We’ve been waiting. That’s pretty much all our family does now. It’s our full-time job. We wait.
My mother-in-law, Mary, lies on her deathbed, breathing labored breaths. She has been unresponsive for a long time. Hospice remains closeby, administering end-of-life care. She hasn’t eaten anything or swallowed any liquids in six days.
And yet her pulse continues.
“I’ve never seen a heart this strong,” said the nurse. “She’s an anomaly.”
The nurses have been telling us that Mary might pass any day now, and they’ve been saying this for three weeks.
For three arduous weeks the family has camped in this house and lived beside Mary’s bed. We have spent hours, days and sleepless nights amidst humming oxygen machines, plastic medical tubes, orphaned roller walkers and abandoned wheelchairs.
And Mary’s rugged heart keeps defying modern medicine.
There have been moments when we thought it was going to happen. When we all gathered around her because we were certain death was visiting this house.
Mary’s stats would plummet. Her pulse would become irregular, her oxygen levels would drop. And we would all brace for impact.
Last night this happened. It looked like the end. So we assumed our battle stations. Her children held her hands, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead and told her it was okay to leave. I stood in the background with my arm around Miss Sandra, one of the caregivers. There were hot tears in my eyes.
Mary’s breathing became weak. The rattling in her chest grew louder. This was it, we were all thinking. “Goodbye,” we were all saying in our own ways. “Be free,” said her daughter. “We all love you,” said her son.
Two hours passed.
Then three.
I started getting a charley horse in my left calf muscle.
Four. Five. Six hours.
Still breathing.
Eventually, everyone started to laugh. At first, this laughter felt incredibly irreverent—this was, after all, a woman’s deathbed. But we had to laugh, of course, because tension must be released somehow. Plus, trying not to laugh only makes it impossible not to.
Then we flicked tears from our eyes, left the room and resumed waiting.
We eat. We sleep. We wait. Each morning we awake in wait mode. We stagger to the coffee pot, waiting, asking each other how the patient is doing. We all lead with the same question:
“Any changes?”
The answer is always: “Nope. All we can do is wait.”
Then we exchange a look of mock disbelief and laugh again because what else is there to do? It’s not up to us. This isn’t our barrel race. A woman has the right to die on her own terms, and that’s what Mary is doing. Our only job is to stay out of her way.
The strange thing about all this is that you’d think the mood in this house would be dark and somber. You’d think everyone would be moping around and feeling poorly. But it’s the opposite.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we’re skipping around and whistling happy tunes. It’s not like that. But the feeling here has become fraternal. There is a distinct we-are-all-in-this-together attitude. A greater sense of family.
I think this is because the truth is finally hitting us. Until now, you see, we’ve always just been The Children. No matter what our ages, no matter how much life experience we have, in this family we have always been the kids. The elders were always in charge. This was their world, not ours. But now.
Now our elders are dying. This family belongs to us. It’s up to us to decide what to do with this family. It’s up to us to decide how we’ll care for it. Now we are the ones who plan the cookouts. It’s our job to retell the funny stories. Weird as it may seem, we are the elders now.
Scary.
Sometimes in the evenings I wander into the patient’s room to check on her. Usually, I find one of Mary’s daughters lying beside her in bed. Often I’ll find a caregiver in the corner chair, dozing.
But occasionally I’ll have the room to myself. So I’ll sit at my mother-in-law’s bedside and touch her warm hand, marveling at how her chest continues to rise and fall.
I don’t know how she does it. I don’t know why, either. But when I take her pulse, I must laugh to myself because although this woman is dying, her pulse isn’t. Not even a little.
And I think I’m starting to realize what’s happening here. Maybe she’s showing us something. Perhaps this woman is demonstrating something remarkable about herself which she couldn’t before. Something we knew all along, but never took the time to tell her. She was and is an anomaly.
