DID I MENTION MY BROKEN HEART?

Give me a little time to catch my breath. I've just returned home from a heart stress test, angiography, a triple heart bypass, and recovery - all but the first in a near record 240 hours.

As soon as I am able, I will share the story, but I really need to recover some energy first.

Keep your prayers flowing. Only a mighty and vast support team could have accomplished the human part of this miracle. God, of course is my healer and the restorer of my broken heart. Amen.

NOTES ON BETTY'S PASSING

By now most of you know that my precious Betty died on the morning of March 2, 2012. After a few minutes of restlessness, her last moments were quite swift and altogether gentle, and that was a blessing indeed. Over a period of only a few minutes her breathing slowed and quietly ceased at 9:45 AM. She had been in deep sleep for two and a half days before her passing, and we did not expect to happen as soon as it did.

Although we did not realize it at the time, Betty actually left us on Tuesday February 28th. On that day she was in considerable discomfort and the visiting hospice nurse felt a powerful sedative should be given to mitigate the pain. All during the couple of hours it took for the drug to take effect we were desperately trying to offer her any possible comfort. Eventually she dropped off in a restless sort of sleep. Late that day an adjustable hospital bed was delivered to allow more flexibility in her sleeping position, but we decided not to move her until the next morning.

Through the night she slept well, but with no sign of awakening, and when morning came she slept on still. The transfer to the family room and into the hospital bed was less difficult than I expected, and I realized it was partly because she had lost so much weight. For quite a while her body struggled to adapt to the new positions and find relief for the pain her injuries appeared to be causing. After most of the day had passed and she was receiving stronger oral, liquid medication Betty finally seemed able to relax, but still there was no sign of awakening. She slept through Wednesday night almost without changing position at all.

Thursday, after the medications were resumed, was a quiet day for her as her body “rested” without struggle. We continued ministering to her needs and to moisten her lips with the little sponges and wash her face and comb her hair as she would have been doing for us if it were we were sick. Her children and I continued to talk to her and include her in the family activity and conversations, but really there was still no sign that she was aware of anything happening around her. We prayed with her and sang to her, but without knowing whether she could perceive these efforts to offer comfort. Surely God and His angels were nearby, preparing to make her passing into the arms of her Savior as gentle as possible. And it was.

Once the necessary contacts had been accomplished and the Hospice nurse officially pronounced her death, all the pre-arranged plans were put into effect. Because her medical history of living successfully with Parkinson’s Disease since 1990 would be available to researchers who are searching for a cure or improved treatments for that malady, Betty had decided to donate her brain for that purpose. Transportation to Oregon Health and Sciences University (OHSU) occurred without delay, and following the “harvest”, her body was transferred to a crematory in Vancouver. Our family has some thoughts about placing her ashes of which she was aware although perhaps she was a little amused at the idea. That may become the topic of a future blog someday.

The first weekend without Betty was quite busy and involved restoring things to their former places. With the kids here and many visitors it seemed rather chaotic, but the basics were achieved and suddenly, even with folk around and plenty yet to do, an emptiness without her presence and conversation began to be felt. All the tasks and all the time spent in caregiving and in expressing our love and concern to her seemed to pile up without a way to be fulfilled. I have told several of my feeling I should be plumping up her pillow, or doling out medications, or making a nutritional smoothie, or helping her bathe and change into clean jammies, or something! I wandered about looking for what I was supposed to be doing without finding the missing – and probably urgent – task I should be doing. But there was nothing to do for her anymore. And that was an empty, helpless feeling. No more little talks, no more Bible readings, no more foot rubs or back rubs, no more sharing the mail she received daily; just no more anything.

Friday night and Saturday night and Sunday night I was up extremely late because I simply could not face crawling into an empty bed with no warmth or cuddling or pillow talk. There is so much I am going to miss. I’m working on facing things without a babysitter hanging around by staying busy listing all the paperwork to be done and all the legal documents to be changed. That will keep me busy for a while.

For now I will try to continue this blog from time to time as I figure out what I need to write about. For now I can’t see or anticipate just what is coming, and I am sort of on automatic pilot and not able yet to plan ahead very far, but I am acutely aware of the firestorm of emotions I am experiencing and the need to confront and process the grief which is building. Writing things out on this page might be a format for handling part of that too.

Finally, thank you to each of you that have come or called or caught me at church and offered “whatever I can do”. It’s good to know there are so many life rings to grasp. And to end this session, let me repeat (in case you have not already heard me say this): It is time to change your prayers (i.e. recalibrate your prayer wheel.) and no longer plead for God’s intervention in Betty’s behalf, but instead it’s time for prayers of Praises and Thanksgivings that God was faithful to keep His promises and was completely compassionate to her. We will eventually recover, but for now we must honor her Father of Mercies who will also surround us with a hedge of comfort and gentleness.

