I am so thankful for
the
strength, mercy, and grace
I was afforded as Rob was dying
(and after and since).
What you may not know
is that
I am also thankful
for the agony I was gifted
between when
we found him unconscious
and when he died.
Now, that’s an interesting
statement.
But it’s a true one
for me.
We found Rob
unconscious.
He never regained consciousness.
But, after being put on a ventilator,
he lived for 23 ½ hours more
before his heart stopped
after all of his organs
very efficiently and systematically
shut down.
23 ½ hours.
We were gifted time.
Precious time.
Full of wondering.
Full of questioning.
Full of agony.
Even to this very day
9 years later,
September 19, 2011
was the worst day
I’ve ever walked
through in my lifetime.
I was watching my
husband die.
I was watching our children watch their daddy die.
Pure agony.
How can I be thankful
for that?
Because it was also
full of love.
Love for Rob.
Love for each other.
Love from others for us all.
Because the
alternative could have been that Rob died suddenly
and we didn’t get a chance to hold his warm hand
just one more time.
Because the
alternative could have been that
I, as Rob’s wife,
didn’t get a chance to tell him
all the things a wife says to
a husband as he’s dying.
Because the
alternative could have been that there wasn’t time
for all of our children to get there to kiss their daddy goodbye.
Because the
alternative could have been that
all of our family and friends
and church members and clergy colleagues
who could make it to his ICU bedside
would not have had the opportunity.
Because the
alternative could have been that
Rob died during a global pandemic
and he would have died without his family by his side
telling him how much we all loved him
all while we were being allowed to
touch him.
There is so much
value
and sacredness
in touch.
A simple touch.
It’s that connection
that so many are missing during
this global pandemic our world is suffering through right now.
Even through the
agony of September 19, 2011,
we were not denied touch.
I wanted more.
We wanted more.
I wanted him to wake
up.
We all wanted him to wake up.
All of us were
begging him to.
We wanted him to open
his eyes.
We all wanted to hear
his voice again.
We all just wanted
him back.
I remember gently pulling
his eyelids back
so that I could see those beautiful eyes of his.
But they were vacant.
I quickly let go
because peering into those vacant eyes.
was more painful than not seeing them at all.
So we all definitely
wanted more.
But I’m so thankful for what we got.
That time we were
allowed,
as hard as it was to walk through then,
and as hard as it is to remember now,
is what,
at least for me,
has allowed me to move forward.
As I’ve said in a
previous blog post about this day,
remembering that day and the processes that had to happen
have reassured me that we all did everything we could do
to help Rob live and very simply,
it was his time to die.
His race was finished.
I believe God’s
providence was in place
for me in the hours of Rob’s dying,
even through the agony.
One example is that,
just the week before,
I took my dad to a doctor’s appointment.
While we were waiting in the waiting room,
I picked up a magazine
and happened to read an article about the dying process.
It likened the dying process to the birth process.
I still remember the comparisons of how the struggle
of labor and delivery that, step by step, leads to the birthing of new life
is like the process of organs shutting down that, step by step, leads to
the dying being ushered out of this life.
I thought of this
article many times on September 19, 2011.
It had detailed the stages of dying.
Even in the moments
when my heart had hope that Rob might recover
(and there were only a few of those moments),
my mind was recalling that article
and how what I was seeing happening in real time with my Rob
was exactly what I had read the week before.
Having that article
in my mind
was what started leading me to acceptance of what,
against all of my hopes and wishes,
was actually happening.
That article helped me to start accepting
that Rob’s life on Earth was finished.
That, for him, death was merciful.
It was time for him to be free from all issues
And time for him to be with our Lord.
Being with our Lord
after death is what he believed.
It is what I believe.
To be absent from the
body is to be present with the Lord.
That’s the hope that
I had throughout that horrible day of agony.
That, even though I
was losing my Rob
and my children were losing their daddy,
I had faith that Rob,
as soon as his last breath was breathed,
would be present with Jesus.
The first time I ever
saw my Rob,
he was singing in his church’s praise band.
After the opening songs,
Rob was to portray Judas in the church’s
portrayal of “The Last Supper.”
Rob was already dressed as Judas
so he was in a robe and he was barefoot.
He was playing his guitar
and jumping up and down
praising Jesus.
At first sight, I obviously
knew how handsome he was
and I was instantly attracted to him.
