One Foot Brushing Heaven

Her breath comes sporadically and with much effort now. Her eyes are closed and when opened, you can only see the cloudy remnants of what once was vibrant sight. As I sit and hear the struggle of each breath I begin to sing. Slowly, the muscle spasms lessen and the struggle eases. I am not the owner of an angelic voice, so I have to wonder if her calmness has more to do with the familiar tune and less to do with my faulty song. That's always the question we ask, "can they hear us?" It gives us more comfort as their last moment approaches; that maybe our voice reaches them and comforts them. I ease my hand out of the wrinkled one, gently so she doesn't feel abandoned, and I get up from the bedside chair to do a couple more things before I come back to sit and sing again.

This is the world my parents live in. This is the world I thought was normal. Now, as a 26 year old, I see with new eyes during the Christmas season the miracle and ministry that has been given through my parents that is anything but normal. My parents are home care givers. Never heard of it? That's ok. Not many have. You see, my Mom takes care of the elderly in our home. Both of my parents do actually. Years ago my Mom sought a career for her life. She combined her desire to stay at home with her kids, and her passion for wholistic and compassionate end-of-life care and out of that dream was born 19+ years of caring for the elderly. We've had grandmotherly ladies, absolute terrors, and the occasional troublemaker. I would like to say I saw my mother the continuous angel through it all, but she has too much fire in her spirit to take all the arrows thrown at her unflinchingly. Our family is now known for its arsenal of funny stories and "I can't believe that happened" moments. It comes with its sacrifices too. I can't tell you all the times my parents have gone without sleep, friendships, or date nights. A lot of people don't understand what faces them day in and day out, and a lot of friendships go unmade because of it. 

My Dad is the hilarity wrapped up in movie quotes that keeps us all sane. Growing up, it was his light-hearted comment, or funny quip that moved me from tears to smiles. I always knew he was the one God sent to earth to make my Mom smile when she needed it most. When the nights were the longest, and my Mom was at her end, it was my Dad who slipped his arm around her shoulders and kept her upright by His strength and prayers.  What I didn't see before were the other roles he played. 

You see, my Dad got into this profession by association. In some ways he is the quintessential hero with two lives that no one person sees. By day he is a professor, honing minds and fighting the culture of texting for the good of education. For most professors the bell rings and the end of the day comes as you drive off campus. For my dad, that's when his second job begins. After the car is parked and the bags are dropped it's time to face whatever challenges have arisen throughout the day. It's a difficult life but my parents live it as gracefully as possible. Not perfectly mind you, but still grace-fully. I don't think my Dad even realizes all that he does. He would just tell you it has to be done so he will do it.

I mentioned before that I saw this all with new eyes. This Christmas I saw the beauty of my parent's lives. It's difficult; this living with your life dictated by events. Not many can adapt to it much less understand it and so it can be a lonely one. But last night I saw two familiar scenes: the actors were the same, the setting hadn't changed, but the audience had...I had. The first picture was of my father, usually prone to laughter and the land of academia, sitting by a ladie's bedside carrying on a conversation as if it wasn't one-sided. Slowly he would spoon feed her the dinner he had prepared only minutes before. Some girls begin to realize their Father's aren't the perfect invincible heroes of their childhood. In that moment, my dad went back to being my strong, invincible childhood hero, cape and all.

The second picture was of my mother; salt and pepper head bent over the hand of a new friend. I mentioned before that my mother's life tends to be a lonely one. It's rare that she can go out and it's even more rare to have friendships built in a home of death and dying. In truth, my Mom has made many friends over the years, but they've mostly been made at the closing of their lives. This lady was no different. That night my mother started singing over her little friend. Breathing was still a struggle, but as Mom's voice finished each verse, her friend's struggles become less and less. I was about to turn away, to let them have a moment together when I heard my Mom's voice break. In the silence produced by an interrupted song, I heard her struggle with words as her friend struggled for breath. "I love you friend. I'm going to miss you. Be at peace." 

I can't remember how many times they've done this; meeting new friends at the end of their lives and helping them transition into heaven. They aren't saints. I know their faults better than most and they know mine, but this Christmas I was given the gift of really seeing all that my parents do. They are strategically placed warriors and comfort-givers with both feet on the ground, but with one just barely brushing heaven's gates.