Posted by: fosteringcare | March 6, 2016

We are alive

Yesterday my friend had to sign a DNR, (do not resuscitate), and make the horrific decision to allow her mother to be taken off of life support. Then she had to wait. She had to wait for her mothers body to finish dying, all night. At 7 am she could finally stop waiting. This wasn’t the picture she’d imagined when she allowed herself to think about her mother’s death, but then when is death ever a respecter of our imaginings?

I pictured my mother recovering from the kidney transplant, which in turn would help all of her other systems work properly once again. I pictured her finally able to enjoy life again. I pictured her with her grandchildren, ones born and ones who had yet to be born. I pictured her going on vacations with them, and continuing to spoil them in the manner they had already grown accustomed to. She never left the hospital.

I pictured my father having the stint placed in his heart, going through rehab, and moving in with my brother who had “Pop-Pop’s Wing” built in his new home. I pictured him watching his granddaughters as they danced and sang, cartwheeled and fought, and grew up right before his eyes. I pictured him at Thanksgiving, at Christmas. I pictured him sitting out back with my brother, talking long into the evening. He never left the hospital.

I pictured my daughter being born, crying, blinking those big, brand new eyes up into mine. I pictured her daddy calming her with a song. I pictured bringing her home and nursing her in my rocking chair. I pictured her growing up. I pictured her alive. She never left the hospital.

I pictured my granddaughter a spoiled princess. I pictured her calling me “Nana”, and running to me for hugs. I pictured her spending the night and spoiling her like my mother taught me to do. I pictured my son showing her off with pride to everyone. I pictured her in my arms. She never left the hospital.

Death is a crusher of dreams. Death is a destroyer of hopes. Death is a respecter of none. Does that mean we don’t dream, or hope, every last one of us? No. We hope and we dream, and we make plans, and live, because we are alive. We are alive.

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