A True Love Story

This year's Valentine's day post is belated, and a bit more somber and personal than my typical posts. But sometimes you are presented with situations in life that make you stop and realize you should take note. So I did, and I hope you enjoy my witness of an end to a beautiful love story.

64 years.

My grandparents were married for 64 years. A feat that nowadays seems relatively unheard of.  While the divorce rate does play a role, so does the fact that we live in a society that tells us (especially women) that we can do and be whatever we want. Marriage and babies by your early twenties does not define a perfect woman anymore, so not everyone is racing to the alter at 18 or 21.  Additionally, we live in a world where celebrities get married for less that six months at a time...where political figures get caught with their pants down...where top athletes are "sex addicts"...and where the front page article on Valentine's day is about websites for married couples to have discreet affairs. Where have all the role models gone? They sure don't seem to be making the front page anymore.  Well I lost one of my very special role models yesterday and while I can't insist the papers post my story....I do have a blog and a place to share my "front page" story.

21 years.

My grandmother was 21 years old when she married my grandfather. And 64 years later he left this world for another.  Can you die of a broken heart I wonder? I think about my own marriage of 2.5 years, and the emotions and feelings of heartache and despair I would feel if I lost the love of my life.  As I'm sitting next to my grandmother, letting her sleep, I feel my own heart breaking. For I have witnessed a love like no other in the 42 hours before my grandfathers death.

42 hours.

My mom received a call she needed to come say goodbye to her dad last Saturday. So Sunday morning we woke up, booked our flights, and in a mad dash threw into a couple of backpacks clothes we might need for...2, 4, 10 days? We arrived to Colorado at 2:15 and drove immediately to the nursing home. It is upon our arrival at the nursing home that started the clock for the 42 hours that have made such an impact on my life.


Oma and Papa.

My grandparents, Oma and Papa, had 7 children (within ten years), have 19 of us grandchildren, and are on great-grandchild number 6. So I can tell you that when word spread that the end was near for Papa, visitors were not scarce.  In the last 3 days we have come in from Texas, Connecticut, Colorado, Nebraska, Illinois, New Mexico and California. (Thank goodness for the compassion fares on American Airlines!)  We did not all arrive the same day and we have not all been able to stay the entire time.  But for some of us lucky ones, myself included, we made it in time to say goodbye and we are still here to care for the broken hearts.

The first 8 hours.

The staff at the nursing home loved Papa and it's no wonder why.  Papa was always smiling and never one to complain.  In fact the final time the staff moved him from his chair to his bed, where he would eventually take his last breath, the dear nurse said "Doctor Bill, how are you doing?" His response was weak but the same sweet demeanor we all know, "I'm not on top of the world." When I walked up to Papa I told him who I was and that I was here to see him and that I loved him. He opened his eyes and said "I love you too". I didn't want to cry because I was here for my mom and needed to be strong. So when I saw him looking so frail and so weak I kept it together.

Keeping it together.

I kept it together for about four hours. I was doing fine until I watched my grandmother sit next to him, gently rub her fingers across his forehead and tell him, "I wish I could help you feel more comfortable." At one point she leaned over and said "somebody loves you" to which he was able to mumble back "I love you". She understood that the situation was grave, and had been told the family was traveling in to say goodbye. She stood up from seeing him and started vomiting. The nurses asked if dinner upset her stomach and they gave her some Imodium, but I knew she was throwing up because her best friend was dying and it had registered. The next several hours she would sit next to him, lie down in her bed, sit next to him, lie down. Each time she sat next to him she would lean over and say "Your wife is here." Then she would touch his cheeks and rub his head and say, "Honey, do you need a blanket?" And of course he didn't, but that was what she could do to help, so she would put a blanket on him and when she wasn't looking we could take it off so he wouldn't overheat. When she needed a rest she would stand up and kiss him and say "I'll be back in a few minutes.". One time when the nurse was helping her in the bathroom she made the nurse tell Papa that she was only in the bathroom and she would be right back. I was witnessing true love, and a love that that can only be cultivated, I imagine, over decades upon decades of going through the trials and tribulations of life together.