73 comments
Stacy - August 15, 2021 7:26 am
Holding you all in my heart and prayers. You, Jamie, and others with Mother Mary are on sacred journey right now. You, we, are all honoring an anomaly. A one in a trillion odds of being born. One in a trillion. Without her we wouldn’t have Jamie. Without Jamie would we have you? I send a sacred prayer at this hour. It is thousands of years old that helps the dying transition from this earthly plane to the next. Blessings one and all.
Janie F. - August 15, 2021 11:32 am
Beautiful Stacy!
Cheryl Andrews - August 15, 2021 1:23 pm
Wow! Prayers for y’all!
Keloth Anne - August 15, 2021 8:54 am
Prayers and hugs are with you all ♥️🙏
Cheri Johnston - August 15, 2021 8:58 am
Such a beautiful family….
Laura Wilson - August 15, 2021 9:06 am
I can fully relate to the laughing as you wait. When I sat with my mom at the end, she started doing the very irregular breathing they had told me to expect and I kept thinking it was her last breath and then she would take another deep breath. Soon all I could picture was Sid Caesar in the movie Vegas Vacation when he won the big keno prize and got all excited then had a heart attack, then would come alive and be excited and repeat and it went on for several minutes like that. I was giggling next to my mothers bed until she finally did take her last breath and somehow I know she was OK with it and probably did it to make it less painful for me. We are all on watch with you, sending many prayers to you all.
Paul McCutchen - August 15, 2021 10:10 am
I went through this with my father. We all were exhausted and when we stepped out of the room, one morning, to get some coffee, and he was alone, we heard his last breath. We believe he didn’t want any of us to see him go. My wife’s brother did the same thing. Be patient in knowing there are a lot of prayers out there coming your way.
Joan Moore - August 15, 2021 10:12 am
Sean, perhaps Mary knows your best is being revealed and that is why God is waiting, Love and prayers.
Te - August 15, 2021 10:20 am
All your readers are now part of your family as we go through this with you all. During the day, and when I wake up to read my emails in bed before the dogs start to stir, I wonder if Mother Mary has passed. This is the closest I’ve been to a dying because my parents died unexpectantly in their sleep, in nursing homes, for no apparent reason than just being 90. One thing I do know is that often the person is already left despite the body continues on and probably watching all of you from some vantage point near the ceiling. However, it wouldn’t surprise me if Mother Mary had one last lucid moment before leaving, just to be her quintessential self.
Kathie Kerr - August 15, 2021 10:35 am
As my 90-year-old frail aunt says, “I’m ready to die, just not today.” Play her favorite music and fill the house with laughter.
Jeanette - August 15, 2021 1:47 pm
I couldn’t agree with you more! The stronge ones always seem to wait until there is more than peace, they need laughter!
Taylor - August 15, 2021 10:41 am
Bless you all
Molly Mitchell - August 15, 2021 10:48 am
A greater sense of family. May it be so.♥️
maggierowe - August 15, 2021 11:16 am
Sean, I am so glad you are posting about your remarkable Mom-in-Love. We are all waiting at her bedside with you in spirit. I lost my mom, who lived with us, 18 months ago and wrote the following about the vigil we kept. If’ll share them here if any of these thoughts are helpful.
The oxygen machine has been switched off, its bellows silenced. Nothing stirs the air now but the silvery notes rising faintly from a corner, hymns older than she is. Anthems for a delivery room.
The Western Church marked December 1 as the beginning of Advent this year. Anticipation of the celebration of the nativity of the One whose birth altered time. Before Christ: BC. Anno Domini: AD, year of our Lord.
But for her, Advent began 48 hours later. The time of waiting. Expectancy. Preparation. And once labor begins, there is no turning back.
It’s quiet for a delivery room. No moans, no gasps of pain. No words. Only a brow that furrows and then smooths. One hand, gnarled with age, rests lightly on her abdomen, the way a pregnant woman unconsciously cradles new life within. The other rests in the palm of the child at her side.
The children rotate in and out of the room, hovering over the still form of the woman who birthed them decades ago. They swaddle her in fresh gowns, removing coverings, adding them. They are sleepless, anxious, checking to make sure her chest rises, falls. Wanting her to stay.