But what attracted me more than his looks
was the joy exuding from him as
he praised and worshipped our Lord.
During that September
19th day of agony
and right after Rob died early on the 20th
(and many, many times since),
I kept thinking of that moment.
I can only imagine
the joy Rob felt
when he met Jesus
and was in His presence.
That thought kept me
grounded
and it enabled me to be present for our children
on the worst day of our lives.
That thought
about my Rob
still keeps me grounded.
I have faith that he
is with God.
I have faith that I
will see him again.
Last night,
as I was going to sleep,
our children were in the living room.
The sounds of their laughter
wafted into my bedroom
and I, once again,
gave thanks
for the parts of my life that
I was given through my Rob.
Through Rob, God
blessed me with
many wonderful times and memories
of loving and being loved.
Through Rob, God blessed me with
our four children who are my treasures.
Through Rob, God blessed me with
many ministry years
that have reached from our past
into my present through
the relationships that have been continued.
Every day, as I move
forward in my life,
I remain grateful for all that I have been given.
Every day, as I look
to the future,
I remain grateful for my past.
Even the agony.
For it gave us time.
Every
strength, mercy, and grace
I was afforded as Rob was dying
(and after and since).
I am also thankful
for the agony I was gifted
between when
we found him unconscious
and when he died.
He never regained consciousness.
But, after being put on a ventilator,
he lived for 23 ½ hours more
before his heart stopped
after all of his organs
very efficiently and systematically
shut down.
September 19, 2011
was the worst day
I’ve ever walked
through in my lifetime.
I was watching our children watch their daddy die.
Love for Rob.
Love for each other.
Love from others for us all.
and we didn’t get a chance to hold his warm hand
just one more time.
I, as Rob’s wife,
didn’t get a chance to tell him
all the things a wife says to
a husband as he’s dying.
for all of our children to get there to kiss their daddy goodbye.
all of our family and friends
and church members and clergy colleagues
who could make it to his ICU bedside
would not have had the opportunity.
Rob died during a global pandemic
and he would have died without his family by his side
telling him how much we all loved him
all while we were being allowed to
touch him.
and sacredness
in touch.
this global pandemic our world is suffering through right now.
we were not denied touch.
We wanted more.
We all wanted him to wake up.
so that I could see those beautiful eyes of his.
was more painful than not seeing them at all.
But I’m so thankful for what we got.
as hard as it was to walk through then,
and as hard as it is to remember now,
is what,
at least for me,
has allowed me to move forward.
remembering that day and the processes that had to happen
have reassured me that we all did everything we could do
to help Rob live and very simply,
it was his time to die.
His race was finished.
for me in the hours of Rob’s dying,
even through the agony.
I took my dad to a doctor’s appointment.
While we were waiting in the waiting room,
I picked up a magazine
and happened to read an article about the dying process.
It likened the dying process to the birth process.
I still remember the comparisons of how the struggle
of labor and delivery that, step by step, leads to the birthing of new life
is like the process of organs shutting down that, step by step, leads to
the dying being ushered out of this life.
It had detailed the stages of dying.
(and there were only a few of those moments),
my mind was recalling that article
and how what I was seeing happening in real time with my Rob
was exactly what I had read the week before.
was what started leading me to acceptance of what,
against all of my hopes and wishes,
was actually happening.
That article helped me to start accepting
that Rob’s life on Earth was finished.
That, for him, death was merciful.
It was time for him to be free from all issues
And time for him to be with our Lord.
It is what I believe.
and my children were losing their daddy,
I had faith that Rob,
as soon as his last breath was breathed,
would be present with Jesus.
he was singing in his church’s praise band.
After the opening songs,
Rob was to portray Judas in the church’s
portrayal of “The Last Supper.”
Rob was already dressed as Judas
so he was in a robe and he was barefoot.
He was playing his guitar
and jumping up and down
praising Jesus.
and I was instantly attracted to him.
But what attracted me more than his looks
was the joy exuding from him as
he praised and worshipped our Lord.
and right after Rob died early on the 20th
(and many, many times since),
I kept thinking of that moment.
when he met Jesus
and was in His presence.
and it enabled me to be present for our children
on the worst day of our lives.
still keeps me grounded.
as I was going to sleep,
our children were in the living room.
The sounds of their laughter
wafted into my bedroom
and I, once again,
gave thanks
for the parts of my life that
I was given through my Rob.
many wonderful times and memories
of loving and being loved.
