On board I found myself sitting in the very middle of the plane. Like doors on my side and across the aisle from me in case they were needed. Middle of the plane. Across the aisle was a pilot going home for Christmas. He had finished his last flight of the year and he was heading home to enjoy the holidays with his family. I found this out because in front of me sat another reminder of life and death. A lady that appeared to be in her late fifties started a conversation with the pilot. She was a retired stewardess and she gave him some pins she had. She told him when she retired and informed him that she had been diagnosed with cancer and was on her way to a follow up after treatment before the holidays. He was obviously tired but he continued to talk with her until we started to take off. He was a tired and polite pilot. As we were all settling in and preparing for take off a man came up to my seat and asked if he could sit by the window. I thought by all means, you be the door keeper. Although I always have a plan when I get on an airplane. The pilot would be in charge if anything happened and the stewardess in front of me would be second in command. The way I saw it me and this guy sitting next to me had the best seats in the plane. I think my friend next to me was scared. It took him about ten minutes to realize we were at the emergency doors. He looked at me and said, "I am not sure this is where I want to sit." Too late, we are taking off. Dude you are stuck for at least take off is the way I saw it. So, this guy is afraid of flying/dying and the lady in front of me is on a journey to fight death herself and I find myself going to see death up close and personal. Weird.
I arrived at the airport and called Mark. Our flight was 8 minutes early, but he was already waiting for me in the car outside. Yes, outside in the car. I think he just had no energy at all. He was spent. At least I thought he was at the time. We went to the Waffle House because he was starving. He updated me on his family and how things were going when he left the hospital. We were both just in a weird kind of place. I was really out of sorts. I do remember him telling me thank you many times for coming and how much it meant to him that I was there. I could not think of any place else I would want to be at that moment. I was grateful that GOD got me there and in a timely manner. As we arrived at the hospital he once again let me know that what we were walking into was not a pretty sight. I walked in and said my hellos and just sat. Death was before me. I have to say that I have never ever been involved in a death watch. I am not sure that that is the accurate name for it, but this was all new for me. I know plenty of people who have been here, but not me. When I was 18 my great-grandmother died. She was in the hospital for days and I sat in the waiting room all of those days, but I never sat by her side and I never went in her room. I just waited and as family went in and out I sat with their kids or read college textbooks. I would keep family members company when they went to the cafeteria or I would make a coffee run for someone, but I could not under any circumstances go to her bedside. It was more than I could do at the time. I just could not do it. She lived with us for several years when I was little and I loved her with all my heart, but I could not bare to see her in the condition she was in. I have always had issues with this. When I was 10 my mother had major lung surgery. My father decided to bring us kids to the hospital. I was the only one that could come to the room. I walked in and my mother looked like death. She was washed out and she had these jars of blood on either side of her with tubes coming out and going somewhere into her body. It was the most horrific thing I had ever seen. At that moment I thought I would never, ever see my mother at home again. I just thought no one could recover from that. I never asked my father to go to the hospital again. I never ever wanted to go back to any hospital again. I was done. My mother did recover and she did eventually come back home, but she was out of commission at home for a while after that. I could not erase the memories of that moment. I remembered them with my great grandmother and again with grandmother when she passed away in 2001. I only went to the hospital to see her once and it was enough for me. I went on Easter so she could see my oldest and that was the last time I saw her or hugged her or talked to her. She died a few days later and we were seventy miles away out of town.
So I sat staring at death about to happen. Don't get me wrong. I know death. I have felt it. I have held death in my arms. There is no true way to describe it. I held death in the form of my son. I had his weightless body in my arms for what seemed like forever. I did and did not want it to end at the same time. That may seem confusing, but it is the truth. I did not want to let him go, but I wanted him to be alive. He was not and the weight of his little 5 pound body seemed a hundred pounds before it was all over. At one point someone thought it would be a good idea to have me hold him and his sister at the same time for a family portrait. Drugged and clueless I agreed to that. But once my oldest was placed in my arms the death of my son rushed over me like a flood. Life and death I held in my arms and I felt it. Lifeless and full of life in my arms at the same time. Up until then it was like a drug induced dream but the moment my living, breathing baby was in my arms I knew that death was also there and it was more than I truly could bare at the time. At that point I wanted it all to be over, over, over. I wanted out of that room and I wanted to be all alone. I wanted to grieve and be left alone. In my mind, I just thought LORD this is more than I can do, get me out of here, do something. This little baby is smothering me. I can't balance life and death at the same time. No mother should have to do this. I should not have to do this. Get me out of this and out of here. I was helpless in all of it. I had to bare it and endure it. I begged a priest to give my baby his last rites and I was done. I answered some questions the grief counselor asked me and I don't even know what I said. Inside I was screaming and praying at the same time. I wanted life and death to leave me and I wanted to be left alone. I loved my little girl with all my heart, but my heart was broken and I could not handle anymore. I think they rolled me to my room and then decided it was time for me to breastfeed. I don't know how and if that even took place. I was crazy and hormonal at that point and really, really tired. I just wanted to cry myself to sleep and I think I probably did. Mark was the strong one in all of it. He seemed less zombie to me. I was a hormonal lunatic that probably should have been kept on sedatives far longer than I was.