Knowing she must go.
Grief comes in waves, the preacher said when their father died. Hold onto each other so it doesn’t knock you flat.
Remembering, they remind each other to rest, shower, sit down to eat the soups and casseroles the Baptist church ladies bring. Memories surface, invoking laughter.
But later, the tidal wave catches one daughter smack back of the knees when she stands at her mother’s bed, gazing at her face, the beloved blue eyes staring, unseeing. Grief rolls the girl over, scraping her raw against her own relations, her roiling emotions. She chokes on the salt.
Where is the joy they speak of? she wails. The smiling anticipation, the glorious hope? There is nothing in her mama’s face but exhaustion.
She taught us to believe, and we know the ancient words. We learned them at her knee.
“I am the Resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” (JOHN 11:25, KJV).
So why did no one ever tell the daughter that grief feels so much like fear, like a wise man observed when his wife died? When her mother’s ticket is in hand and the ship’s about to sail, why does the sorrow still billow and roll?
Labor.
He said something once about labor. Or was it labour?
“Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (MATTHEW 11:28, KJV).
I am the flesh of her flesh, and bone of her bone, the daughter says, keening. When she takes her final breath, I will be a motherless child. Though she were dead, yet I shall live. Without her.
But labor, who ever said it was easy? She labored to bring new life into the world: her children yes, but a thousand gifts bestowed besides.
And what you’re seeing right here, right now, those beloved blue eyes looking above and beyond you? This is new birth too.
She’s about to be delivered to a new address in a wondrous new country. That sweet chariot is swinging low. You can almost catch a glimpse just there, beyond the horizon.
And it’s coming to take her Home. – Maggie Wallem Rowe, December 2019
Janie F. - August 15, 2021 11:38 am
Oh Maggie, you have touched my heart. My tears are falling. Thank you for sharing!
maggierowe - August 15, 2021 11:19 am
Sean, thank you for posting about your Mom-in-love and allowing the readers who love your family to sit at the bedside with you in spirit. I lost my mom, who lived with us, 18 months ago and wrote the following thoughts if any are useful to you now.
“The oxygen machine has been switched off, its bellows silenced. Nothing stirs the air now but the silvery notes rising faintly from a corner, hymns older than she is. Anthems for a delivery room.
The Western Church marked December 1 as the beginning of Advent this year. Anticipation of the celebration of the nativity of the One whose birth altered time. Before Christ: BC. Anno Domini: AD, year of our Lord.
But for her, Advent began 48 hours later. The time of waiting. Expectancy. Preparation. And once labor begins, there is no turning back.
It’s quiet for a delivery room. No moans, no gasps of pain. No words. Only a brow that furrows and then smooths. One hand, gnarled with age, rests lightly on her abdomen, the way a pregnant woman unconsciously cradles new life within. The other rests in the palm of the child at her side.
The children rotate in and out of the room, hovering over the still form of the woman who birthed them decades ago. They swaddle her in fresh gowns, removing coverings, adding them. They are sleepless, anxious, checking to make sure her chest rises, falls. Wanting her to stay.
Knowing she must go.
Grief comes in waves, the preacher said when their father died. Hold onto each other so it doesn’t knock you flat.
Remembering, they remind each other to rest, shower, sit down to eat the soups and casseroles the Baptist church ladies bring. Memories surface, invoking laughter.
But later, the tidal wave catches one daughter smack back of the knees when she stands at her mother’s bed, gazing at her face, the beloved blue eyes staring, unseeing. Grief rolls the girl over, scraping her raw against her own relations, her roiling emotions. She chokes on the salt.
Where is the joy they speak of? she wails. The smiling anticipation, the glorious hope? There is nothing in her mama’s face but exhaustion.
She taught us to believe, and we know the ancient words. We learned them at her knee.
“I am the Resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live” (JOHN 11:25, KJV).
