viva la vida (or death and all his friends)

how do you write about something indescribable? i've been stirring ideas around in my head.

i could write a story about the last four days of mom's life on earth, about sitting next to her, holding her hand and telling her over and over and over again how much i love her. how we will miss her every day. to run towards Jesus as soon as she sees him and don't look back. we will be fine. we will be sad. we will be happy for her.

i could try to describe what she looked like, cloudy eyed, her face in a tight-lipped grimace most of the time, her mouth so dry and filmy but how we could only drip tablespoons of water into her barely parted lips because she could not open her mouth to drink. how she would strain her eyes in your direction when you talked to her, try to smile sometimes, or laugh, or yes, even sing a little even though she couldn't move her head. the slow and languid arm movements, the flinching and restlessness. i could write about what it was like to lean down and dab at the tears dripping down her cheeks, or to put my ear up close to her so i could hear what she was trying to say. sometimes she would talk. she even had a few short conversations with people during that time, but mostly all she would say that we could understand was "i love you" and "i want to go home".

when our greatest fear and our greatest hope are standing together at the door.

it was sweet time, too. friends and family coming to see her, talking with us, crying with us, telling us stories about mom and dad. the tiny silver haired friend who, along with her husband, had been among mom and dad's closest friends their whole lives, had begun teaching mom to play the piano when she started chemo 2 years ago. mom had said that her only regret was that she never learned to play the piano, so connie set about teaching her. and as the beautiful 80-something woman leaned down to talk to mom the day before mom died, connie said to mom "you and i will play the piano together again soon" and mom said "won't scott be surprised!".

but all i really want to write about, the story that i will carry around with me in my heart, and will probably make me cry more than any other is this one.

nate and jenny and i were sitting with mom on saturday night. it was dark, she was tired, she hadn't really said much or been very awake in a while. but we started telling stories. i sat next to her in the direction her face was turned and held her hand. i asked her if she remembered the songs she used to sing? how she would put on "The Fifth Dimension" record on saturday morning and sing "Age of Aquarius" while doing the dishes and we were dusting or picking up toys. i remembered how she would put on the Beach Boys or Barbara Streisand or Neil Diamond while she cooked or cleaned, or when we were getting ready to have people over, and we would all sing. and i asked her if she remembered the songs she sang to me and my little sister (nate wasn't born yet) in the little bedroom upstairs when she rocked us to sleep. and she nodded a little and squeezed my hand.

"I remember Jesus Loves Me and some of the hymns, but when i think of you singing us to sleep, i mostly remember Simon and Garfunkel. You would sing "Scarborough Fair" and "Bridge Over Troubled Water"."

she blinked and squeezed my hand while my brother quietly got up and put the record on the record player. and then he and i, in warbling 2 part harmony, sang most of the album to my mom as she lay tiny and pale in her bed. "Feelin' Groovy" was my mom and dad's song. it's a long story, but we all knew it, so when that came on we all sang, even jenny. and i know that my emotions and sentimentality cloud reality sometimes, but i swear that i heard mom almost silently humming the "da da da da da da da da da, Feelin Groovy" while nate and i sang. i could see her throat strain and her eyes light up in a way that looked so much like the well mom. we laughed at our bad singing. until "bridge over troubled water" came on, and nate moved to the other side of her bed to sit next to me, and we sang that song to her soft and warbly and she smiled. and i cried.

sail on silver girl
sail on by
your time has come to shine
all your dreams are on their way

and a few more days past, and she went from "rarely awake" to "not awake". we took turns with her, but ultimately she went Home to Jesus and to her True Love early on tuesday morning when everyone was asleep.

and i try to imagine what it was like for her to see Jesus in real life, and to see dad again after 8 years, and to be well and whole and beautiful. she was always beautiful though. even in the grey and pain of death, she looked calm and radiant. when i smoothed her downy hair and smiled toothy grins at her, she smiled back and mouthed "i love you" pretty much every single time.

and now, i am calm. relieved, happy for her, hopeful to see her again some day. and i miss her. i will miss her every day. she inspired a lot of people, and i think that her death and her faithfulness and hope throughout her life and death will draw a lot of people to Jesus. and so it goes. life and death, pain and joy.

a rambling post about something i didn't think i had any words to try.