Dear Me

2000 words
Dear Me,

         The year 2019 was bittersweet for you, I know. Because of your circumstances during the last two years, I cannot be harsh on you. I want to say, “You disappointed me,” but I must refrain. I understand the difficulties and challenges you faced the whole year through that prevented you from accomplishing your writing goals.

         Let me help you look back step by step to get a clear picture of those steppingstones and give you a perspective to lead you to a winning new year.

         The years 2018 and 2019 were your years of self-denial and self-sacrifice for the love of your 94-year old mother and your 90-year old husband. Your mother who was living independently at a senior citizen’s housing suffered a heart attack on September 13, 2018. Her discharge diagnosis was Acute combined systolic and diastolic congestive heart failure – Primary NSYSTEMI (non-ST elevated myocardial infarction (CMS/HCC0). Moderate protein-calorie malnutrition (CMS/HCC) and Other insomnia. You took her in to your home to care for because of her fragile condition. You assured her you would take her back to her own place when she was well enough to handle herself again. She consented. She seemed to get better but a month later, she complained of having shortness of breath again. When you suggested taking her back to the ER, she resisted, saying, “We’ve been there already. What else can the doctor do?”

         “Mama, you need medical attention. I am not able to know what to do to help you.” She wasn’t pleased but she listened to you. This time the doctor diagnosed her condition as Acute Congestive Heart Failure (CHF) and recommended released to home care. You provided home care for her under hospice care when she was released on October 25, 2018.

         Meanwhile, your husband was battling with his own aging and health challenges. Dividing your time between caring for your mother and keeping an eye on your husband was a tall order to accomplish. At this point, you noticed he easily lost his balance and fell constantly. To top that off, he was not eating much, was forgetting things, talking as if he was living in the past and desiring to “go home.” You went along with his line of thinking to maintain harmony. You did not want to start an argument that would tip his sensibilities. You have pointed out to him more than a dozen times that he is in the comfort of his own home, but his faculties could not process it anymore. He woke up in the middle of the night and said, “We’ve been here too long. When are we leaving?”

         “For where?”

         “Home.”

          “Where is home, George?”

         “Out there. We take a plane ride to get there.”

         “You mean… Connecticut?”

         “No. California.”

         “We’re in California, George. We’ve been here since 1979.”

         With that answer he got quiet and dropped the subject. This conversation kept repeating at least once a day. Other similar exchanges went this way:

         “I wonder what happened to Rose…”

         “Who is Rose?”

         “She’s been here since I was two years old.”

         “You mean Mama’s nurse, Rosita, who comes here every Thursday?”

         “No. That lady who watches me and gives me a big smile.”

         “You mean, Nancy, the caregiver?”

         “No.”

         His forehead wrinkled. He ended the exchange not wanting to prolong his frustration. Well, you were just as frustrated as he was, although you tried your best not to show it.

         Yet on another occasion at the dinner table, he said, “Have you heard from Mrs. Mahoney anymore or is she dead?”

         “Who is Mrs. Mahoney?”

         “The owner of the house. She owns this house we’re renting.”

         “We own this house, George. We never rented.”

          “She must be dead. Haven’t heard.”

         One morning, at breakfast time, you noticed he did not have rings on his fingers. You were particularly interested in the one ring you just bought for his birthday. It was an Air Force ring which he loved so much.

         “What happened to your ring, George? You’re not wearing it today.”

         “That was my brother Bill’s. I gave it back to him.”

         You wanted to say, “George, I bought that ring for your birthday. Besides, your brother Bill has been gone three years,” but you bit your lips. Keeping your mouth shut was better than getting discombobulated. He’s totally in la-la land.

         “Have you heard from sister Hannie? I wonder how she’s doing. Have you talked to her lately?” he said at another time.

         “No. I haven’t. Not since she went to heaven two years ago.”

         Conversations like these occurred repeatedly. You’re immune to them. All you can do is show him you care for him and devote your time in making him comfortable and loved.

         Early morning of March 20, a text message flashed while you were surfing on Facebook. “Are you coming, Nana?” It was Shea, one of your grandsons from Las Vegas.

         “Why? What’s going on?”

         “You don’t know? Jeremiah died.”

         “What happened? Was he sick? Was it an accident?”

         “I don’t know. He was found in his car.”

         “Find out what happened and get back to me. You know I cannot get up and leave your Papa and Grandma Elena by themselves without proper attention.”

         You ambled to the back bedroom, where your middle daughter, Kara, her husband Rich and daughter Bella were sleeping. They were visiting for a few days to spend time with her dad.

         “Have you heard about Shiloh? (You always called him Shiloh. He only switched to his middle name, Jeremiah, in High School because of classmates who teased him calling him “gay” with such a wimpy name.)