So why did no one ever tell the daughter that grief feels so much like fear, like a wise man observed when his wife died? When her mother’s ticket is in hand and the ship’s about to sail, why does the sorrow still billow and roll?
Labor.
He said something once about labor. Or was it labour?
“Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (MATTHEW 11:28, KJV).
I am the flesh of her flesh, and bone of her bone, the daughter says, keening. When she takes her final breath, I will be a motherless child. Though she were dead, yet I shall live. Without her.
But labor, who ever said it was easy? She labored to bring new life into the world: her children yes, but a thousand gifts bestowed besides.
And what you’re seeing right here, right now, those beloved blue eyes looking above and beyond you? This is new birth too.
She’s about to be delivered to a new address in a wondrous new country. That sweet chariot is swinging low. You can almost catch a glimpse just there, beyond the horizon.
And it’s coming to take her Home. ” Maggie Wallem Rowe/ December 2019
Karen - August 15, 2021 11:28 am
Sean, Mother Mary is so blessed to have such a loving family. Thank you for sharing your family with us. My prayers continue for you all.
Amanda - August 15, 2021 11:37 am
“Never seen a heart this strong” really sums up her fortitude. Thanks again for sharing.
Cathe - August 15, 2021 11:53 am
Prayers for you and your family. What you describe is exactly how it went w my mom. Waiting. Wondering what if anything was going thru her mind. Praying God would take her every day and wondering how she kept going . One day we had the big laugh. It came from no where. It was akward and welcome all at the same time. We all pretty much realized she WAS gone and it was just her body playing out it’s last. Then , she passed and for as long… months….it had taken it all seemed so fast. There we 4 sisters were, now, at the head of the line. Wondering how the heck we got there and feeling a little abandonment. It’s ok to let her go. ❣️
Leigh rankin - August 15, 2021 11:55 am
I danced this dance 20 years ago with my daddy, but no body who was in that room is left for me to share this with. We laughed a lot, too. ❤️
BJ - August 15, 2021 12:36 pm
Lovely! ❤️🙏
Naomi - August 15, 2021 12:37 pm
I’m so sorry that life comes to this last step. It is so so emotionally painful. Comic relief seems necessary.
When my 89 year old mother got to this stage, she stubbornly clung to life for 15 days. We decided that she was determined to make it to 90, which did not happen. Then one day my husband thought of something that Jed Clampet said in the Beverly Hillbillies about Granny. “ A mule should have that ticker.”
May God bless your family.
Jan - August 15, 2021 12:38 pm
Thank you for sharing Mother Mary and this story which is eternal just as she is … Love and prayers!
Molly - August 15, 2021 12:38 pm
God is never early nor is He ever late. He is always right on time. All in His time and His timing is always perfect. This is between Mother Mary and God. We all are just watching a miracle unfold. Prayers for your family!
Ruth Mitchell - August 15, 2021 12:49 pm
I just experienced the death of my older sister two months ago. We, like you, waited. Her own waiting was never without pain until the last couple of days. Because of her pain and suffering, her end brought her such release. It brought me that dreaded position of being the “family elder” and such a sense of nonbelief and loss. Prayers for you and your family.
Dana Qualls - August 15, 2021 12:51 pm
Believe me. We are all waiting with you and Mother Mary. What a wonderful family! Blessings on you all.
Bill Harris - August 15, 2021 12:57 pm
Thank you Sean, for writing about life and death and love. Bless you brother.
Jeannine Griffin - August 15, 2021 1:01 pm
🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼 My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
Melanie - August 15, 2021 1:09 pm
Mary is very blessed to have so much family sobclose to her as she prepares to go home. I really think she’s expecting a party, Sean. Love to you all including the Angels that walk this earth – hospice nurses. ♥️
Melanie - August 15, 2021 1:10 pm
So close – sorry for misspelling
Nancy Crews - August 15, 2021 1:22 pm
❤your writing. My mother lived 6 weeks in a coma. I was lulled into a pattern of this. When she finally died, I was shocked. I had grown accustomed to how we were living.
