Let Her Soar Most High

Doris Bain Thompson

August 10, 1917-October 12, 2010

"She who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in who I trust.'

'Because she loves me,' says the Lord, 'I will rescue her; I will protect her, for she acknowledges my name. She will call upon me, and I will answer her; I will be with her in trouble, I will deliver her and honor her. With long life I will satisfy her and show her my salvation.'"

91st Psalm (shortened and personalized)

The Waters of Crater Lake

This photograph was taken by Bebin Cypher, a friend from high school who I've not seen in decades but with whom I've reconnected via FaceBook. I asked Bebin if I could post this beautiful image of the waters of Crater Lake on my blog.  I've never visited Crater Lake (Oregon) but it's on my list.

I could get lost in this image. Inviting and comforting. Peaceful. Magnificent.

Water. Without it, we perish.

Last night I dreamed of water; swimming amidst the creatures of the deep.

Last evening I cried until I could cry no more. More water.

Water. Without it, we perish.

"I Love You, Darling"

A lone telephone message from my Mom is saved on my home answering machine from a call she made at least four months ago, maybe more. She called one Thursday afternoon, left a 45 second message and hung up. Although I  listened to her message only once, I decided to save it. I couldn't bear to hit the erase button but have no idea why. Dozens of messages have been received and deleted since then, including several today. Mom's message remains in the #1 spot, saved and archived. But I never listen to it; I haven't wanted to.

Tonight, in the midst of moods of alternating sadness and calm, I hit the play button on that machine and listened, really listened to her words. The story line didn't make much sense but that's not the point. It's what she said at the end of the call that put me over the top. "I love you darling". How many hundreds if not thousands of times have I heard her call me darling and tell me I am loved? As recently as a month ago, she'd say the same words just as we would hang up the phone.

And now?

I'll never hear these words again.. 

I still want my Mother.

It's so hard to let her go.

There is no one else who has ever called me darling.

"These are Difficult Times"

"These are difficult times.", my father-in-law would say. He might be referencing the personal issues of the day or the general state of affairs.

I'm remembering him today and what it felt like to lose him to an illness that was sudden and swift in its progression. He had many famous quotes but this is one of my favorites. "These are difficult times" about sums up life for me right now.

My Mom is dying. She is on hospice care at the adult family home. I see changes in her daily; a letting go and a holding on, surrender and resistance, fight and flight. Last evening she was sleeping in a reclining wheelchair and was difficult to arouse. She opened her eyes after much coaxing but I imagine she saw little of the real world. As if  in a dense fog, her eyes seemed empty and blank. She had no words for me. She gently pushed my hand away when I tried to touch her arm.

I told my Dad that I thought her refusal to eat and drink was her way of "giving up", surrendering to death. He looked at me with wistful eyes and said, "I bet you're right". He knows she won't come back from this. We all do. It's just a matter of time and a short time at that.


"These are difficult times."  I hear you, E.J. I hear you loud and clear.

My View from the Shore

Surprisingly Calm but on the Brink

With all the stuff on my plate I'm rather surprised by the calm. No panic. No tears. The strength comes from a place unknown.

Mom left the hospital to return to the adult family home yesterday. I have no idea how her night went; almost too afraid to inquire. I'll see her tonight.

How is my Dad holding up? Again, an unknown.

Why would this be the week I am the on call hospital doctor with 15 patients? Last night I was at work until 9 PM with two very sick patients taxing my brain. Today, I start all over again.

My daughter is miserable: "I hate my job, I hate my life." Great words to hear when there is so little I can do but listen and listening time is a rare commodity right now.

Denny is out of town on business; back today but leaves again tomorrow.

Too many questions. No answers.

Moving forward. My eyes are dry which tells me something. I'm on auto pilot.

Take Off

The Alaska Air jet lifted off the runway in Seattle last Friday morning packed with passengers bound for  Chicago. Four on that flight were headed to a much anticipated family wedding.

The view of Mt. Rainier to the south and the brilliant blue sky of early morning brought me a surprising sense of calm. For days I wondered if I'd be on that flight with all the concerns germinating on the home front. Mom, in the hospital with no signs of improvement, Dad  profoundly aware of the gravity of the situation, and sadness contained in every breath made for unknowns.

Many thanks to J.T. who flew from Houston to offer support to my Dad during these difficult days. Who knew if Mom would live through the weekend? Without J.T.'s  presence, I wouldn't have made it to what turned out to be a wonderful, joyous weekend far removed from the overwhelming uncertainties at home.

Flying east in the morning sun was therapeutic; with each mile I felt further removed, as though weights were lifting slowly from my arms and legs. I felt excited for the upcoming events, happy to be with my husband and grown kids as we  headed for Carolyn and Mitch's wedding. By the time we arrived in Chicago, Seattle seemed all of its 1700 miles away. What does one do with a gift of of time to celebrate and to put aside sadness for awhile?

To come....