The power of prayer.

Sunday night I had a minute alone with Papa. Among his many honorable traits, one that my mother always particularly admired was his dedication to his faith. Papa was a devout Catholic, who I am told said the rosary every night. In that moment of just the two of us I asked Papa if he would like to say a prayer. He said yes. I suggested we say the Our Father and he nodded his head in agreement. I moved my chair in close and started the prayer. Papa said about every third word. I was overcome with emotion. Here is a person who can barely talk except for a few words and he was able to follow along in the prayer he said daily for so many years. We said Amen and the tears shot out of my eyes like waterworks. I am told that earlier in the day when they gave him the Annointing of the Sick sacrament he said the entire prayer. Seeing Papa still so strong in his faith and watching Oma's heart breaking was too much to keep in. I left the room in tears and hugged my mom, told her my intentions of letting her cry while I hugged her...failed.

Tonight?

That night my mom and her sisters Diana, Donna and Teresa spent the night at the nursing home. I wanted to stay, but I knew that to be there for my mom I needed to get some rest. I told Papa I loved him and wondered if he would be there in the morning. I set my alarm for 7am and when it went off, tired as hell, I bolted into the shower and rushed to get to the nursing home. I knew Papa had made it through the night because I hadn't gotten "the" phone call. My mom said during the middle of th night he started waving his hands and mumbling. She asked if he saw Nana and Papa (his parents) and he said yes.  She then asked if he was going to see Jesus now and he said "no".  She said at that point she knew he would be there in the morning.

Be not afraid.

Monday Papa was different. I didn't hear him speak and only when he was rotated in bed or heard a loud noise would his eyes open. He would groan when he was turned, but would then quickly return to his steady, but labored, breathing. Oma came regularly from her bed to his to check on him. God must have helped me shed all of my tears Sunday so I could stay focused and be supportive for Oma. She didn't want anyone crying in front of Papa because she didn't want to upset him. She continued to rub his forehead and care for him with blankets. She didn't know what to do and I tried to reassure her that no one would. It upset her every time the nurses came in. At first I didn't quite understand...until it hit me that she was protecting her husband like a mother would if someone tried to take their child behind a screen to check on them. She didn't want anyone to risk hurting him. It was powerful to watch her question everyone that came in and disagree when they would tell her that they needed to give him more medicine or rotate him. Monday night the hospice nurse came in and said they needed to rotate Papa. Oma stood up as tall as she could in the woman's face and said, "I'm right here, show me what exactly you are going to do." Four foot something, 70 pounds of protective instinct came out of her and it was phenomenal. I was so proud of Oma because she took charge and wasn't going to let anyone touch Papa unless she was convinced they knew what they were doing and she gave HER permission. I know if it were me I would feel that way about Matt. Monday evening before I left I had a few minutes alone with Papa. This again was rare because with such a big family there were usually two people with Papa and one on the other side of the room with Oma. But when the hospice nurse came to talk to the family it was just me and Papa, with Oma sleeping soundly behind us.  For those of you Catholics reading this you know that two of our staple mass time songs are "Here I am Lord" and "Be not Afraid". A big thank you to modern technology because it was a breeze to find both of those songs and play them on the iPad next to Papa. I told Papa he is going to get to say "Here I am Lord" to God Himself soon.

Tonight??

I did not want to leave with my entire being Monday night. My mom and Aunt Diana stayed. Mom slept in a recliner next to Papa and the two of them slept soundly all night. The hospice nurse told us that for Papa's sake she hoped he would pass during the night. Because of his consistent breathing, Mom said she knew Papa would be there in the morning. 7am came again and just like the night before I raced to shower. Again I had not recieved a phone call so I knew he was still alive.

Valentines Day.

