Hard Day

This morning as I was preparing to attend church, I recieved a call from my mother, telling me that my Aunt Ellen was being lifeflighted to the University of Utah hospital. She had complained of a bad headache only a few hours earlier, and had her son Todd take her to the hospital. When she arrived, they did an MRI and found that she had bleeding on her brain. They then took her by lifeflight to Salt Lake. She was coherent until right before they arrived, and she slipped into a coma. I spent the afternoon with my younger siblings, and we all waited for word. Around two o'clock, my mom called again and said that the surgery she had undergone had gone well and they were waiting until she stabilized to give us more news. Another hour passed with no other word, and I called again. My mom was sobbing. They had only just taken her out of a second MRI, where they found that the bleeding had not stopped and there was nothing more that could be done. They told us it was only a matter of time.



Keaton and I gathered the kids together and drove the long miles down the interstate. When we got to the hospital we were allowed to go and see her to say our goodbyes. This is an experience I wouldn't wish on anybody. She had most of her hair shaved from the operation, and her face and head were badly bruised, and there was a long line of stitches and staples along where her hairline used to be. She was breathing through a tube. She looked...crumpled. A far cry from the high-strung, excessively talkative woman I've always known. It was jarring.



They took her off the ventilator around six thirty this evening. So far I've had no other word. In the hours since I left the hospital, I've thought long and hard about my aunt and the little memories I have and the life she lived. She never had it easy, she never really caught the break or windfall that every person imagines when they are young. She worked hard as an elementary teacher, a single mother, and the eldest of six kids. She was only 54, close to retirement. She had dreams left to fulfill. But she lived a good life. She had faith in God, in her family, in the Plan of Salvation. I fully trust that what awaits her now is far better than any plans she could have made. She is going to be reunited with her beloved parents. She won't be lonely ever again. I find comfort in that.



On the way to the hospital, I heard this song ("For Good," from the Wicked soundtrack) on the radio. I'd heard it before, but it seemed to make more sense to me today.

It well may be

That we will never meet again

In this lifetime

So let me say before we part

So much of me

Is made of what I learned from you

You'll be with me

Like a handprint on my heart

And now whatever way our stories end

I know you have re-written mine

By being my friend...

Like a ship blown from its mooring

By a wind off the sea

Like a seed dropped by a skybird

In a distant wood

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?

But because I knew you,

I have been changed for good.