Through Rob, God blessed me with
our four children who are my treasures.
Through Rob, God blessed me with
many ministry years
that have reached from our past
into my present through
the relationships that have been continued.
I remain grateful for all that I have been given.
I remain grateful for my past.
single
one
of those last
of those last
hours,
minutes,
and seconds
spent with Rob
was worth every bit of the agony.
minutes,
and seconds
spent with Rob
was worth every bit of the agony.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Thursday, September 19, 2019
September 19th - Agony Mixed With Strength, Mercy, And Grace
Today is 9-19-19.
There has been a lot said about this date.
There was even a countdown to 9:19 this morning
on a TV show because it was going to be
9:19 a.m. on 9-19-19.
People have been interviewed saying that they
hope their babies are born on this date
so they will have such unique birthdays.
Folks are getting married on this day
– a Thursday instead of the customary Saturday –
just so they will have this as their anniversary dates.
It seems to be a big celebration of the numbers.
And it all sounds like fun!
I am so happy for these folks
and I hope they all get their wishes for babies being born today
and they all remember their unique wedding anniversaries with ease.
But for me, as with every year, 9-19 always brings back the agony.
Or, at least, the memory of it all.
For that was the day my Rob’s life hung between life and death.
It doesn’t floor me every year like it did in the beginning.
In fact, it is after 1 p.m. when I am writing this and I haven’t yet shed a tear.
And I've thought so much today about the
strength,
mercy,
and grace
God provided to us on that day.
Through those taking care of Rob.
Through those taking care of our children.
And through those ministering to our every need.
I will forever be thankful for every single
act of kindness given to my family that day!
But, as the day has progressed, I've still,
without even trying to,
noticed the hands on the clock telling me
what time it is on 9-19-19
but rembering the time as if it was 9-19-11.
Walking through that day was the hardest thing
I have EVER had to do.
I’ve functioned today.
Getting the boys off to college and piano and chorus.
Balancing a checkbook.
Paying bills.
Addressing and mailing a very overdue graduation card.
Addressing and mailing a slightly overdue Quinceanera card.
Working on paperwork for a church meeting.
But it’s always there.
Every time I look at the clock,
I remember exactly where I was at that time on that day.
Most folks think that by the 8th year,
I might not think about it like that.
But nope,
it’s all still there.
As I said, it doesn’t take me back to the floor now as it did in the beginning.
I don’t agonize and belabor the moment outwardly to those around me.
It just is.
And that’s what I guess I want to say about it this year.
All of it – all of this – is absolutely normal!
I don’t think there will ever be a time
that I won’t remember how hard this day was in 2011
and I don’t think there will ever be another 9-19
that I won’t think about it.
And our children have all processed their grief differently.
Some years, the agony day has barely been mentioned.
Other years, it has been relived in detail.
Every single one of Rob’s children
miss their daddy
(and the tears just started).
And every single one of them has processed it uniquely.
And I have been blessed that they,
for the most part,
have openly shared their processes with me.
For the sake of their privacy, I will not detail their processes
but just know, that even 8 years out,
grief is normal.
Especially for the one(s) who may have not dealt with it at the time.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.
I think grief is cyclical and lasts until our own dying day.
I do think mourning ends
and I thank God every day that I am not where I was in the beginning
and that He has healed my heart!
I even thank God that I have been able to date
and fall in love again
(although that ended with my heart broken).
But the grief part, the missing part, well – that never ends.
In fact, there always seems to be a new way to miss him,
especially for our children.
Like when Wesley played his dad’s guitar in church.
Like when Anna went on a mission trip to Prague .
Like when Luke sang his first solo in church.
Like when Crystol made a career move.
Like when they all just wish they could talk to their daddy.
Like when they all just need a daddy.
For things that, for all my trying, I just cannot do or be.
So, I think that’s where I am this year.
My view is still solid,
even through the scars.
even through the scars.
I am healed.
But, I still know where I was on 9-19-11
at this very minute on the day he was dying.
And, on this 9-19-19,
I will borrow our oldest daughter’s words,
“Yep,
still miss him.”
Wednesday, September 19, 2018
September 19, 2011 - Strength, Mercy, And Grace
This is my view today on September 19, 2018
I am so blessed to have this view.
We are not flooded from Hurricane Florence.
We did not have trees down.
We didn't even lose power for more than 20 minutes
during the entire 4 day ordeal.
