the community choir with her. The program for her service had an insert bearing the poem below. The words spoke to me as they help put what I experience with my aunt into perspective, and I felt compelled to share.
There is no death
I am standing on the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch her until at length she is a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says, “There! She’s gone!” Gone where? Gone from my sight, that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living weight to her destined harbor.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, “There! She’s gone!”, there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “There she comes!”
And that is dying. — Henry Jackson van Dyke
I truly appreciate all of the warm thoughts and prayers that have poured in during the last week. They mean more than I can tell you.
Lots of Love to you all!
Mike, I am so sorry for you loss.
I’m very sorry, Mike. Those words do speak, and thank you for sharing them and this post.
I’m sorry to hear of your loss, but I hope you find some comfort in the fact that she’s now resting and free of pain.
Thank you, Jane.
Beautifully written. I’m sorry for your loss, and sending love to you and your family, Mike.
Thank you, Kerri!