I’m writing this at 7 minutes ’til midnight, because a) I’ve had a very busy day and b) I’ve been debating whether or not to write this post.
If you’ve ever experienced the death of someone close to you, you may know what I mean when I say you can’t help but be blunt, and because of that, be prepared to console other people when they hear your bad news. It’s completely natural. That is, if you can bring yourself to talk about it.
My aunt is dying. She’s in ICU and being prepared for Palliative Care (a type of in-hospital hospice.) Her body is ravaged from years of abuse, and has finally begun giving up. Her organs are shutting down in a domino effect, she’s unresponsive, and in a partial coma. She’s also about 7 hours away, and I haven’t been able to see her. Mom is too ill to drive (or ride, for that matter) that far. Her other sisters are out of state, and I have been struggling with whether or not to make that drive.
I love my aunt very, very much, but I’m not sure if I can see her like this. I’m also not sure that if I drive to the hospital she’ll still be there to see. The doctors say it’s hour by hour.
You may be wondering why I’m bringing up such a personal and depressing topic. The first reason is because writing or typing my thoughts has always helped me sort things out. The second is because I want people to know that life doesn’t have to end this way. If you’re struggling with any type of health problem, especially addiction, please let someone help you. It’s your choice, and that’s the only thing we have control of.
The third reason I’m bringing this up is that death isn’t the most terrible thing that can happen to us. We find comfort in the fact that there’s a welcome party waiting for her when it’s time for her to let go, leave the suffering behind, and find peace and joy in heaven in the arms of a loving God.
It’s 10 minutes after midnight now, and technically not Thursday anymore. I’m going to go to bed and wake up in the morning, reminded of the fragility of this life, and how it begs to be cherished with every breath I’m given.