I am so very thankful!
My children are good.
Crystol is married to Alan and
she works in a career field she loves.
Anna has finished college, has started her first full time job,
and is enjoying it.
Wesley is a freshman in college and is doing well.
Luke is a homeschooled 10th grader and,
other than having to get used to being the only one
at home all day long, is doing well.
I am so very blessed!
Life is good and I like my view.
But I cannot help but remember my view 7 years ago today.
7 years ago today, I was watching my husband die.
God healed my heart many years ago now
but we will never stop missing my Rob
and this day is always hard to walk through.
And impossible to forget.
I will repost the past years' September 19th blog posts
for those who want to read them.
It will all be too long for some to want to read.
But those who need it,
those new widows or widowers,
they will read every word.
It is for them (and those new to my blog) that I repost these.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, September 19, 2016
Monday, September 19, 2011 - The Worst Day Of My Life
My view today from my dining room window.
Such a serene view
and the boys and I are having a good day today.
But the sights that run,
(unbidden but not unhealthily forbidden either),
through my memory's theater
every year on September 19th
are far less serene.
5 years ago today,
September 19th, 2011,
was (and still is) the worst day
September 19th, 2011,
was (and still is) the worst day
I have ever lived.
Rob died at 4:13 a.m. on the 20th
but it was the 19th that held the most agony.
There's not much more that can be said publicly about that day
that I have not already written in years past
so I am just going to repost the past "September 19th" blogposts
for those who are new to my blog or
for those who want to read about it again.
But I will first say that I am so very blessed.
I am healthy and our children are healthy and content in their lives.
And although I sure do wish it could have lasted longer,
I am grateful and thankful
(and at times amazed)
that my love story with my Rob happened at all!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Previous years' posts:
Written on Saturday, September 19, 2015
Today's View - September 19, 2015
Today is September 19th, 2015.
I am sitting on an oceanfront balcony at the beach outside of a condo
that was booked last minute just this past Wednesday.
It is a spectacular view!
I came out here early this morning and watched
as the sky changed colors with the rising sun of a new day.
I am listening to the rhythmic sound of the crashing waves
as they start their outward retreat toward low tide.
And, as I sit here now at 7:55 a.m,
I thank God that my life is as good as it is.
My children are healthy.
I am healthy.
Our needs are met.
Anna is in her 2nd year of college and making final decisions on which university to transfer to for her junior and senior years (she’s thinking UNC-Chapel Hill right now – don’t you know Rob would be simultaneously rolling his eyes that she’s considering Duke’s rival AND grinning ear to ear with pride that his girl could get into Carolina?).
Wesley is 6 feet 5 inches tall, has started 10th grade, has his driver’s permit, is an officer in his church youth group, is representing our church in a conference-wide, year-long program, and is in a community theatre play.
Luke has started 7th grade, is already ahead of his math schedule by 2 day’s worth of lessons and work (we just started this past Monday), he is getting taller, and his voice is just beginning to change.
Today is September 19th, 2015.
And I am blessed.
My life doesn’t include everything I would like and it includes some things that I wish it didn’t but isn’t that the way it is for everyone?
So, for the most part, I can say that life is good.
Today is September 19th, 2015,
4 years exactly since the worst day of my life.
Rob actually died on the 20th,
but it was the 19th when I woke up to the agony of an unconscious husband
and it was the 19th when I knew he was dying
and it was the 19th when I had to tell his children and his parents
and it was the 19th when I had to watch his body shutting down.
The 20th actually brought relief because
I knew my Rob was no longer suffering from any issue
and he was standing in the presence of God.
I had not planned on writing a blog post today about it being the 19th but I got a message from a really, really newly widowed person last night
who was saying that I seemed to have it all together and how in the world did I get to that place of peace and when will the agony stop and how do you keep functioning AT ALL with all of the memories bombarding you all day long and how do you take care of children alone when you’re used to a team effort and how do you ever even sleep at night again without the tortuous thoughts crashing in over and over again of the person you loved more than life itself being ripped from your world and now you are coming to grips with being ALL ALONE and all of those horrible, heart-wrenching thoughts and feelings that go with the VERY beginning!
It is so hard to describe but it feels like it’s nothing short of torture!
I want that person to know that
you can make it too!!!
So, for those of you who are reading this thinking,
“Will it ever be okay again?”
- let me assure you once again –
your okay will come.
