In the Waiting in Understanding the Unthinkable

My brother was restless this morning, becoming agitated when they moved him from ICU to the pallative care floor. The noisy machines are off. He is on a saline drip and morphine. I don’t think he even knew I was there. It didn’t matter. I knew I was there. The morphine drip finally eased him by mid-afternoon and when we left around 7, he seemed peaceful. I kissed my dear brother on the forehead and told him I’d be back tomorrow. My husband and I are going up tomorrow, late afternoon/mid-day.

I brought the Book of Common Prayer I received upon confirmation in the Episcopal Church at age 13 (I’m now non-denominational). A year later my brother was confirmed and he got money instead of a prayer book. I was a bit miffed at the time (I didn’t get a choice), but here we are 51 years later, turning to the structure of our childhood. I kept it to one short prayer, since my brother and his family are not religious, but I did feel better about making sure it was done, even though I do not adhere to a structured format anymore.

We had an odd visit from a bizarre Chaplin who suggested he should have brought his guitar to sing us James Taylor songs. Then he started naming them: “Fire and Rain”, “Carolina in the morning”…After he left Bruce’s son looked at us and said, “I know you guys are religious, but Thank GOD he forgot the guitar!” We all burst out laughing and decided this will be the funny story that helps ease the sadness.

So there are lots of hugs and kisses and tears and more kisses and we’re just letting the love flow…even for crazy Chaplins.

I doubt I’ll catch up to replying to all your notes, but your comments and good wishes are dear to me. Thank you for your friendship. It means more than you know.

Love, Connie