Regrets Among The Memories – A Man’s Journey Through Grief, #15
I glance from my recliner toward the sofa where Mary Helen spent many of her last months. In my mind’s eye, I can see the cushions and pillows I used to prop up her head and feet, the cover I tucked in around her. I hiccup in grief. I can’t help thinking back over the last two years and wondering if I was thoughtful enough. I know its not healthy to dwell on the past. We can’t change it. For the Christian, the past is covered by the tide of God’s ocean of grace. But…
Unbidden, my mind goes back over the last two years. In the present, PMH (post Mary Helen), I’ve sought to fill up my days with all kinds of tasks including road trips and immersion in Bible studies with some men at the church. I’ve tried to make new friends at church or at least acquaintances. I’ve tried to be friendly with everyone I meet. I’ve tried to resist thinking too much about the last two years. That plan has helped me cope—some days—but has it put off making peace with the past? Has it led me to avoid emptying drawers and closets. Has it only put a Band-Aid on a wound? Has it really helped me move forward?
During the last few years both of us had our share of doctor’s appointments, but early in 2021 I began to sense that Mary Helen’s health was waning. She had more visits with her cardiologist and more appointments with both her GP and her respirologist. She suffered bouts of nausea, tiredness and weakness. She had previously used a portable oxygenator for a short period. It didn’t seem to help so it was discontinued.
On May 21st of that year, (2021) I drove up to the curb of our condo with a load of groceries. She came out to help me bring them in. Carrying them inside, she fell flat on the tile floor in the vestibule. I ran to her aid as she cried out in shock and pain. Her nose and face were badly bruised, but the main source of pain seemed to be her arm and shoulder. I improvised a sling for her arm and we drove to emergency.
My memory is fuzzy about the last week in May and the next few weeks of June. She had a brief hospital stay, was diagnosed with a cracked bone near the shoulder, was given a sling and pain medication and referred to a fracture clinic in Peterborough, 45 minutes away. I do remember a succession of nights when she battled pain and sought to find some comfortable position. I also remember the support of family, the providential help we discovered in Christie Harman and the huge sign the family put on the lawn for Mary Helen’s 60th birthday on June 2nd.
A week or so after her accident, I wrote down a remarkable example of her faith. “This morning Mary Helen was thanking the Lord for all the blessings in our lives–the sunshine, family, friends, neighbours, and the ornamental magnolia outside the window. The tree, in her mind, was a parable of life. A season with no leaves that suddenly changed with a burst of blooms as spring arrived. She said, ‘The wind blows and blooms fall, but the leaves continue full of vibrant life.’ She continued to ponder the lessons!
What was amazing to me was God’s grace that enabled her to think this way after days of discouragement and pain added to other serious health issues.
On June 17th she got her cast off and on June 18th, with Covid restrictions in force, we briefly wished granddaughter Kassandra and Curtis God’s blessing on their nuptials from the safety of our car. In the days following, Mary Helen continued to battle pain complicated by pulmonary fibrosis and atrial fibrillation. By June 29th she was back in the hospital where she stayed until July 12th.
In the middle of her stay, on July 1, a miracle happened to Debbie’s husband Brian. He had a massive heart attack at a neighbourhood BBQ. In God’s providence, two men who were there had CPR training and revived Brian. In the ambulance on the way to the hospital, he survived another episode with the help of the attendant. He is a living miracle! That is a story by itself!
Mary Helen’s hospital stay, in spite of the care of nurses, was for her a kind of purgatory. It confirmed her earlier request to the Lord that she die at home, a view we both shared.
Her ability to get up from a chair and walk became greatly reduced. In late July, John came and put a couple of 2×4’s under her recliner to give her more height, thus enabling her to stand with less difficulty. Stephen visited from Atlanta and with Debbie, took her to Peterborough for more tests. It became clear that not only were her heart valves seriously compromised, but her lungs as well. By August 3rd she was put on 24-hour oxygen to aid her breathing.
By mid-August we realized she needed an electronically controlled bed so she could find a position that encouraged her to sleep comfortably.
Throughout this whole period, we found Community Care extremely helpful in enabling us to care for her from home. They arranged medical equipment, offered meals and tried to schedule PSW’s, Personal Support Workers. I found it easier to take care of meals myself and the shortage of PSW’s made setting up a schedule almost impossible. Those PSW’s that we were able to access were very empathetic and practical. Our family doctor, Dr. Marcus Cunningham, made personal visits, the first time we had experienced that in years. He was very supportive and urged us to call him at any time.
I took on more and more of Mary Helen’s care; helping her up at night, seeing to her hygiene and dressing, ensuring that she took her meds and used oxygen. But what really kept me from burn-out was, with Debbie’s help, setting up a schedule so I could get a break a few times a week. Besides coming herself, Debbie was providentially able to contact two trained women that we could privately hire. Christie Harman and Sharon Button were not just competent but cheerful and gentle. They came friends to both Mary Helen and me. Another friend, Linda, would also come from time to time to spell Debbie in reading to Mary Helen. In this way I could get away to relax, buy groceries, pay bills and attend church. Sometimes, when they’d spell me, I’d put on an Alan Jackson tape and drive through the countryside singing at the top of my lungs.
During those days, Mary Helen and I grew even closer. She would whisper to me that I was better than any PSW. We’d have devotions in the morning and in the evening we’d read a Psalm and pray together. She loved to hear the Psalms. We almost got to Psalm 119.
But as I reflected on the past two years, regrets surfaced. During the last year or so, I’d pray every day; “Lord, help me to be patient, not say anything that might hurt her, and enable me to have a real servant spirit.” I had to pray hard for I’m not naturally patient. And throughout my ministry, Mary Helen would remind me not to be critical—which is my natural inclination—instead to be encouraging and uplifting. I’m not naturally a servant.
In spite of all my prayers, the thought comes unbidden, did I hassle her too much about ensuring that the nose piece for oxygen was in place? Was I gentle enough? Did I read to her enough? Did I talk to her enough? During this period, I still tried to keep up with email and Facebook posts. Mary Helen would occasionally say, you spend more time on FB than with me. I know it was her agitation talking, but maybe it was true? Did I tell her I loved her enough? Did I bring her enough flowers?
Those who have experienced grief remind me that it’s common to have regrets. It’s part of the process. But regrets still surface.
Then on September 24th we heard the frightening words.
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