Becky - August 15, 2021 1:42 pm
I so enjoy your writing about Mother Mary. God Bless Her and Her Family.
Gayle Wilson - August 15, 2021 1:47 pm
Sean, your post today brought to mind a quote I have read several times that I need to share and although Mother Mary did not originally say this, I could imagine her saying it – “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!” – Hunter S Thompson. Mother Mary is on her ride.
Leigh Amiot - August 15, 2021 1:52 pm
My late mother, who worked in geriatric care for several decades, told me when I was young to choose words carefully around the dying because hearing is the very last sense to go. Remembering this, I am so thankful Mother Mary heard the laughter of her family. When this strong lady and the Lord finish their negotiations about when she should leave, she’ll go knowing you all will be all right, laughter will come again, even if through tears. My prayer for her all the while is that she be pain free during this transition.
Christina - August 15, 2021 2:12 pm
Mother Mary is a warrior of her kind. My grandpa who passed last November was similar. They are tough cookies.
Londa - August 15, 2021 2:13 pm
Just a beautiful to look at things , Sean
God bless you and your whole family 😘
judy a cortner - August 15, 2021 2:16 pm
yes sean, you and your family
are experiencing
the passing of the “TORCH”
god speed to one and all.
Lynda Mantel Avant - August 15, 2021 2:18 pm
Thank you for sharing this lovely tribute to a dear friend of 73 years. May God continue to give you strength and faith. With much love and prayers, Lynda
AlaRedClayGirl - August 15, 2021 2:21 pm
Prayers and blessings to you all!
BRENDA DAVIS - August 15, 2021 2:30 pm
SO LOVE THIS ONE !! BEEN THERE DONE THAT !! PRAYERS FOR YOUR FAMILY AND YOU ! BY THE WAY , MY MOTHER’S NAME WAS MARY !
judy a cortner - August 15, 2021 2:34 pm
yes sean,
you and your family
are experiencing
the passing of the “TORCH”
god speed to one and all
Chasity Davis Ritter - August 15, 2021 2:36 pm
Every morning I get up and check your thinking is it today? And every morning so far Mother Mary has still been with us. In this past week I lost 3 people. I have lots of loved ones I hope she runs into when she finally arrives. My preacher Pastor Greg went last Saturday we laid him to rest this past Friday. He had hung on for a week on life support and it was about the time I had started praying for Mother Mary too. I thought he was hanging on to go with her and help her across but no she stayed. He was 59. This past Tuesday my daughter in laws dad unexpectedly went too. He was only 52. His memorial was yesterday. It was so hard to see her cry. My BFF of 47 years also lost her dad Tuesday at 5:35. He was 80. He had also been on hospice for a couple of months. Stupid cancer. We haven’t had his celebration of life yet but my friend, his daughter, will be here today from Texas. It’s been rough yes. Every single day I pray for a long time. So many I have to pray for including myself. But you and Jamie and Mother Mary are never far from my thoughts either and always on my list each day. And yes most of adult my life I have felt like a kid playing grown up even most times still now but your right. I have become the elder myself. I’m a grandma. My girl friends and I have turned 50 this year and are losing our parents left and right. I really gotta stop blinking or maybe keep my eyes open when I pray at least. God bless Mother Mary. He will see her when she is ready I guess!
Susan McCall - August 15, 2021 2:36 pm
I have lived through this very thing and it occurs to me that our loved one is still teaching us, leading us to remember to BE family, to be concerned for each other, to care for others more than ourselves, to remain united as a family. Hard times, but precious lessons. God bless you all.
Robyn - August 15, 2021 2:53 pm
🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼
Cindy Lou - August 15, 2021 3:04 pm
Bless her and all of you, and thanks for sharing it all with us. I just wanted to say perhaps you could remove the unused medical equipment from her room and open the window that looks out on the bay, when/if the temperature will allow for it. Just a thought.