Time will not change the fact that you miss your person.
Time will not change the fact that what happened was almost unspeakable.
Time will not change the fact that you are no longer part of what you once were.
Time will not change the fact that, at times, the memories will overwhelm you.
Time will not change the fact that you will feel like something is missing.
Because it is.
But, at least for me,
time did soften the edges.
At least for me,
my heart did heal.
For a good, long time now,
I have been okay.
And that feels good.
So today, on September 19th, 2015, I plan on spending the day with my children having fun on the beach and in the pools and eating the breakfast buffet and who knows what else.
I will look at the clock and immediately remember exactly what I was doing
at that same time 4 years ago.
It’s just the way my mind works.
But it will not stop me in my tracks
and it will not return me to the agony.
Now, it’s almost life-affirming.
When I think of that day of agony,
I realize once again that I am a survivor.
My kids and I have risen from the agony to a full-blown blessed life.
And no one has come in to magically rescue us.
God hasn’t sent me another husband
so I still don’t have anyone to hold me when I’m afraid or sad
or just want to be held.
God hasn’t sent a man to step in and be a father figure for my children
so they still don’t have that male influence or guidance that children so need.
With God’s help, we’ve done it on our own.
We’ve had to.
And I’m actually proud of that.
And I want you to know that you can make it too.
Even on your own, YOU CAN MAKE IT!
~~~~~~
Our condo has this beautiful stained glass window right by the door.
Just gorgeous!
Our condo number immediately caught my eye.
"16" is the date of my first date with Rob.
"23" is the date that we buried him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written on Friday, September 19, 2014
Agony Revisited (September 19, 2011)
This is my view today, September 19, 2014.
What a great view I have today!
But remembering the view I had on this date 3 years ago
still makes me catch my breath
every
time
I
say or write
it.
When I think of September 19th, 2011,
I will always think of the word AGONY.
For that day truly was, as I titled it on last year's post,
"the WORST day of my life."
The day my Rob's life hung between life and death.
Rob lived for almost 24 hours after we found him unconscious.
(My then 8 year old Luke found his dad unconscious at 4:45 a.m.
on Monday morning, September 19, 2011.
Rob died at 4:13 a.m. on Tuesday morning, September 20, 2011).
And even though God's strength, mercy, and grace abounded
all throughout the rooms where we were,
those 23 and 1/2 hours were the worst and hardest hours I have ever lived.
I only left Rob's side when the nurses made me leave
(and that was only 2 or 3 times).
My Aunt Sarah brought me a chicken sandwich to eat
during one of the times they made me leave.
It was so dry and tasteless.
To this day, when I have a chicken sandwich,
I have to drench it with as much mayonnaise and ketchup as I can
just to drown out my memory's taste of that day.
My kids and I are doing good.
Taking care of ourselves
and each other.
Anna started the day out today by baking
peanut butter cookies for her Psychology class.
Wesley and Luke, as usual, put off starting school
as long as I would let them.
My kids are happy and doing well.
But even the youngest,
who honestly (without prompts) only remembers
bits and pieces about his dad,
remembers the agony from that day.
And, even though we don't revisit it often,
and we never visit long,
it's always there
waiting patiently
for our presence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written on Thursday, September 19, 2013
The Worst Day of My Life
Today’s KLOVE verse of the day: (Very appropriate for me today)
There is a time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance.
~ Ecclesiastes 3:4
September 19, 2011 (2 years ago today) was the worst day of my life. It was the day of struggle between life and death for my Rob. By the time Rob died at 4:13 a.m. on the 20th, I knew and had peace that death was the most merciful thing for him. It was the 19th - while watching the struggle between life and death - that was the most horrible.
Time was both SO relevant and so NOT relevant that day.
Nothing mattered except being with him every second.
But everything mattered as the seconds ticked on and on while I watched his body go through the very efficient process of shutting down.
I remember the doctors telling me early on that if he didn’t wake up by a certain time – that he probably would not. I remember looking at the clock, wanting to grab it off of the wall, and slam it to the floor when the hands ticked past that hour and he was not awake.
