A Story of Love and Loss from One of our Families Here at Hospice
I went for a walk today, the same route we used to walk – just a short time ago. She in her wheelchair bundled up warm, Sassy her pet poodle nestled in her lap. Each turn, each curb, each intersection hold a memory, of no significance to others, but of great significance to me.
A specific space, just space to others – just a short time ago occupied by my precious Amy and now void of her presence, not a trace – just a short time ago.
A park bench, Amy in her wheelchair, I next to her on the bench, hands clasped. I sit there each day imagining her next to me, but the space is empty. She had been there, just a short time ago.
A crack in the sidewalk, just a light bump each day, then, just a short time ago.
"That hurt my brain," she said, and we ended our walks just a short time ago.
We went to Hospice House, just for a break, where we were both loved and cared for, and asked, "would you please stay?" So we stayed, amazed at HIS grace and provision, not understanding what lay just a short time ahead.
Thanksgiving, Amy bundled up in her wheelchair, puppy in her lap going home for dinner, a five minute walk from Hospice. We were hugged, kissed, fed Thanksgiving Dinner, then back to Hospice, Amy totally exhausted, both silently understanding what lay just a short time ahead.
Amy and I had prayed, Please Father fulfill your purpose, then, please take Amy home. Please spare her the terrible ugliness that lies ahead.
Then, with purpose completed, surrounded by family, wrapped in my arms she was gone – just a short time ago. But finally home with Jesus.