Martha Black - August 15, 2021 3:17 pm
Thank you for keeping us updated & we are honored by your sweet words on this walk with Mary. We are honored & send you our prayers and hope you might in some way feel some strength & care as you wait. Waiting is the final gift.
Elizabeth Giufre - August 15, 2021 3:22 pm
Beautiful. I am reminded of the days and final hours of my husband’s passing. He too, took his time, made his own terms, and labored through those final moments. Your gift of articulating this last chapter, last paragraph, last words is heartwarming and a special gift for those who are crossing the bridge to begin a new journey. Thank you. God Bless. The Angels have wrapped everyone in their arms.
joe fowler - August 15, 2021 3:49 pm
Praying for you and your family. ! It is your family now
Al Cato - August 15, 2021 4:21 pm
My daughter, Kelly and I deliver Meals On Wheels every Friday. Some years ago I was out of town and returning on Friday. She called me to say that Mr. Ingram has hospice with him. He lived in a dilapidated trailer. You could see the ground where the floor had rotted thru. He was our friend. Had family but they never visited or helped him. Helping Hands ministry from our church came to fix the floor, the front steps and fix the hot water heater so he could take a hot shower. I told her that I would drop my stuff at home and come over so she could take a break. We did not want him to die alone. He knew us. So I did come over. She left and I stayed there with him and the hospice nurse. The nurse educated me about the stages of dying and she said that he is in the early stage. So we visited, waited and time came for a shift change in nurses so I told them I would return the next morning. I fully expected him to have passed during the night. He was sleeping soundly with shallow breaths.
Next morning early I arrive expecting his death during the night. Go into the trailer and he is sitting on the edge of his bed eating a bowl of cereal!! What a surprise. God wasn’t quite ready to take him home. A week later in a hospice facility he passed away. A friend was sitting by his bed reading when she said it became quiet. There was no longer the sound of his breathing. Angels do walk this earth..
Prayers and Blessings for Mother Mary, Jaime, Sean and family.
Elizabeth Lawrence - August 15, 2021 4:22 pm
I’ve been in this hospice situation with my own Mom,Dad , Father-in-law & two very close friends.Although each death experience was similar each one was very different.Each one went on their own terms it seemed.My Mom was digging her heels in not letting go of this life.As a family we prayed,sang songs,cried and laughed.Our Episcopal Priest came to give last rites and communion.Her eyes suddenly opened to our surprise.”I know what you are doing and I’m not going anywhere yet.” It was another tree weeks of waiting.She loved the Lord and her family with all her heart. Much like Mother Mary’s story she lingered much longer than the hospice nurses expected.Each one of us told her it was ok to go in our own way.After another long night of that labored sounding breathing,I took her hand and said “Mom you can quit breathing now.”That was it she let go.It was just the two of us in the room.I didn’t know what to do.I didn’t know how long it took the soul to leave the body .I held her had for a while before I went to get Dad who was sitting talking to the hospice nurse in another room.We sang songs together.When Dad sang “You Are My Sunshine” to her it broke my heart. Twenty plus years later it’s still makes me tear up to hear this song.Each one of my hospice experiences with loved ones had been unique.People would say that I was so giving but I never felt that way.I only felt honored to be with them on their journey home. God’s Peace be with you , Jamie and family!🙏❤️
Becky Moon - August 15, 2021 5:30 pm
…and she’s fasting before she meets Jesus face to face.
Jan Rowland - August 15, 2021 5:45 pm
Sean, she seems to hold you and your wonderful column in a special place in her heart. Perhaps the next time you find just the two of you there you should let her know that you children have all grown up and will carry the family traditions on at special occasions and always lean on each other so that, collectively, you all can be as strong as her pulse and fill her shoes. Your family is in my thought and prayers. Your stories have painted a visual picture of Mother Mary in my heart to stay. Blessings to all.
Paula - August 15, 2021 6:17 pm
As a Hospice Nurse I have seen this same thing very often and it always very different with each patient and family. Mother Mary is one lucky lady to have such a wonderful family who cares and loves her dearly.
