Veils and Apocalypses (big word for "unveiling")

I've just finished reading a commentary on The Revelation, a document showing the unveiling of things to come. There's a reason for a veil, whether that which hides the face of a bride, or divides the holy place from the holy of holies, or keeps the future hidden from sight. An unveiling moves us from darkness to light, from faith to sight, imagination to reality and can be terrifying; you know this if you've ever read Revelation. 

This past fall my husband's mother at age 96 suffered an aneurism in the cortex of her brain. An aneurism often determines an ending, plunging the victim into the realm of the unknown since in death we pass behind a kind of veil and are seen in this world no longer. My mother-in-law's journey, however, was briefly suspended. We were surprised when she returned to us for a few days and revealed things we hadn't known--at least not from her. This "apocalypse" I shared in a letter to my children, included below, as she journeyed from "knowing in part" to "knowing as she is known." 

Ruth Elizabeth Morgan passed away in the early morning of October 1, 2013. We bless her memory and thank God for her life.

My dear Kelle, Kara, Tim and Kyle,

Grandma is still with us—but I wanted to update you and also remind you (as if you didn't know) what an amazing person your grandmother is. One of us, and for much of the time most of us (meaning Ron, Judie, Dad and I), have been with Grandma since she was brought to the hospital on Wed. Since Thursday she has had long stretches of clear wakefulness and lucidity. She's weak, of course, so speaking is hard and a bit labored and her already challenged hearing is, I think, more challenged. It is beyond obvious that her focus has narrowed and her sights are set beyond what's going on here.

We shared with you that when to our astonishment she woke on Wed. afternoon, she obviously was working very hard to understand what had happened and where she was--asked over and over again what happened, did she fall, who picked her up, where was she and was distressed that she couldn’t remember. After Ron explained repeatedly that something had broken in her head causing bleeding around her brain, she finally asked, "Am I dying?" And Ron answered for all of us as honestly as he could, "Yes, Mom, we think you are." He also said, "It may be that this time God will answer your prayer to be with Dad." With each exchange, Grandma seemed to "pull away" to think and then she'd come back with another question--sometimes the same question. It was so obvious that she was using all her energies to understand.

Ron has spent each night with her; on Thursday morning she said to him, "It takes so long to die!" Yesterday morning she told him that she was so looking forward to being able to kneel before the Lord because she hasn't been able to kneel for so long.

So—last night after dinner we were all sitting around her bed. Some of the conversation was light (perhaps insipid); Judie mentioned that there was still time for Grandma to get her ears pierced (which she would never in all eternity do) or to be visited by the pet ministry (she had posted signs on the door of her room that pets, even in ministry, were not and never would be welcome). At some point we put in her lap the little stuffed dog Kelle had brought over the night before and took her picture with it; that did not make her happy as she thought the picture was for her funeral! We assured her that no one would see it.

Suddenly, Grandma interrupted our nonsense, turned to Ron (who wasn't really participating in our foolishness) and asked him what her prognosis was. He had already explained that, should she remain until Monday, she would enter the care of Hospice at Cross Keys; that a room had been set up for her with some of her pictures (pictures of you guys, Lucy, Lily, Maddie, Drew and Ben) and her own bedspread. In answer to her question about the prognosis, Ron once again explained the aneurism event—that the problem was still there and couldn't be fixed. What followed was kind of an apocalypse—an unveiling—of her feelings, longings and dreams. In a way I have never heard her express, she told us what it's like to be in her body--that at 96 she can't dress herself, roll over in bed, or brush her own hair--and asked "who would want to live like this?" Thus began a "meeting" (her words) which went on for about an hour and a half, and which she absolutely chaired. At one point she asked, "Are you guys going to get together afterwards?" We asked if she meant were we going to have a luncheon after the funeral; she said, no, she meant the family—if we would remain together. Her voice grew strong as she said that we need to love each other; that this is what the Lord wants us to do. “It's all about love,” she said over and over again. She talked about her childhood; that she wasn't raised to express love but had, in her adult life, learned to do that more. She spoke of her love for Grandpa; that she always felt she had lived in his shadow ("He made me who I am," she said with obvious pride and appreciation); that in her widowhood she had begun to focus on and love her neighbors.

We assured her that she had always loved well, that love was more than saying so, but I don't think she was listening to us as much as she was making herself known. As she expressed her sheer fatigue with "this life" I realized that, while I knew most of what she was saying, I had never heard her say how hard life was for her. When she expressed regret that she hadn't  "witnessed" more about her faith (an evangelical expression), Ron said that her life—the way she lived—was a strong witness. Though she was never quick to speak even about matters most important to her, it's abundantly clear that her faith has impacted everyone who knows her. As visitors and friends learn that she is poised on the edge of this life, there are tears and hugs and all manner of expressions of love for her. She certainly did express her faith.

Finally, our "meeting" became focused on Grandma's desire to get clear on whether or not she was going to die and when. Ron had reminded her that stronger medicines were available to allow her to be comfortable and rest/sleep, adding that by beginning that regimen she'd most likely lose her ability to continue to talk with us and us with her. She asked us what we thought she should do, and tried to get us to vote (which we didn't). All of us offered our support for whatever she would choose. In the end she said, "Let's do it." and then, "I guess I'm signing my own death warrant.” We assured her that her age and the aneurism were the death warrant, not her request for heavier medication. After emphasizing that she had lived a good, full life--"who could ask for anything more?"-- she declared that the meeting had come to a close. Ron asked if maybe we should pray for sing or something to close the amazing "meeting," so after many kisses and "love yous" we stood around her bed and sang "The Lord Bless You and Keep You" and the 7-fold Amen—and this around midnight.

I know you all know that Grandma is not only ready, but eager to leave this life and to take up the life offered her by the grace of her Savior. She said as we were leaving, hugging, kissing, thanking her, "I'll miss you." And then she added, "And you'll miss me—what's left of me." We immediately went from tears to laughter (how on earth do we do that??); in our last moments together—perhaps Grandma's last conscious moments— she made us laugh. What a gift.

Judie left this morning to relieve Ron who will be returning to Philly for a funeral; he'll be back Monday. We haven't heard anything about Grandma this morning, but I suspect she is sedated as per her request. We'll be going over a little later.

I don't have to tell you how much she loves you and what pride she takes in each of you—how she follows your lives and work and worries about and prays for each of you (though I think her prayers today are focused on her own journey). You all have an amazing heritage in her and Grandpa—a long, colorful, multi-textured history that you each in some way express and make the most of.

My love to you today as we all wait. May Grandma be delivered speedily.