One Breath in, No Breath out
It can take but a moment for a loved one to die. With no warning a typical day can become their last on earth.
I think about this frequently when it comes to Levi. Particularly after last weekend.
Levi had an episode where he became non-responsive as his heart rate and oxygen levels headed in the wrong directions. On his monitor the numbers are flashing, alarms are sounding, his caregiver is doing everything possible to rouse him. ...he remains motionless.
This is when time rushes forward and stands still all at once. When eternity can be felt. Fear becomes tangible.
One minute into it, Levi rouses, takes an in-breath as his oxygen numbers make a positive turn. His caregiver exhales deeply, while actively continuing to help him make a full recovery.
A similar moment happened ten months ago.
Both times I was away from home.
Both times there was no warning or indication that such an episode was on his horizon. Not hours before, not ten minutes before.
In the weeks that follow an episode like this, a deep undercurrent travels with me. Every decision to leave our home gets quietly re-evaluated. Is it necessary? Essential? Can it wait, another hour? Another day?
This undercurrent is strong and swift. It pulls on my emotions, drains my energy reserves, and challenges me to find new ways to stabilize myself in the midst of daily life.
When I leave home, the undercurrent prompts me to call and check in more frequently. I gauge my next step based on his caregivers' response to a few key questions. I am more cautious. Daily I edit and consolidate my plans.
It can take months after Levi's episode for the undercurrent to shift to a calmer state.
I absolutely refuse to allow the undercurrent to take me down. Everyday I choose to live in gratitude not fear. Before I walk out the door, leaving him with a caregiver, I am purposeful in telling Levi that I love him and when I will be back. I make a point of saying thank you to his caregiver. I walk out the door fully anticipating I will see him again upon my return. Confident that if I don't my last word to him were loving.
I pray continuously. My dialogue with the Lord becomes a parallel undercurrent.
I live with the reality that Levi will have a shortened life. This has been present with us from day one. With it comes the possibility that Levi's life will extinguish in a moment, without notice.
There are no promises of how/when it will happen. It is my hope that I will be with Levi, physically present in the same space, when he makes his journey to heaven. Just as I was with him in birth, so too in death. This is my Mama prayer.
Over the past six years we have taken each day as a gift of the Lord's grace. Genuinely appreciating each breath, each time he sneezes to clear his airway, each incremental milestone.
There is a depth of beauty to being able to share the next season with Levi. Be it the first day of spring, a holiday, birthday... When there are no promises about tomorrow, each arrival of “tomorrow” beholds the opportunity to pause and smile with gratitude.
I am so thankful for Levi's team of caregivers, who know and love him dearly. Whose care for him I trust. It allows me to leave our home to grocery shop, drive Younger Brother to preschool, exercise, catch a moment with a girlfriend.
I am thankful they continue to be willing to walk the line of this reality with Levi. So many people are unable to be this present to the beauty of life while sitting alongside the possibility, however faint, with death.
Rest assure, Levi is not dying. He is living.
Although he is 8 weeks into fighting a head cold, he is still fighting. He has good moments alongside rough ones. The good ones still outnumber it all.
Last week we received news that a dear friend of my mother's died unexpectedly. A friend whose death was not 'on the horizon.' We don't anticipate death will come so quick. And yet it can, it does.
One breath in, no breath out, and off she went.
Again, I allow gratitude to rise above fear. I allow the dawn of each new day to be a gift to behold.
Thank you Carrolellen for being a friend to my mother. Tho we never met, I appreciate that which you gave my mother and so many others.
We bless you.