Mom and Aunt Diana came to the hotel around 8 to shower and switch out with Aunt Donna and myself. Teresa was still there saying the rosary with Papa. I walked in to see Papa and I knew today would be the day. We finished the rosary but I wasn't convinced his spirit was with us. Papa was breathing unlike anything I had seen. In the 30 minutes I was with him his breathing became irregular. I wanted my mom here now! I called my cousin Jenny and tried to calmly tell her she needed to get my mom and her mom to be ready ASAP I was coming to pick them up. On my way to the hotel I called Nathan and told him he needed to pray for Papa because I thought the end was near. At the hotel mom, Jenny and Aunt Diana were rushing to get out the door. Baby Sam was crying with all the commotion. I guess Jenny had conveyed my sense of urgency to them. As we were driving back to the nursing home Aunt Diana said the irregular breathing could last for hours as it did for her Mother-in-law who passed just two months prior. I remember turning off the car and feeling silly for making everyone rush. I walked in and went to set Sam's playpen in the conference room we were using. I walked to the room and Aunt Teresa told me he had passed. All I could think of was "I didn't get my mom here in time". I didn't see my mom and ran to the parking lot to see if she was still unloading the car. She wasn't there. I wanted her to hear it from me. I watched Aunt Teresa telling Aunt Diana in some kind of slow motion movie scene. Tears emerged and all I heard was "I'm glad, I'm glad". Like she was telling herself that is how she should feel, even though it wasn't the natural emotion to feel. I found out later that about an hour prior to Papa's final breath, Oma went over and told him he could go and that she loved him. Originally when I woke up that morning and he was still alive I thought maybe he was waiting for the family that was coming in that afternoon...turns out he was waiting to know Oma would be okay. Even though each time I sat with him I told him we would take care of her, I guess he needed to hear it for himself. The emotions were bittersweet....Papa was gone and and we were going to miss him, but he was no longer suffering from his failing body.

Did I know Papa?

As I finish this post we are driving back from Colorado. Papa has been laid to rest in the ground next to his parents and brother.  There is a plot of ground next to his grave for Oma, and while it might sound odd to say, it was nice to see that one day Papa will be with the love of his life both in heaven and on earth. We had all 7 siblings, 13 grandchildren, and all 6 great grandchildren. This was in addition to friends and extended family that came from all over to pay their respects. We had the funeral mass at the nursing home so Oma could be in attendance. I'm not sure what angel was with her that day, but she emerged from her emotionally trapped mind and physically strapped body to once again be the doctor's wife as she said goodbye to the man that gave her 7 children and a life to be admired. Yesterday we had Papa's memorial service in his hometown and laid him in the ground. A member of both the Army, and the Navy, the flag was laid proudly over his casket, folded and given to the family after the gun salute and horn playing Taps. An honorable way to send off an honorable man.

You know and love your grandparents as a child, but I would beg to clarify that you know them as your grandparents, but might not know them as the person they were, the life they lived and the accomplishments they achieved. I discovered that my grandfather loved to learn. He took the medical boards (again) at 70 to be licensed to volunteer in Texas. He went to Mexico for 3 months so he could better treat the Hispanic population that came to his office. When his parents died he used his small amount of inheritence to buy a plane and learned to fly. He not only enjoyed learning...apparently he was good at it...and he taught his children. Papa also enjoyed serving others and taking any opportunity for adventure. After practicing medicine for decades he enlisted in the Army and moved the kids that were not yet in college to Germany for four years. During his time as a doctor in Colorado he risked losing patients each year as he closed the doors to his practice and took his family of nine to St. Lucia to care for the sick. He caught a marlin, ran 10ks at 72, and took his family to mass every Sunday. As I listened to these incredible feats, his passion for his faith, and accomplishments he set out to achieve (and achieved)....all I could think was...I better get a move on it.

Beating to his own drum.

It seems to me that his entire life Papa went to the beat of his own drum. That is my mother and to some extent me. I see pieces of Papa in all of us so it brings me comfort to know that he will live on in each of his descendants. Whether my family, or extended family, is moving abroad, taking an incredible vacation, serving our country, learning something new, caring for others, attending mass in the front row, or just smiling for the camera....Papa will continue to live in each of us, and we can all take comfort in that. For me, if I could hope for one of his many accomplishments...it would be 64 years of marriage, and sneaking into Matt's bed at the nursing home when the rule is one resident per bed.