“We have thought, O God, on Your loving kindness, in the midst of Your temple.  According to Your Name, O God, so is Your praise to the ends of the earth; Your right hand is full of righteousness.”  Psalm 48:9-10

 

When my grandmother was placed in a nursing home, her children had been told that she had little time left.  She had been placed on hospice in the hospital and that transferred with her to the facility.  All of it happened quite suddenly.  What seemed like a simple fall became a death sentence for her to many.

But my grandmother has always been quite feisty and independent. Before all of this, she had long lived alone.  Cleaning her home.  Venturing to garage sales.  Mowing her grass until her hips had to be replaced.  She gardened, grew tomatoes, liked to chat, smoked constantly, and absolutely loved going to church on Sundays. My grandfather had passed away a couple of decades before and so have most of her friends.  She has even lost two children as others came and went.

So, while on hospice in the facility, it became very trying on us to watch her decline in such an unnatural way.  She didn’t really appear to be dying on her own accord, but rather she was becoming ever so dehydrated and weak from the protocol that was advised in her case. Being that she was very independent, God raised up independent thinking advocates who began to inquire whether the quick assessment that she was dying was actually correct.  After diligent discussions and prayer, we removed her from hospice and transferred her care to the nursing home solely.  Much to their surprise and our relief, she slowly regained strength and awareness. She began to eat and drink.  In the beginning, she still slept a lot but started to have more moments of wakefulness.

And it was in one of those moments, early on, that I was given a gift…one of many that periodically come.

I visited her one evening about eight weeks after the whole ordeal had begun.  I was delighted to find her with her eyes open and an awareness on her face that reassured me that she knew who I was.  I said, “Oh grandma, I am so glad to see you awake!” as I took up her hand.  She pressed her other hand on top of mine and said, “I am glad too!  I need to talk to you about what has happened?  My things.  How did I get here and where am I at?”

I spent the next twenty minutes guiding her through the events of those last two months, skipping the unnecessary details.  While she was confused, she was relieved to find some understanding and a familiar face.  At one point, she eagerly exclaimed, “I am hungry!”  I offered to get her some food, and told her again on my way out of the room to the kitchen, “I am so glad I caught you awake!!”  I am not sure I will ever forget her face, her hand raised in the air, or the words that came out of her mouth next, “Better yet, I am ALIVE!!!”

Now living in a facility isn’t the most pleasant of circumstances.  It is not that she resides at a bad facility.  Quite the contrary; they are very good and very caring.  But, it is a place that many come to die, not live.  Freedom becomes defined differently than what many of us know on a healthy, youthful day.  While she has now returned to a certain level of independence–she has gone from being bedridden to freely wheeling herself around the halls and rooms of this facility–she cannot leave.  And so, there are days where the sadness outweighs the happiness…the boredom and lack of the familiar pile over what little good that happens.

But every once in awhile, when I catch her up and awake, her smile and gratefulness to see me again is overwhelming to my soul.  It hit me after leaving from a visit one day that maybe this trial, this need to tend to her–to be there for her, isn’t fully about duty and kindness to family.  Maybe, just maybe, God is offering me the chance to make new memories with her that will replace the old.  New smiles and levels of caring I had not experienced nor given.  Better memories, if you will, that might fade the old and indifferent ones…

Had she been gone too soon, I would have had no late night talks to remember.  No special grins or words of delight.  No memories of her reaching up to hold my face and tell me that I am beautiful.  No wiping away my tears, the evening of the day that my mother-in-law had unexpectedly passed.  She had seen my face and a look of questioning had fallen across hers.  When I tearfully shared that I had lost someone dear to me, her comforting words gave me a glimpse of heaven in action as she ever-so-gently said, “I know.”

Without this time, I would have had no chance to advocate for her.  No opportunities to reassure and remind her of those who care.  No chance to make her smile, to help her find moments to still laugh and delight, to ensure a better quality life with where she is at in her journey.  Truly, a level of caring that I had not seen from her before, nor do I think she ever saw from me. And now, even when she’s not entirely present in mind during a visit, I have come to appreciate the gift of just her presence. Something I had not really known before all of this.

My friends, try hard not to gauge reaching out to help another based on your perceived idea of closeness.  Instead, look at the opportunity as holding the potential to venture somewhere new; a journey–not always easy or desired–that you cannot comprehend or understand until you actually decide to walk the uncharted path and discover its richness…

“Walk about Zion, and go all around her.  Count her towers; mark well her bulwarks; consider her palaces; that you may tell it to the generation following.  For this is God, our God forever and ever; He will be our guide even to death.”  Psalm 48:12-14 (NKJ)