Marilyn’s condition worsened Thursday afternoon, and Emily’s mom called me to take Emily to the hospital. Even then, we didn’t know if we would get there in time. Thankfully, we did. When we walked into the room, I saw a young girl’s heart break right before my eyes. Then I felt my own break. We spent the evening there, and Emily sat and rubbed her grandmother’s hand and kissed her head and told her over and over that she loved her. Marilyn was able to open her eyes only a few times, and then briefly. She knew her grandchildren were there. Emily and her cousin Christopher were the joys of her life. Someone would later say that she waited to see them one last time before she left. As far as we know, theirs were the last faces she ever saw. In that fact, there is a certain beauty amid such sadness. As Emily said Friday night, “She wasn’t just my grandmother; she was my best friend.” And she was very right.
So the fight is over. It wasn’t even much of a fight. A mere five weeks ago, Marilyn drove herself to the doctor’s office because she wasn’t feeling well. His nurse took her to the hospital. She never even returned to her house. The disease was brutal and efficient.
I am reminded of a Neil Diamond song, Done Too Soon, wherein he recites the names of many people through history — some great, some not. The song ends with a slow and contemplative verse which now seems apt. I will close with that verse.
…And each one there
Has one thing to share:
They have sweated beneath the same sun;
Looked up and wondered at the same moon;
And wept when it was all done,
For being done too soon.
Filed under: Emily, Family, Fathers and Daughters, Letting Go, Love, Relationships, Sorrow