Everyone has a purpose on this earth. Mother Mary has not completed God’s plan for her here on Earth. Y’all may never realize or understand Why is she lingered as long as she did before God called her Home. He is the beginning and the end of all. Only He knows Why. I pray that what ever happens you and family will one day rejoice. Mother Mary brought you all together for this waiting period for a reason. Use this time to become closer because in the world we live in today, family is All we can count on.
God be with you and yours.
marthajanecassidey9526 - August 15, 2021 6:47 pm
My father’s death was like this. The doctors gave him two weeks. We all came after work every day for seven months. They said that his heart was so strong that it just kept beating. The hospice nurses were angels. It was excruciating. He wasn’t really present, but he could respond to questions with one word answers. He really was too strong to die. Of course he finally did. He said that he was ready to go. I had no idea how much I depended on his strength. We had always been at odds, but he always had my back. His death left a huge hole in my life. I still wear his bathrobe in winter and it comforts me.
Suellen - August 15, 2021 6:58 pm
I don’t think my family is as reverent as yours. My brothers and I lived all over the place so when we came together for my Mom’s last days it was part vigil part family reunion. We told stories. We laughed. I think my Mom held on because she was enjoying having us all together so much. Then one night she slipped away at 3 am when no one was there. I got the phone call from the nursing home but didn’t have time to get there. The nurse told me they lost a lot of patients around 3 am, the witching hour. That used to be associated with the supernatural but has since come to be known more about circadian rhythms. She was the last of our close relations in that generation. She’d been mourning my Dad for 20 years. She told the doctor no chemo no surgery. She was ready to go. As a child you want to do everything to keep them a little bit longer but it was beautiful to see her go out on her own terms.
Kim - August 15, 2021 7:04 pm
Sean and Jamie…. Please know that there are so many of us “internet people” that have have come to love y’all…. sending grace, comfort, and prayers your way…
Christopher Spencer - August 15, 2021 7:11 pm
I think that at one time or another most all of us have gone through what Sean and Jamie Martin Dietrich and their family is going through.
If you haven’t yet and if you live long enough, you one day will.
My continued prayers for you all Sean, Jamie and Mother Mary and all of her family.
May God comfort and strengthen you all. May He bless you all with His peace of heart, mind and soul.
Yes I repeat these words often and there is a reason for that.
For I believe there can be no better feeling than to feel God lifting you up, comforting and strengthening you. And then to feel a sense of peace that only God can give.
Nothing of this world can give that feeling.
My love to you all,
Chris
Linda Moon - August 15, 2021 7:13 pm
There’s no doubt Mary is an exception with her strong heart for LIFE. I love anomalies, especially whey they seem to bend the rules for good purposes. She and Jamie share that same spunk, and they are my kind of women. You, Sean, are blessed to have them in your life.
June - August 15, 2021 7:22 pm
I’ve learned people don’t die very easy. Some do, in tragic accidents or fast cancer but generally it’s a long process. Your story is exactly what happened to my mother and sister in law. Lots of waiting and wondering if maybe they actually never will!
MAM - August 15, 2021 7:28 pm
May we all be an anomaly! My mom loved people and being around people, so I always thought she would want people with her when she left to meet God. But she fooled us all and slipped away in the middle of the night, after eating a good dinner and talking up a storm lucidly after she had only managed gibberish for weeks after a stroke. May God be with you Jamie and Sean. He will take her when they are both good and ready.
Lavenda - August 15, 2021 7:34 pm
Sean and Jamie, thank you for sharing this with us. Please know that we are all with you laughing,which I get. So much pressure of death can leave us exhausted and aching. I pray for Jamie and her family that they know peace in this time. And Sean I pray for you Lord pleasecomfort him so he can be strong for Jamie.
David S Doom - August 15, 2021 8:43 pm
At some time, most children will have to become the parents of their parents. As a senior family member, I hope to graciously ease that transition.
