No One Leaves Life Alive

Life: No one gets out of it alive.

This is one of the thoughts I know brings solace to Libby as she prepares (not plans) to leave this world.

She is largely at peace with the days she knows are coming, but she is not dying yet. She is busy living the days she has.

I had brought my camera to Minnesota; I wanted to take one more picture of her; to try to hold a bit of her here with me. But the camera never came out, because once I was there, I knew the lens wouldn't be able to capture the beauty I saw in her. It would have caught only the pallor of illness, the exhaustion lines around her eyes; it wouldn't have been able to capture the unearthly beauty of the essence I could see overlaying her physical frame. Some things just can't be photographed.

I swear, somehow, as illness thins her skin, her body can no longer contain her. As she lets go of her last illusions of control (we all have them...), her goodness, her peace with the knowledge she now knows how her story ends, and yes, her anger and frustration with the difficulties of these last days of her life glow softly through, her inner light too bright to contain within.

Goodbyes are hard.  This one was especially hard because I knew it just might be the last time I get to say it to her.  It wasn't, "I'll see you next month or next spring or next time we're in the same town," but rather, it was, "I want to say all the words I've ever wanted to say to let you know just how much you mean to me because it's possible the next time I see you it will be on the other side of life, but I just know I'm not going to be able to find them." 

Libby and I had danced around the discussion the last few days I was up there; it was too touchy to approach. The days I was there, I was able to focus on the things I could do to help. To work as part of a cleaning crew, to help her set the house in order. To take the girls shopping for this and that, to fix food she might like to eat, to pick up soft, flannel unicorn and llama sheet sets for the hospital bed which arrived the day before I left. But ready or not, Saturday morning came, and it was time for me to go home.

As I gathered up my things and packed up the car, I was heartened to hear her stirring upstairs - she'd had a full day on Friday, and she quickly runs low on energy these days, so I thought she might not be up. But there she was, and there I was, and neither one of us knew what to say. 

She said 'Goodbye. Now leave before I break down.' I, of course, didn't leave, but went over to sit at her feet, lay my head on her lap, and let the tears freely flow. We both did.

Slowly, haltingly, some words came out. I can't remember the actual words, and they don't matter because they all distilled down to the essence: I love you.  Be well, where ever your path leads. You are in my heart all of the days. I will miss you.

God be with you.  Always.