My mom died in a hospital bed in 1996. I remember her family littering the hospital hallway that day. That day would be a day for last good-byes. A crap day indeed.
It was sabbath. I was at church. We had just finished the main service and were about to have lunch. I recall I was about to chasten one of my friends for fidgeting during grace, when my uncle walked into the room. He never visited our church and it was strange seeing him there. He looked at me from across the room and sternly motioned for me to come with him. I remember our sabbath school teacher, who organised the lunch, asking him to please allow me to finish. He would have none of it though and abruptly told her that it was an emergency. I composed my internal panic and complied.
Mom had been in the hospital since the Monday. We had visited her every evening, she was weak, but she was her usual optimistic momself! The Thursday evening I remember my brother and I racing to her private room while dad parked the car. I was going to tell her how well I had done on my prelim exam that day - definitely aced it - and Raz was just excited to see her! As we raced down the final stretch of corridor to her room, several nurses and a doctor hurriedly made their way into her room. I remember us stopping and my brother gripping my hand. We walked into the room, not knowing what to expect. Her breathing was heavy, wheezing and laboured. She was muttering my father's name as if calling out his name from a bad name. One of the nurses asked us to stand back, they were taking her for some tests and everything would be fine. We knew she was lying, this was more than just tests. They wheeled her bed out of the room and the doctor said he would be back in a few minutes to speak to dad and us. We followed them out the room and stood at the doorway and watched them disappear behind the “Hospital Personnel” at the end of the hall.
Dazed, we took a seat on the bench just outside the room. I don't know how long we sat there, but we uttered not a word to each other, lost in our own thoughts. Moments, minutes, hours, days could have passed for all we cared before my dad came around the corner. His usual confident swagger stumbled at the sight of his boys sitting outside the room in this morbid state. He cautiously approached us, forcing a smile, somewhat fearful to ask what was the matter. I could see he was expecting the worst. I told him what just happened and I remember him clicking his tongue and letting out an exasperated grunt.
On our way to the car, after having spoken to the doctor, he told us that we should change our prayers. I had never heard him speak like this before. With his voice breaking and tears welling up in his eyes he said that no longer should we pray for healing, but for my mother to be relieved of her suffering. Either God had to lift her from her sick bed completely healed and whole just as we knew her before she fell ill or to allow her to sleep. The suffering however had to end! The warm summer breeze chilled me. I would not! I could not pray for death to come to my mother!
A few months earlier, my mother shared this verse with me - Heb 4:16 "So let us boldly approach the throne of grace. Then we will receive mercy. We will find grace to help us when we need it."That night I approached the eternal throne with utter desperation and humility. It was the hardest prayer I have ever prayed. Never had I felt closer to the Almighty. And never had I been so comforted by his presence.
So here I was at church, not a care in the world, my lunch interrupted by my uncle and searching his face for his usual goofy smile. There was none. I didn't know him too well, but I could tell he bore news which he wished not to unload on me in front of strangers. I stood up, collected my jacket and greeted everyone. My head felt hot and prepared myself for whatever he was going to tell me. As I walked out the room he grabbed my shoulder and herded me toward the parking lot, saying nothing to me except my mom was on her last and that we didn't have much time left. I got into his car, still not sure what this was all about, but how could I not know?
I don't think I have ever been driven that fast. Yet everything seemed to be in slow motion. That day there was a "gay parade" in the city. They were about to block the intersection we needed to cross. My uncle cursed, I thought to myself "fucking homo's", but we got through with some aggressive driving. I apologised to the parade for my foul thoughts toward them a few moments before. My uncle didn't say a word to me. He had one objective: to get me to the hospital ASAP!
We got to the entrance and his said I should go in so long and head for the ICU. I don't remember how I got there, everything from the church to now had been something of a blur. I turned a corner and my mother’s brothers and sisters and my cousins were in huddles outside the ICU crying, praying or holding each other. As I would pass an individual or group they would just say sorry and give me a hug, they were at a loss for words for the most part.
I finally entered the ICU. I took a deep breath and with a determine stride headed for my mother’s bed. As I turned the corner my heart sank. My father sitting on the side of the bed had draped himself over my mother, as if trying to keep her warm and was whispering something in her ear. My brother had nestled into her on the other side of the bed and was crying. There were other family members standing nearby crying too. My determined stride turned into a heavy march. As I approached, dad raised his head and as I neared I could see his strength diminished, his hope extinguished. He was like a child, at the mercy of a great big world that had just stomped him into the ground. I'll never forget that look. In that moment, dad and I were equals and in that look he admitted to not knowing what to say or do. When I reached the bedside, he whispered to me that these were the last moments with my mother and that I should tell her everything I needed to say as she was fading very quickly. He told me she was holding on for me, she should've been gone already.
I prepared for this for two years now. I had many times rehearsed for this very moment. I was going to let my mother leave knowing that she was loved and that everything she loved I would care for. I would lay all her fears to rest and be the strong, even tempered, stable eldest son she knew me to be. Raz moved over for me, stroking my arm as I prepared to deliver probably the most important speech of my life. I looked at the life support system. The squiggly, jagged line was finer than the day before. Some of the drips there the night before had been pulled out. Silently, before opening my mouth, I prayed: "This is shit. I don't want this fucking shit Lord. Lift my mother from the fucking bed...please dear Jesus, my Sovereign Lord. Let me see a miracle this day. Lift her up!" I leaned into her ear, pulled as close as I could to her ear and in that moment I remember a loud noise like a water fall. It filled me with love and rage and desperation. I closed my eyes and there was light all around me and the only words I could utter was "please don't leave me...please don't leave me....please don't leave me...please don't leave me....please don't leave me...i beg you, please don't leave...please don't leave us mom". I don't know how long I did this for or if it was audible to those close by, but I felt my dad's strong warm hand rubbing my back pulling me out from under this mad moment. I could feel my tears now and my tense body relaxing. I sat up, composed myself, wiped my face and gave mom a kiss.
For the next ten minutes we watched as she slipped away. It was a short ten minutes. Way too short. When monitors told us it was over, we three Garrido men cried and left our wife and mother in the hands of strangers.
It was a crap day. A crap day of note.