Melanie Johnston Levy - August 15, 2021 8:45 pm
God bless you all, Sean, as you hold vigilance over the sanctity of life. You are and have been a GOOD son-in-law. I hope I have been as good a m-i-l to my 4 sons’ wives as Mother Mary has been to you!
Heidi - August 15, 2021 8:50 pm
My Mom passed many years before my Dad. During those years I was “the mom” of the family….watching over Dad (when he’d let me) and my family. But you are still “a child”. When he passed….I was no longer anyone’s child, at least here on earth. It’s a real awakening to know that you are the next generation to pass. It’s difficult. I still miss my parents. Honestly Sean…blessings and comfort and love to all of you as you navigate new waters. I know Mother Mary is watching over you all and you will know it in your heart soon.❤️
Debbie in Alabama - August 15, 2021 9:17 pm
I hope you see this. I have left it in 3 places. I saved it a while back.
I read this tonight and it almost took my breath because it’s exactly how it is while you’re waiting for the Lord to call your loved one home. 🙏💞🙏💞🙏💞.
“The fleeting moments that separate heaven and earth. The place where the pain of this world meets the glory of eternity above. The place of finally being Home.
This is the sacred place of the in between.
The place where breaths are shallow and slow, and the spirit is worn and weary. When the fight has been fought and the race almost finished. The place where they lay and wait for their name to be called.
This is the sacred place of the in between.
The place hair is stroked and hands gently held. Hands that have rocked babies and hugged grown children, that have serve lemonade on a hot day and played checkers on a cold winter night. Hands held for the very last time.
This is the sacred place of the in between.
The place where hymns are sung and memories linger on like their presence in the room. Laughs come through tears, and silent sobs replace the words we try to say. But we can’t find the words, can we. Because how do you fit a life’s worth of memories into a few sentences?
This is the sacred place of the in between.
The place where heaven meets earth, the moments we wait for and dread all at once. The minutes we want to pass quickly, yet hang onto for dear life.
This is the when the sacred place of the in between becomes the place of the most holy. The moment they see Jesus and it takes their breath away.”
(Posted by From Blacktop to Dirt Road)
mariam stephens - August 16, 2021 1:58 am
Beautiful…..thank you for offering these words of peace!
Ann - August 15, 2021 10:59 pm
Beautiful
Sandi. - August 16, 2021 12:41 am
Sean, Jamie and the rest of your fine family: My prayers are drifting in your direction tonight as you keep vigil over Mother Mary. I am so sorry y’all are having to go through this. Hold each other close and remember the good times.
Katherine Swanson - August 16, 2021 1:30 am
Dear Sean,
Thank you for the touching posts you have recently been sharing. They are quite vulnerable, really. Your writing takes me back to when my grandmother was dying and one family member or another kept vigil day and night with her as she lingered in a liminal state in hospice care for nearly 30 days!
One evening, my younger brother was with her, holding her hand as she lay with shallow breathing. Beautiful music was playing (or so I’m told, I was not there). He said he could feel an energy in the air he couldn’t describe. He announced, rather loudly, “Grandma, I’m going to go for a smoke break. I’ll be gone for about five minutes and give you complete freedom and peace to leave this earth. I’ll leave you alone now”. He left the room and when he returned, sure enough, she passed on to perfect peace.
I share this in empathy for the journey you and your family are taking with Mary in her passing. It is a difficult, beautiful time. Keep the wonderful memories of her coming… God bless you and yours.
Katherine S.
cajuntiger74 - August 16, 2021 2:57 am
Praying for comfort for you, your wife and all of Mother Mary’s family. God hasn’t quite finished preparing MM’s mansion in Heaven yet.
Verna Kays - August 16, 2021 6:07 am
Thank You for letting us into your world…..and wait with you Sean and Jamie💖
Lucretia Jones - August 16, 2021 5:26 pm
Beautiful, Sean, Beautiful
Karla Meier - August 17, 2021 1:21 pm
I have worked with the elderly for years and when one is actively passing we open the window – not alot but just a bit to let their soul go – give it a try.