It was a struggle for me. I wasn't expecting the memories of Amy's last weeks of life to come flooding back to me. The Surgery Center is just like a mini hospital. When I was called back to sit with Bill after the surgery, the machine was there that Amy had that constantly monitors the heart, blood pressure, and oxygen levels in the blood. It was what we had focused on at that time and prayed that levels would go up, other numbers down. I felt my chest tightening up and it was hard to breathe. The nurse we had was great. She was showing me how to use the leg compressors and I told her I was familiar with them and she asked why and I told her that we lost a daughter last year after a 5 week hospital stay. She was very sympathetic. She helped me get Bill dressed (he was still pretty much out of it) and as we were each putting on a shoe, I automatically straightened out his toes with one hand while I held his heal in my other hand. Why? He certainly didn't have his toes curled. He was very relaxed! It was just an automatic thing with me, because I had done it millions of times with Amy in putting on her shoes. She always curled her toes, and I would have to knead them to straighten them before putting on her shoes. I realized immediately what I was doing and tears sprang to my eyes. I had to get out of there! But Bill wasn't doing well. He wasn't able to stand up yet and so they decided to give him another bag of IV fluid and a little more time. I went to the bathroom and cried and prayed.
It has been 12 days now and each day is getting easier. The flashbacks of the home nurse coming and just the little things they do, like laying a paper towel under their bag before they set it down on the sofa would bring tears. Even caring for my husband, bathing and dressing, was difficult. It was the memories not the difficulty of the task. The medicine altered his moods and he would get irritable and then his favorite TV channel (Fox News) was taken off our provider and he really became grouchy! I was not handling this well, when God impressed upon me that He had given me a gift this Christmas. He had given me the opportunity to care for someone again like I cared for Amy, to pour all my love into the needs of another. My attitude changed immediately. Now it is not a burden but a privilege to tend to his needs.
We were able to go to church on Sunday. Bill never wants to miss a service, but the pain and the meds had him feeling so down. Emily, Tessa and I were singing in the worship team, Laura was singing a special solo and Tessa had the offertory so I knew he would enjoy going. I also knew it would be difficult for me because of the memories, but I was again unprepared for the feelings. Laura sang a beautiful song about looking in the newborn face of the Savior and being a new mother herself, brought on my tears. Tessa played a song next and as she was playing the sun came out and light streamed through the windows and sunbeams filled the sanctuary. For the first time I really felt Amy was with us. It was very hard to sing after that, but the song we were singing was How Great Our Joy. It was a perfect song that God knew I needed at that time.
Another thing that was unexpected were all the kind cards and letters from others. We sent out over 100 Christmas cards, as we haven't sent any out for a few years. Some people didn't know about Amy's passing as we only write at Christmas. We knew it was time.
Yesterday we got an email and also a few letters and cards from those that didn't know of Amy's death. Bill and I both cried reading the letter from a mom of a Rett girl that I first met when Amy was diagnosed. Her daughter was a teenager and Amy was 4 years old. We have stayed in touch at Christmas ever since. Except for last year. I planned to write her many times but just couldn't do it.
Here is an excerpt from her letter:
"I was overjoyed with a new picture of your family. I kept searching for Amy and then felt fear, terrified to open the letter. And now I weep, heartbroken for all of you. My (daughter) and I would pray daily for her special friends and their caregivers and not knowing Amy was already in His arms, her lessons taught and journey ended."
Her earthly journey has ended, but her real journey started a little over 20 months ago. Amy's lessons continue to teach me each and every day. In the gift of caring for my husband, I see Amy. In holding my new little grandson, I see Amy. In the way my children are living their lives, I see Amy. In each shining light on the tree and around the house, I see Amy. Sometimes with tears, but more and more with smiles.
It has been a hard couple of weeks, but our dear retired pastor (the one who wrote "Amy's Story") summed it all up in the one line he penned at the bottom of his Christmas card to us:
"Surely our griefs He Himself bore, and our sorrows He carried." Isaiah 53:4a
Doesn't that say it all? Jesus has taken my grief and my sorrow on Himself. I can truly say:
Here is the Christmas picture we chose for our card this year.
And here are two photos from Amy's last Christmas with us.
|Amy loved candles|