Cindy had a bone marrow stem cell transplant last summer, after being diagnosed with MDS, a rare blood disorder similar to leukemia. She had an extensive stay in the hospital last summer and had to live in Dallas near the hospital for 3 months. In the year since, she has been considered to be in recovery, but had struggles with blood pressure, fatigue and other symptoms.
On June 15, Cari had Murphee, and our family spent the whole day at the hospital awaiting her arrival. (*Side story: Cindy and I were sitting on a couch waiting when Cara started kicking. I asked Cindy if she wanted to feel, and we spent a few sweet minutes with her hand on my belly, feeling her second granddaughter kick. I didn't know that would be the last major memory I'd make with her.*) Cindy got to meet Murphee and see her again on Saturday. Sunday, she was feeling really run down and thought it was her blood pressure.
On Monday, Mike drove her to Dallas to her bone marrow oncologist because she was so weak. She was admitted to the ICU at UT Southwestern, and she quickly declined. At the end of Monday, June 18, she was intubated on a ventilator and heavily sedated. Her blood pressure was very low, her blood sugar was extremely high and she was diagnosed with pneumonia. So began the saga of ICU treatment. Chance, Cayce and Cari+the Edisons (remember the 3-day old baby?) drove up to Dallas, and I joined them on Tuesday. We would all spend several days at the hospital and traveling back to Waco in shifts. The days became a blur of doctor's reports, rotations, reading numbers off of machines by her bedside and learning to speak the ICU lingo. She was very sick, but once her pneumonia infection was stabilized, she was making incremental progress each day. There was no talk of healing or homegoing, but we took encouragement from her oncologist, lead ICU doctor, nephrologist (kidney dr.), pulmonary specialist, etc. who were giving us snippets of good news to focus on each day.
We came back to Waco on Sunday, June 24, and spent a couple of days working, being normal, etc. Cindy was going to start kidney dialysis on Tuesday, which required a large central line. Protocol for that was a CT scan, during which her doctors found evidence of a stroke. We're still not sure when it occurred. They scheduled a confirmation MRI, and at some point in transit from the MRI, she lost her pulse and had to be resuscitated. Because she had been oxygen-deprived for several minutes, they placed her on life support, and Mike called us around 12:15 a.m. (Wednesday morning, technically) to tell us to get up to Dallas. We learned all this information in pieces throughout the night, and were obviously shocked at the sudden downturn of events. It was just a very surreal experience. We hadn't been to bed yet, and had both worked full days. Chance and I picked up Cayce and drove to Dallas by around 3 a.m. We got to her room in the hospital around 3:30, had some time to be with her and talk to her, and we were there with her when she passed on her own at 4:05. Again, it was like being in a movie, or watching it happen to someone else. Even being there to experience the events didn't make it seem real.
We all went back to the hotel, packed up the Edisons and their stuff and started to drive back to Waco by 6 a.m. We went straight to the funeral home to start making arrangements around 8 a.m. We picked out cemetery plots at 1 p.m., and spent the evening with the family that night. To call us exhausted would be an understatement.
The next couple of days were a blur of friends, family, food and funeral plans. We were simultaneously grieving together and working on autopilot to make the necessary plans--even still, I don't remember all the days individually, nor all the events from each day. One vivid memory is choosing a casket--it didn't matter to us, because Cindy is no longer here; she is in heaven, not in a box. But we walked through the casket room, and the first portion of the room is BABY caskets. White ones, with pink swirls or flowers adorning them. In my heightened emotion, sleep-deprived state, I nearly crumpled to pieces when I saw these. WHY would you not place them in a more secluded spot, or keep them behind a curtain until they are abhorrently necessary? Why do you have more than one type? Why not just a simple white box? That image won't leave my brain.
Cindy's visitation Friday, June 29, and it was a lovely, overwhelming display of love and support. There was a line from the front to the back of the building for 2.5 hours solid. There were 50+ flower arrangements sent to the funeral home. Our friends, Cayce & Cari's friends, Mike's friends, Nanny's friends--everyone came to demonstrate their love for us and for Cindy.
Her funeral was Saturday, June 30. First Baptist Waco was PACKED, and Mike's college roommate/best man in their wedding presided. It was the perfect mixture of sadness, hope, grief and laughter. There were personal stories about Cindy, touching tributes to her life and family, and acknowledgement of our distinct loss. The Lord was glorified through her service, and we were reminded how many people loved her and love us.
Now begins the difficulty of going forward. There is no protocol for how to act, what to do, how to feel, etc. Chance and I, sadly, have a few friends who have lost a parent and have been wonderful to empathize with him and give me insight for what this process can be like. But there are no rules. There's no guidebook for grief.
What I want to take away from this experience, and what I want others who didn't know Cindy as well to take away too, is how much she loved her family--how much she loved us. Every single thing she did was with one of us in mind, and this summer was to be especially exciting for her, adding two new granddaughters to her brood. She got to meet Murphee; it is a supreme tragedy that Cara Beth won't ever know her CiCi. She WILL know about her, and she WILL know that CiCi loved her before she was born. Friday before the funeral, Cayce found 2 boxes that Cindy had tucked away in her room, and it was obvious that they were gifts for the babies. She had bought tiny gold rings for Murphee and Cara, and what a great fortune that we were able to find these! It was a very emotional time, but what a treasure that Cara will get to have in her jewelry box for the future.
Cindy was such a joy in life, and she had such enthusiasm for people, for her job, her family, her friends. She loved me in their family from day 1 when I met them (on Chance's 21st birthday), and she was always looking for ways to help us or make our lives better. Chance is so much like his mom (compassionate, tender-hearted, serving, peaceful, upbeat), and I'm so glad that this part of her will live on in their family through him. In the last year when Cindy was sick, she really had to focus on doing less/working less and spend more time with her family. What a hidden blessing that we got such quality time with her since her transplant last summer.
The way that I want to best remember her is through my memories and pictures, so I have several to share here. Each has a story, an association, an attachment. She was loved by so many, BECAUSE she gave her love so freely to others. We will feel her loss deeply for quite some time to come. Chance and I would so appreciate your continued thoughts and prayers, especially if you have any knowledge of what we're going through. It really helps to think of our sweet memories with her, to talk about what she would have liked about what we're doing, etc. But it's going to be hard in the coming months, probably at unexpected times, as well as when we have Cara. We will have to celebrate our new life while still remembering Cindy's. Here are a few great pictures from the years that I have.
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