Monday, June 2, 2014

MorFar & MorMor

Death is kind of a funny thing. No one likes to talk about it, yet it is one of those things in life in which no one can change.

For probably the last 10 years, we knew Morfar (my grandpa) was going to pass away. We often snickered behind my parent's back, mocking their, "Make sure you swing by and say goodbye to Morfar! We don't know how much longer we have with him." I probably said my final goodbyes to him hundreds of times. It wasn't until three weeks after he was put on hospice that I came by the house and I knew he was in his final moments. It hit me like nothing I had ever felt before. I had never lost anyone so close to me before.

I can remember going out of the room that afternoon all teary eyed and running into Mormor (my grandma). I asked her if she was ok. The absolute hell that woman must have been going through to see her husband of 62 years on his death bed! She was obviously trying so hard to be strong, but in that moment, she broke. She cried, "I have my moments." I remember crying into her chest as she held me. It was such a surreal moment; this wonderful, strong, loving woman, comforting me as I cried over the very real dawning that my dear grandpa, her husband, was going to be passing into the arms of Jesus very shortly. I wonder now how lonely those "moments" must have been for her.

That evening, my husband and I and our 4 kids went over to say our final goodbyes. I cried as each of my children kissed Morfar. I cried as Morfar looked into each one of their eyes and said, "I love you." There was never a doubt in my mind this man's love for his family. Hearing those final words to each one of my kiddos was a healing salve to my hurting heart.

Morfar and our daughter Kaitlyn had a really special bond. She was the one that would climb onto his lap and let him read to her. She was always the first one to run up to him and give him a hug. There were quite a handful of times during that evening he would look down at Kaitlyn and say, "Hello Kaitlyn." I can still hear him say those words.

Before we left, my husband turned around and gave Morfar a thumbs up. They smiled at each other and Morfar returned the thumbs up. He knew he was going to see Jesus face to face soon, and it was like they were saying a mutual, "See you on the other side."

The next evening Morfar had stopped communicating entirely. He was sleeping all the time now. I decided I should go over there one last time. I'm glad I did. One of the most powerful moments of my life happened that evening. It would be my last memory of my grandma and grandpa alive together. Morfar was having a coughing attack. I realized Mormor was in the room with him by herself, so I went in there to see if I could help with anything. I peeked in the room and there was Mormor taking Morfar's face in her hands and lovingly pleading with him, "You can go home now. I will be ok. Go to Jesus. I will be ok."

I kissed his forehead that night and said, "I love you," for the last time before I left.

The next morning was February 14th, 2014. Valentines Day. Morfar got to see his Savior. His passing was not a shock. We were expecting it. It was hard and sad, but we knew he was more alive than ever before.

Mormor made it two weeks and got through the funeral and burial. Then a few more days passed. She was home alone, walking outside to get the mail when she had a heart attack. She flagged down some neighbors that were walking by, then called the ambulance for help. She was rushed to the hospital where they opened up her clogged artery with a balloon.

She was still in the hospital, getting ready to be released to go to cardio rehab on March 10, 2014 when she suddenly had a major stroke. This beautiful, strong, loving woman passed away that same afternoon. As she breathed her last breathes, I echoed her words to her, "It's ok, you can go now. I love you." She died a few minutes after that.

I wish I could explain why it seemed so much easier saying goodbye to someone I expected to go. Yes it was extremely difficult to say goodbye to Morfar, but I was prepared. It was expected. I did not anticipate the agony my heart would feel to see Mormor on her death-bead. She was strong. She had more years left in her. She was not supposed to go yet.

I've heard it said that when you loose someone you've been with for so many years, when they pass away, it feels like a major amputation. I believe it.

Their love for the Lord and their love for each other was a testimony to everyone they came into contact with. Each and everyone of their kids, grandkids, and great-grandkids knew that they were dearly loved by Mormor and Morfar. Each and every one of us knew that Mormor and Morfar prayed for us every day. We knew that Mormor and Morfar were proud of us, not because of the things we had accomplished but because of who we were. They saw us as blessings from God and treated us as such. They were shoulders we cried on, listening ears when we needed one, they were prayer warriors and servant-hearted, they were teachers of art, sewing, rope knotting, jokes, songs and history. They are missed. They left this world a better place.

They had no monetary inheritance to leave behind, but what they did leave behind was an imprint much greater and of much more value than money. They left behind 3 generations of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; all of whom knew they were loved dearly, prayed for daily, and treasured immeasurably.