I was still by myself with Rob then. I had purposely not called in anyone yet (except my sister who was at my house with my children). We were still in the ER waiting for him to be stable enough to even be moved to ICU. It was just Rob and me – with no one watching except my God. I had wanted that time for just us – because in my gut, I knew he was dying when we first found him unconscious. Although he was unconscious, I took those couple of hours to tell him everything I needed to tell him even as I continued to beg him to come back to us. And I told him he did NOT have my permission to die. I am so glad I took that time with just my Rob and my God. I needed it for the day to come as I called others in and shared him with all of those who loved him. And I’ve needed those hours with him in my memory as time has continued to move on.
I am thankful that God was the One to orchestrate the events of that day. He made possible so many things that benefitted Rob, my children, and me. I am thankful that Rob (according to all of the tests) never felt any pain even though our pain was only growing. I am thankful for everyone who helped me in any way that day. I’m sure I will leave someone out if I try to list them all so I will not try that right now. But I do want to say thank you to my sister, Joan, who came as fast as possible to be with my children. Thank you to Jimmy Wooten, Rob’s minister friend who stayed until the very end. There are so many more to thank – we had such a parade of friends of family who helped sustain us that day. To all of you, I thank you. And I will, for as long as my mind works, be thankful for and will never forget my Sally Ann. My sister-in-law, Sally Caviness, is an ICU nurse. That day, she was my lifeline to sanity. She stayed by my side from the moment she arrived around 10 a.m. to the moment Rob died the next morning, explaining – through her tears and mine - everything that was happening along the way. There is nothing that prepares a person to watch a husband die. But Sally was God’s buffer for me to absorb it. She tells me she has never been the same since. I’ve heard that from a lot of people about that day.
It was a horrible reality - that day. But it was also a day of being surrounded by the love of all those coming to see him and us (which was at least 60 or more over the 24 hour period). It was also a day of God’s love spread throughout that waiting room and into his ICU room.
God’s presence was palpable. And nourishing to my soul.
I was reminded of how Rob would start most of his church services:
“God is good – all the time.
All the time – God is good.”
Even on the most horrible day of my life.
I’m in a much better place now. In a place of healing. And it feels good to feel good again.
But that September day will always be with me. There are still some days when all I know to pray is for Strength, Mercy, and Grace. But, over the last 2 years, the following has never failed to be true:
"God is good – all the time.
All the time – God is good!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written on Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
The Struggle Between Life and Death
September 19, 2011
The day my Rob's life on earth hung between the balance of life and death.
It's such a very thin line...
...something I never really understood until that day.
The day of struggle.
The struggle Rob's body was making to recover from whatever made him unconscious.
The struggle my mind was making to start accepting what I just knew was coming.
The struggle to tell his children that their daddy was not coming home from the hospital this time.
The struggle to call his parents and tell them that another son was dying.
(Rob's brother, Eric - at almost 21 yrs. old - died in 1985).
The struggle to execute decisions that had already been made but I had to authorize.
They will remain only shared with those in them, but I took 7 pictures that day.
I knew I would need to see them later. And I have.
Around 12 hours after we first arrived at the hospital, I took one picture of Rob by himself. He was hooked up to a ventilator by the time I took the picture so wires and tubes are everywhere.
I took one of Anna and Rob. Anna's head is snuggled up to her daddy's side and over his hand.
She was crying.
I took three of the boys as they kissed, hugged, and told their daddy good-bye and how much they loved him.
I took one of Crystol as she, through her tears, kissed her daddy.
And the last picture I have of my Rob alive is around 8:30 p.m. on September 19, 2011. It is a photo of my Rob with both of his daughters - Anna on one side, Crystol on the other.
Each daughter is holding one of his hands.
Those photos have helped me to comprehend and confirm over and over and over that we did all we could do. Those photos have helped me over and over and over know that my Rob was tired. Those photos have helped me over and over and over know that Rob fought as hard as he could to overcome all of the issues and that the doctors, nurses, and his family and friends did all they could to help him fight. Those photos have helped me over and over and over know that he had fought all he could fight and for Rob,
his race was truly finished.
Those photos have helped me over and over and over KNOW
that for Rob,
death was the most merciful thing that could have happened.
For those of us being left behind, it did not feel merciful,
but for Rob by that point,
it was.
Over and over and over that day, I prayed for
STRENGTH, MERCY, and GRACE.
At times, all I could do was quietly whisper the words,
"strength, mercy, and grace."
And here we are, a year later.
Proof that the prayer was answered.
We made it through and we are still making it.
But there are still times when the struggle knocks me to my knees...
and all I can do is quietly whisper the words,
"strength, mercy, and grace."
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