So as I sat looking at death happening before me, I remembered these little details of ten years ago and knew I had to endure this for my husband. Death watch is an odd thing and can be scary at times. My very verbal father-in-law was silent. I never in my life knew him to be quiet, even in his sleep. But now he was silent and with every three-four breaths he would just stop breathing. And you wait for him to breath again. As I sat there and as I think about it today, I remember all of the families, couples, we know that did this with their child. How did they survive it? GOD knew I could not and so my son died in the comfort of my womb with his sister two days before my scheduled c-section. He knew that was more than I could do at the time. When you loose a child you meet lots of people that have been through what you have in some way or another. I think it is GOD's way of letting you know that you are not alone. I appreciate it. It makes me feel better knowing that this person knows where I have been and I know where they have been. You form a common bond immediately. It happens every time I see a Caucasian parent with an Asian child. We have a common bond in this world that no one else gets but us. No one else. We get each other and we are not alone anymore on our journey through life. It is funny how just that little thing makes me happy because I know GOD is out there. It is a little reminder.
Again, I sit. I watch and I wait with my husband and his mom and his sisters. We sit until three am. Poppy continues to breath on his own, but he also continues to stop breathing. It is so surreal and yet peaceful. It is quiet at times as we all wait for him to breath again. You always have that pause and then he would start right up again. I don't know how many times I prayed he would breath again. I just could not bare to see him go so soon after I got there. I needed to know he was hanging on at least for a little while. At 3 my husband had been up for 20 plus hours and we had to go to the hotel. His mom and sisters decided they were staying the night. His sister could not leave him. She was still in her work clothes. She had not seen her kids since breakfast. They were with Mark's cousin fast asleep. My girls were also asleep at my Mom's house. We got to the hotel and I still could not really sleep. It was basically a pass out thing. I was so sleep deprived that I eventually passed out. I awoke at 8:30. Mark and I started showering and he spoke with his sister. I felt this was it. It is over. His sister said his breathing was getting slower and the pauses between breaths were getting longer. We should come to the hospital as soon as possible. After a small detour we arrived around lunchtime. His sister was still there and his brother came soon after with his wife. Poppy was breathing but the pauses were much longer and at any moment I thought it would be over. Death watch was new to me and not anything I had ever done in my life. I knew of so many people that had gone through this and I just could not for the life of me figure out how they did it. As I sat there. I looked at Poppy and thought how boisterous he had been the last time we were there. He looked tired even then but not anything like this. His personality was not tired the last time I saw him Thanksgiving week. He talked to Mark a few times alone, but mostly he hung out with all of us. It was always like that when we were there. Everybody came over and just hung out. We ate, we talked, caught up and he came in the room and livened the party up with some story or situation to share. It was always funny and crazy and he kept you listening to him. As I sat there I could not for the life of me remember his last story. I just don't remember our last family discussion. I know when we first got there he was mad because we forgot to bring him something and when he realized it he was mad at us, but he quickly got over it. After that everything was a blur. When you have four kids, two dogs, and six adults in one condo trying to talk, eat, and share it becomes a little chaotic and that weekend was no exception.
Several times Mark asked me if I wanted to be alone with Poppy to say goodbye. Each time I refused. I know that Poppy loved me and he loved my kids, but there was a time that I am not sure he cared for me that much. I know each achievement I had made him happy, but the happiest I ever saw him was when I became Catholic. He seemed genuinely pleased when he got that news. However, he still seemed distant until Will died. The next time I saw him after Will's death he just acted different towards me and treated me different. Maybe it was the birth of his granddaughter or the death of his grandson, but something changed and there never really seemed to be any distance between us again. He loved my oldest, but the first time he laid eyes on my Asian princess his world was rocked. She is a character and so was he and they just meshed. Two peas in a pod. She would do anything he put her up to. She went with him to the Chinese restaurant, she played the slot machine with him from the time she was two. When she was little she and her daddy and Poppy hung out the whole time we were in TN. They traveled around town and did their thing while my oldest and I had Mimi time. He loved her like she had always been with us and he always hated to see her go when it was time for us to leave. He would hug her and she would hug back. It was a special bond they had and I knew this would be hard for her.
