still missed ~ 6 months

It's been six months since my sister died; some days are harder than others.  Things trigger emotions that I've otherwise boxed up and put away.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to talk about her death without tears in my eyes.  It feels strange when I think of something that I should tell her or a picture of the kids that I think I should send her.  I have an email in my inbox from her that I don't think I'll ever delete.  It doesn't say anything special or have meaning... it's just that it's from her.

I do a lot of re-living of the days Brent and I spent in Leuven at the end of Ann's life.  I wonder how I handled things the way I did.  In general, I'm very sentimental and emotional.  However, I was able to have conversations with Koen about items that needed discussing, not that I wanted to, but needed to.  I did a lot of mourning before Ann even passed away.  Her health declined steadily from the end of January on.  While {very quickly} planning our trip, I worried about even arriving in time to see her.  She waited :)  My purpose in being there was to see her, give as much support and love to her as I could, but also to support and love Koen.  His love for her never waivered.  Not once.  I think it might have even grown from October to February.  

It was a hard decision to go back to Leuven in February.  Brian and I had a nice visit in November.  Did I really want to blemish all of those decent memories with ones of her dying?  I certainly didn't, but I also felt like the distance and expense shouldn't matter.  If she was living in Illinois, like she had prior to her move to Belgium, I wouldn't have ever questioned visiting her.  One more chance to hug her, hold her hand, and tell her I love her in person.  In my email conversations with Koen, it was clear that he needed someone from Ann's family to be there with him.  He was facing decisions that he was competent to make but wanted reassurance.  There was no doubt from any family members in Iowa that Koen was making every correct decision for her care.  Brent was integral in the decision to go andI'm so thankful for that.  While sitting in the airport ready to fly out, Koen asked me if I was okay to be in a meeting with him and the medical department heads at Gasthuisberg Hospital upon our arrival in Leuven.  I told him yes, but not to expect me to be strong.  He responded "do you think I'm always strong?"  The shoulders of a caregiver are broader than any mountain.  

As I think back to the nightly email updates I sent to Mom/Dad, Brian and Karen while I was there what I wrote seems so matter of fact and unemotional.  That certainly wasn't the case while I was writing them.  I struggled to find the right words with each email.  I didn't want to hide any details, yet it was not pleasant to witness everything happening and have the conversations we were having with her doctors and nurses.  

Koen, Brent and I all believe that Ann was hearing us talk to her in those last days.  I believe there were two instances of her communicating with me in the first day we were there.  One was her rubbing my arm, nodding her head and mumbling it was going to okay.  We told stories and reminisced, we managed a few laughs, too.  Koen's sister, Anne, and her husband, Rudi, came to visit every night.  It was comforting see how much they loved her.  Ann and Rudi had a special bond.  It was also comforting to hear them compare mine and Ann's mannerisms, looks and even voice.  We kept reminding Ann that Mom and Dad would be arriving on Friday.  As her health declined that week there were moments I prayed mom and dad would arrive in time...  

The email I sent to Brian and Karen on our last evening in Leuven:

Brent and I picked up mom & dad at the Brussels airport this morning. We brought the train back to Leuven and then a taxi to Saint Peter Clinic.  Ann had a decent night of sleep with help from the morphine and valium. She had a couple of episodes that led us to believe she was in pain so she got another dose of morphine. Tonight they are starting a morphine pump. This will last 12 hours and at night they will continue to give Valium. If needed they can add additional morphine (or other drugs) to the pump easily without additional needles. Her doctor and nurses at Saint Peter are superb. They were also great at Gaithersburg, but it's a special touch to work with patients at the end of life. I'm thankful for them!  Mom and Dad are staying at Saint Peter in one of the family (dorm style) rooms. They are doing okay. Both were sad to see the appearance of her condition. Not easy to see anyone in the last stages. But comforted to know she is out of pain. I'm glad Brent and I were here this week. It was a relief to help Koen with some of the decisions he was faced with. Brent and I were able to have conversations with mom & dad that alleviated Koen having to do it. Thankfully they made it in time to see her, talk to her, hold her hand. Leaving Ann tonight was heartbreaking. So hard to say goodbye like this to anyone... It's dreadful. I know she is in good hands with the remaining time she has on earth but even better hands when she leaves. She's the one who told me "it's going to be okay."  We leave for the airport in the morning, about 7am. If all goes well we will be home by 10pm tomorrow night. See you Sunday.  Love, T

Earlier that evening Ann also received the Sacrament of the Sick from Koen's Uncle (a priest) and another priest.  Ann passed away about six hours after I sent that email.  I'm thankful we were still there and not aboard a plane.

From the afternoon of Ann's phone call to tell me about her diagnosis all the way through this mourning process, I have never questioned God's love and faithfulness.  I can't say that it makes sense to me, and I very much wish my sister was still alive but that wasn't God's plan.  Before leaving for Belgium, Brent downloaded Jeremy Camp's book I Still Believe: A Memoir on our iPhones and iPad.  We both read the whole book on our trip.  It was a great read and just what we both needed to bring comfort that week.  Jeremy Camp's albums brought a lot of peace in hours of anxiety.  To see him in concert just a few days ago and listen to Casting Crowns sing I Will Praise You in this Storm, then have the six month anniversary of Ann's death -- it feels like an intersecting moment.   

I Will Praise You in this Storm

I was sure by now
That You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away, stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say, Amen and it's still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain, "I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls I raise my hands
And praise the God who gives and takes away

And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands
For You are who You are no matter where I am
And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand
You never left my side and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

I remember when I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry, You raised me up again
But my strength is almost gone
How can I carry on if I can't find You

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain, "I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls I raise my hands
And praise the God who gives and takes away

And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands
For You are who You are no matter where I am
And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand
You never left my side and though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

You can hear this song here.

God did take her away, but I know all of my tears are in His hands and He's never left my side even though my heart is torn.  I think about Ann everyday.  The kids ask about her, stories or pictures bring memories, I communicate with Koen.  Sometimes I cry, sometimes I smile.  It still hurts my heart that Lucas is my only child who met Aunt Ann.  But Hannah has good memories of Uncle Koen -- and Ryan will, too.  We will tell all three of them stories about Ann and share pictures. 

Koen's mom says Ryan will always remind her of Ann - new life so soon after our loss.  He's going to know all about Yellow Ducky, too.