BETTY WYATT

Born Andrews, Texas on January 3, 1943

Died Vancouver, Washington on March 2, 2012

Beloved Wife, Mother, Grandmother, Sister-in-Christ, and Servant to many. Betty passed peacfully Friday morning from this life into the arms of her God. We already are missing her, but we are comforted by the many delightful memories about her life and the love she expressed to family and friends. We are better people for having been touched by her sweet spirit.

FACING UGLY WORDS AND TRANSITIONS

I remember my Great-grandmother Hancock up high on her bed. She was bed bound in her final days of life, yet she was feisty, loudly hollering orders to her caregivers and waving her arms about, perhaps in frustration over her limitations. I also vividly recall her demand that my mouth be washed out with soap for saying “ugly words”. I don’t remember what the words were, after all I was only five years old in 1945, but I do recall how quickly my Grandmother Gail took me to the galvanized sink and how vigorously she followed her mother’s instructions. We all know words have meaning and power, and I learned that day there are “ugly words” that are extremely upsetting to some folk.

Our “ugly words” over the past few days have been “pain”, and “pain killers” and “confusion” and “incontinence” and “unresponsive” and “dying”. We have watched Betty go through an astonishingly rapid decline since Tuesday, and have seen her suffer terribly from the pain caused by the cancer and by a recent fall. Once on sufficient medication to relieve the restless agony and writhing she was experiencing, she has been “unresponsive” and interactive communication with her is not now possible. We have been reduced to a “hospital bed” environment in the family room and a host of accompanying changes to permit the best care possible. A new challenge in personal care involves “protective garments” and the difficulty and indignity required to change them. Bathing now involves a washcloth. Even keeping her lips protected from chapping are among our ways of offering simple comfort. So much for dealing with "ugly words".

Because she is not conscious, Betty is unable to take any pills from the arsenal which had been prescribed for either the cancer and its related effects or for her Parkinson’s Disease. Now only a couple of liquid sedatives can be given by dribbling them into her cheek with a small plastic syringe. Early in this transition even that did not have much effect on the pain and only seemed to sap her awareness. Her agitated arm waving and evident discomfort was distressing to all of us. To our relief as we wrestled with these critical end-of-life decisions, the medications finally allowed her to rest quietly. Now we are facing the reality of what is coming as her body is shutting down, and she is no longer taking nourishment or even fluids.

My mind has been trying to find words for metaphors for what Betty is going through, and I am again drawn to childhood experiences. Remember that book about learning important lessons in Kindergarten? Or First Grade, etc? My teacher then put what must have been whole milk into a big square jar which had wooden paddles in it. Next came a lot of cranking and we all put our hands to the task. What eventually resulted, after all the turmoil and turbulence was a sweet. yellow butter she served to us on saltine crackers. Because the remaining watery milk was not so pleasant, it went down the drain. That’s what our transit through life is like; initially there is a great deal of being thrashed and sloshed about in the “jar-of-life”, but finally, what is extracted is a golden product fit for God, and the remainder of our dross is discarded.

Remember the “seed-in-a-cup” experiment? My class did that too. The first time the lima-type beans did sprout, but they were so leggy and malformed that we finally tossed them out. The second chance came soon, but the seeds were dark and shriveled and frankly, ugly! We had no hope, but we planted them anyway and a few weeks later we all had plants bearing small but beautiful flowers! Amazing! So it’s not the husk you start with, but the final product that bears the beauty. And it's not how we start, it's whether we bloom. We should all aspire to finish well. I don't want to just remain a seed, do you?

In one elementary science class we raised various creatures in jars and in the bug box. One large container had window screening to view through to see the hideous little green caterpillars inside. Before long they were gone and here and there on the twigs were strange little capsules. Eventually came a day when the teacher let us watch for hours the emergence of butterflies from those broken, brown shells, and it was a thing of wonder. As the emerging insects fought for release from their limiting enclosures, there was great struggle, and we feared the fragile things would surely die. Of course, some didn’t make it and did perish, but several, gradually, left their binding chrysalis, and their wings took form and filled and strengthened, and at last were fully extended, taking on brilliant colors and patterns. By the next day, there were perhaps twenty beautiful butterflies which our teacher promised to release after school. That’s what Betty, and by extension, the rest God’s children are going through. We begin as mere creatures with little loveliness in this world. [One Christian hymn originally refered to us as worms; “and such a worm as I”.] Then for a while we are tightly enclosed in the limiting shell of this world as God prepares us for emergence and release. Eventually we pass through the struggle of transition and we escape our former husks. We put on the beautiful bodies and brilliant souls God has miraculously made for us and we become eternal beings fit for heaven. Watching Betty’s struggle now would be much more difficult if we had no concept of the spiritual outcome God will achieve in her behalf. What yet remains for her, once her “wings” are ready, is for us to release her from the here-and-now to her promised destiny in the gardens of heaven.

As I write this, early morning light is beginning to reveal that March is not coming in as a roaring lion, but with 3 or 4 inches of new snow. Outside it is pure, calm, and lovely. My heart is eased by the realization that this is the state of Betty’s spirit and soul even now, but still my tears are flowing like the cold rain that is surely coming soon.