         “No, Mom. Why?”

         “Shea just sent me a text message. Said Shiloh died. And that’s all he knows.”

         Immediately, Rich, googled news channels in Las Vegas and found something: “There’s a newsflash about a man and a woman found dead in a blue car this morning. They have not been identified.”

         You contacted Shea immediately to get more information. He still did not know more than he had told you. So, you asked, “Is Jeremiah’s car blue?” “Yes,” he said. You then called your daughter - their mother, to verify the tragic news.

         “I cannot talk to you right now, Mom. I’ll call you back,” your daughter said and hang up.

         Later that day, Las Vegas Review Journal identified the dead bodies as those of, twenty-two-year-old Shiloh J. Delph and twenty-three-year-old Sonia White. Subsequent investigation by Metropolitan Police Department showed murder-suicide. Shiloh shot his girlfriend before turning the gun on himself. A driver who was heading north on Eastern Avenue, between Russell Road and Hacienda Avenue called 911 after witnessing a car hit a curb and cross all the travel lanes before coming to a stop. The 911 caller reported the windows had been shot out of the car, and the two occupants appeared to be dead. Shiloh’s death was ruled a suicide while Sonia’s was a homicide.

         You were beside yourself. My firstborn grandson! The apple of my eye as well as George’s! Why Shiloh? Why?

         Amid your pre-occupation with caring for your mother and your husband came this tragedy that shook our family nucleus. They were both under hospice care now. You had called George’s primary care doctor for consultation because he refused to see his heart doctor and prostate cancer doctor for regular follow up. Dr. G. talked to him directly to determine his condition and to confirm this was the choice he had made. The doctor referred him to Home Health Service and a nurse visited him on March 14 for evaluation at which time he was placed on home health under Elizabeth Hospice Care.

         You were hoping against hope he would tarry awhile and fight for his dear life but on May 25, George gave up the ghost with a smile on his face as he lifted his arms, head, and shoulders toward the sky. When he collapsed, you watched him take his final breath in peace. He appeared to you as one who eagerly welcomed some angels picking him up, ushering him to heaven’s gate. On June 7, memorial and interment services were held at Eternal Hills Memorial Park attended by immediate family members, relatives and close friends. He was honored with the U.S. flag draped on his coffin with a military service at his gravesite.

         Simultaneously, your Mama was slowing down considerably. Her intake was getting less and less. You recognized the pattern from handling George’s declining health. You knew it was just a matter of time. You hoped and prayed she would reach her 95th birthday on August 18 because you were planning a birthday celebration for her with immediate family members around.

         Indeed, everyone expected to attend was there: Deo, your brother; Lennit, your sister; grandchildren around town, out-of-town (and those out-of-state flew in). Close friends from church gave her an audience too. She was in her glory, smiling from ear to ear. She salivated on the cake, albeit, she had no appetite. That excitement was too much for her. You noticed her shortness of breath again. You monitored her breathing with the oxygen provided for her. When the nurse came for her regular visit the following day, she said your mama needed a small dose of morphine to regulate her breathing to keep her comfortable. There was a bone of contention among your siblings regarding the use of painkillers, but that’s another story for another time. Suffice it to say she opened her eyes infrequently to ascertain who was by her bedside. One thing amazing about your mother: she was constantly praying. She prayed for forgiveness and for strength. Eleven days later, on August 29, in the wee hours of the night, she gave up her fight for dear life. The family gave her a memorable send-off on September 5 at Eternal Hills Memorial Park where she joined your papa in their temporary resting place. I say temporary because the believer in the Lord’s eternal resting place is in that glorious mansion in the skies where there shall be no more tears. I know the following Scriptural verses have given you consolation and assurance of a reunion somewhere beyond the blue, so I shall quote them for you:

         1Thessalonians 4:16-17 “For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of an archangel, and the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ shall rise first. Then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so shall we always be with the Lord.”

         Revelation 7:17 “For the Lamb who is in the midst of the throne will shepherd them and lead them to living fountains of waters. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

         Revelation 21:4 “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

         I see relief and grief mingled in your heart and soul, Dear Me. I know you’ve been paralyzed with your losses; but count it a blessing you were able to give of yourself in caring for your loved ones in their time of need.

         It’s time to move on. You have done all humanly possible for them. It’s time to come out and breathe fresh air. It’s time to memorialize your journey and etch it in the annals of your family history. Let your children and your children’s children know the sacrifices and commitment you made so they might follow your footsteps.

         Good luck and persevere in your writing endeavor. Make 2020 your winning year. You owe it to yourself and the coming generations. Someday, you will look down from heaven hearing them say, “Thank you, Nana, for the example you left for us to emulate.”

Your faithful shadow,
Me, Myself and I