September 05, 2006
This weekend a friend of mine lost her husband. I always thought “lost” was an odd euphemism for having a loved one die, but it seems apt in this case. It’s not like she didn’t know he was dying – she’s spent the last months fighting her way through the rugged terrain of dying. Medical traumas, news from doctors that takes your breath away, the gritty swipes of anger and fear moving relentlessly through their lives. She got him moved into an excellent hospice and has spent the last month puzzling through questions of medicine and insurance forms.
So she knew, but she didn’t know that one night she would go home, exhausted from a troubled day with her husband, and have the nurse call her at 3:00 the next morning to say, “I’m sorry. He’s gone.”
“The doctor said, ‘I’ll talk to you on Monday,’” she told me. “The nurse said the night before, ‘Let’s pray this medicine helps him through the night. See you tomorrow.’ They didn’t think he would die so soon.”
No one knew that he’d just stop breathing that night, that one moment he’d be lying there, quietly sleeping, and the next he would be gone.
“I thought there would be time,” she told me, “I thought we would get through all the upheaval of getting him into the hospice and finding the right medications and then we would have time to talk…I thought we’d read books…I thought I’d be there when he went.”
Her seven year old son stood behind her left elbow, studying anything other than the concerned faces around him. A group of his friends drew near. No one knew what to say, so they stood in a semi-circle around him and muttered greetings. He hid his face in his mother’s arm, then peeked at them and said flatly,
“Did you hear that my dad just died?” They nodded, but he pressed his face against her arm again and squeezed his eyes tight shut. A cold, misty rain was falling, in compliance with the mood, and it dusted their hair with silver.
A few days later, as I pulled out of the garage,the little girl next door danced down her driveway. She waved a request for me to stop for her a moment. I paused and rolled down my window.
"Hi, Bethany. What's up?"
She swept her straight blonde hair back and showed me her ear. A pink rhinestone flower glittered from the slight dimple it was pressing in her reddened earlobe.
“I got my ears pierced,” she announced, grinning. She turned her head from side to side, flashing her ears at me. I was surprised to find tears gathering under my vision. I opened my eyes a bit wider to keep them contained. She’s only six, I thought, and here she goes on this long, confusing, painful path toward womanhood.
“They’re beautiful,” I told her.
As I drove away it occurred to me how often the beautiful is outlined in sadness, and true sadness is delicately traced by beauty.
I just thought that now might be an apropos time to tell you that if you ever decide to stop writing, again, I'm going to have to KICK YOUR ASS. With love, of course.
Posted by: Mir | September 06, 2006 at 06:38 AM
I'm so sorry about your friends husband. I'll pray for the family to have peace at this time. Good luck with school.
Posted by: Lisa in NJ | September 06, 2006 at 07:17 AM
Kira, I love the way you paint pictures in my mind. Gorgeous - true sadness is delicately traced by beauty.
Posted by: Carmen | September 06, 2006 at 07:47 AM
I'm so sorry about your friend's husband. Just like your post says, though, you managed to outline the sadness of it with the beauty of your words.
Posted by: Aimee | September 06, 2006 at 08:14 AM
My heart breaks for your friend. With your words, though, I am reminded to cherish each and every single day I have here on this Earth with my loved ones.
I'm with Mir though... <3
Posted by: shannon in oregon | September 06, 2006 at 09:57 AM
--the beautiful is outlined in sadness, and true sadness is delicately traced by beauty--
Amen.
Posted by: Heather | September 06, 2006 at 03:12 PM
I too 'lost' my husband. One moment he was there and the next moment he was gone. He waited until I was looking away to go. I am told that it often happens that way. My life since has been an illustration of the last sentence you wrote here. It is so true, it takes my breath away. Thank you for writing this blog and taking my breath away so often. I will keep your friend in my prayers... she has a hard road ahead.
Posted by: Peggy Spence | September 06, 2006 at 04:05 PM
How is it that all the most memorable things in life, whether precious or painful, transpire in mere moments of time? Such a poignant entry, Kira. Thank you.
Posted by: David | September 07, 2006 at 11:22 AM