The Drive

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Tuesday evening, I took a drive.

Not just any drive...the drive.

I've been meaning to take that drive for a couple years, considering the idea of soaking in every whisper of the memories from four years ago when I drove that path many times from home to you.

It's the road that takes me to the place where you took your last breath on this earth. This week, before the anniversary of your passing, boasts all of the beauty of Earth's splendor...nature's last hoorah before the dark cold winter...God's artwork. And in a way, maybe only to me, a send-off celebration...a beautiful goodbye to you. That's what it felt like when I drove that path over and over again four years ago. The glorious celebration of color, such a contrast to the darkness of death's sting surrounding you.

I didn't miss the contrast then. And, I didn't miss it on Tuesday's drive.



As I approached the turn, I let my eyes wander to the house that always let me know the turn was approaching. It looked like a peaceful place to live, I thought. I remembered how I noticed it one last time four years ago, the dark night I drove home telling people the news that your battle was over, and you had gone home.



As I made the turn, I felt the weight in my chest and the catch in my breath. I opened the sunroof, so that I could allow every nuance of this drive to soak itself into my senses. I wanted to breathe it all in, deeply. I didn't fight the memories...the flashes. I let them wash over me, as I gazed at the magnificent beauty before me.








The name of a housing development...The Sanctuary did not go unnoticed. I turned up Jim Croche's "I've Got a Name" and drove on with a smile. Feeling entangled and free all at the same time. Letting the weeping and rejoicing dance their dances over and through me, I lived each memory of laughing with you and crying with you...fighting with you, hurting with you. I smiled as I thought of your spirit...how every time we drive on a hilly road, I accelerate at just the right point so that we can fully experience one of life's great gifts...the "belly getter" just like you used to. My kids love it as much as I always did. As I parent a teenager, I am acutely aware of all the time I spent fighting the wrong fight for the wrong reasons. And, all the fighting I watched you do most of your life, even in the end. I thought of how you sopped up every inch of joy in every moment life offered you...even making us laugh as your body failed. Your spirit never did.



I looked up through the sunroof as I drove through what could only be described as a tunnel of autumn splendor. The leaves surrounded me forming their own blanket, a sanctuary, if you will. I drove on...to the place where I last heard your voice.

I turned into the driveway and the memories pushed their way into my psyche with such force, they ran into and overlapped each other in their efforts to be remembered. I remembered all at once the day we brought you here...the day I collapsed in exhausted delirium, the day I returned after a rest, and the day I left after four weeks of watching you suffer more than I thought was humanly possible.

I entered the building to use the restroom, walking past two women, who were there to visit a loved one, waiting in this place where people go to die. The door was locked and a hospice nurse approached me to lead me to another restroom. She led me down your hallway, past the chairs where we contemplated decisions, conditions, breathing patterns, and what to eat for dinner. Past your room, where we slept and listened to my brother's stories and the rhythm of your breathing. The memories coming at such rapid fire speed, I staggered into the bathroom and felt the eruption of emotion...wondering for a moment why I made this drive. I let the emotion come, and made my way outside to the beautiful ponds and the serene path I walked so many times.



I remember walking this path to let out my anger, to cry, to pray, to refuel, to look at something beautiful and alive for a few minutes. I walked it with my kids, walked it while pushing your big hospice bed around the bricks and listening to your snarky humor as you tried to keep my huge sunglasses on your face. I watched James feed the ducks and marvelled at how intertwined beginnings and endings are as life and death weave their way through our days. I remember reading each brick, the names of those who have gone before us...feeling somehow less alone and realizing once more the precious gift of life each of us is given.




As I opened the doors that led to the path of serenity, I heard a group of ladies in the lobby begin to sing what might have been a hymn. The emotions were swarming my senses with such fury, I'm not sure. Suddenly, the doors closed behind me and all I could hear was the sound of the fountains.


Oh, Lord...will you meet me here again? I felt my feet hit the bricks. My eyes scanned the names through the tears. The cool air filling my nostrils and breathing deep into my lungs. I crossed the bridge to a little clearing with a bench. I sat down and soaked it all in for a moment as the peace settled over me like a soothing balm. The fountains sprinkled, the crickets chirped, and I began to read scripture aloud, letting the words join the melody of peace soothing my weary soul. As if the Lord whispered through His comforting words of peace and truth..."I've got her, I've got you. I am here." I prayed a little, wept a little, and let the Lord hold me a little in the place where you breathed your last breath on this earth. Then I stopped to read one last brick, leaning down to wipe my hands over the name of a treasured life...a beautiful soul that once walked this earth and now brightens heaven with her exuberance.




As I got into the car to drive home, I saw an ambulance bringing someone in. I sighed with a heavy heart, and left the place where people go to die. On the way home, I talked with my "in real life" Lynette and she mentioned a story someone shared where the hospice wing was referred to as the "birthing rooms". Perhaps in light of that, it would be better to say it is a place where people go to live...eternally that is.

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If you are new to this site, this post is about my sweet mom who passed away four years ago on October 20th after a very difficult battle with cancer. She was just fifty years old. I miss her dearly...

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Giveaway is closed....winner has been announced!

I know this is a long post...and if you're still hanging in, I'd love to share today's giveaway with you. We are offering a free copy of Mary Beth Chapman's book, Choosing to SEE, to one commenter on this post. Anyone can enter and leave a comment. You do not have to be a grieving parent (as is the focus of the rest of the giveaways this week...which you may also wish to check out!) No matter what we are facing in this life, it is always good to choose to SEE the Lord working through it all.

Blessings...