So I sat looking at his lifeless face. I wondered how he would feel about all of this and what kept going through my mind was him. He was doing this on his time, not on the doctors, not on ours, but on his time. He was going to hang on until it was his and GOD's timing. We just had to wait. Typical Poppy. Mark left for a second and I looked at him and let him know I loved him. When Mark came back in, I felt compelled to write him a letter. I thought it was the right thing to do and at the time I had no idea he would be dead in two hours time. I just let him know that I loved him and more importantly I loved his son and always would. I just thought he needed to know that. I thought it was important at the time. I don't really know where the letter ended up, but I put it under his pillow and I felt better about the entire situation. Around 2:00 I reminded Mark that we had to be at the house to get his sister's girls. We said our goodbyes to his brother and sister-in-law and made our way to the door around 2:30pm. We went downstairs and both took a restroom break before heading to the car. We got in the car and 3 miles from his parent's house we got a call from his brother. He died at 3:07pm. 22 hours after he was taken off life support. Amazing. It happened so fast, but at the time it seemed that time was in slow motion. The next twelve hours were strange and in the middle of all of it I had to let my girls know over the phone. That was hard for me and I think it was hard for them too. That night we decided to eat Chinese together as a family at Mark's parent's house. Poppy loved Chinese carry-out and we ordered from his favorite place. We ate, we laughed, we sighed, and some of us cried. It was still just sinking in. No EGG FU YONG was ordered and no Poppy was there to eat it. Mark and I went back to the hotel to sleep. We went to bed early because the next day was going to be another long day. Let me say this. When I do something I am in it for the long haul. I chose to be Catholic and I did on my terms with GOD as my guide. We were married four years before I chose to convert to Catholicism. And when I converted I was in. That is it. No more conversions for me. I am Catholic and always will be. So, when I was told that Friday morning Mark's sister and mother were going to the crematory for a meeting, I passed. Mark really wanted to go and so I had him drop me off to shop. I apologized to Poppy, but I don't do crematories. EVER! I once worked next door to a crematory and I don't do crematories. EVER! The Catholic church now considers cremation an option, but it is not one for me. I am a Southern girl and a Catholic girl and I don't do cremation. We like our bodies to sit out at the funeral home for at least 3 days. It is always at least a three day event and its always with a casket and flowers. That is the southern way of doing things. PARLOR ROOM comes from our way of dealing with death. Later we moved to the FUNERAL PARLOR. This southern Catholic girl could not go on this trip. I told Mark that I had been out of my comfort zone for the last 36 hours and this I could not do. He understood and let me shop. Check card in hand I did some Christmas shopping and tried to focus on my girls for a little while. As I walked through the store, I thought about how many times I had visited this store on our trips to Knoxville. I thought about how each time us girls would go shop while Mark and Poppy would go get haircuts or visit his favorite places and see his friends. Many times the Asian princess would be in tow. Poppy had friends wherever he happened to be or go. He told good stories and people liked to hear him tell them. I think really that is all you need to make friends, a good story. They were mostly true and some embellished, but they were who he was and they were fun to listen to. At the beach Mark and I would sit up and talk to him until the wee hours of the morning. He would tell his stories and we would barely comment as we listened to his every word. Some were funny and some were sad, but they all seemed real to me. I feel like I got the essence of who he was during those times. He really seemed to give us a glimpse into his life in the wee hours. I don't think he has told me a story like that in five or six years. I had kids to deal with at night and he was getting older and too tired to talk at that late hour. I think he and Mark still talked some at night when we were there, but I am not sure what they ever talked about because I was not included. I don't think it was intentional it was just life. Life and death they both sneak up on you and you never are really ready for it. Life moves fast and death comes fast. It is just that way I guess. You have to make plans for Heaven everyday because it will be time when you least expect it I guess. I wish I had taken more time to listen to Poppy's stories that is my only regret. I loved him and loved him more because he gave me the wonderful man I married. He built character in my husband and a love for humanity that is awesome to witness at times. I don't think Poppy ever really comprehended who my husband really was because he did not get to see all of him. He only got small glimpses of him as a man. Poppy rarely had the opportunity to see Mark on the job or meet his co-workers. He never had the opportunity to see him save a life like I have. Blood on his hands with life and death before him. He has never seen him take food to a homeless person under a bridge or reassure a 3 year old in a Grady emergency room or give a homeless person all his money in his pocket. He did not get to see the son he raised sit with a priest and plan his own sons funeral. He didn't see him take showers while a crying toddler stood holding on to a shower curtain and watch his every move. He did not get see the love his son has for all three of his children. He did not get to see his son's face when he brought me a tombstone he designed himself for our son. He did not get to see this part of my husband. I hope and pray he got glimpses. I hope he knew what type of man his son has become. I hope he died proud of his son and the family we have created. I know he loved Mark and us and I know at this time Poppy is healthy and happy with GOD. I hope he is holding my son until I get there. We miss you Pops and you should know that this Christmas was hard for all us. We love you! We miss you!
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