My mantle is empty. The neighbors lights are gone. The melodramatic daily hum has filled up days. Christmas is over.
I looked at my mantle: a wasteland of disappointment.
“Guess I’ll be looking at this blank canvas for another 11 months.”
Then it hit me…MOM’S MANTLE!
I pick fun at my mother. Each season or holiday is welcomed with new decorations. Buckets line her storage with spring birds, summer flowers, fall leaves, wintery branches, and every holiday trinket imaginable.
“Why do you do this, mom? It is so much work! It takes so much time!”
I ask her the same question at the turning of each season or holiday.
“I don’t know,” she replies, “I just like it.”
My giggles are laden with “what a waste of time,” and “what a waste of money.”
The truth is she has tapped into a hidden power. The power to remind us of the hope and thrill of being alive. Like kids do! Her mantle decorations are a glimpse into why life is worth living, and why it is something to celebrate.
There is nothing hum-drum about a day. It is a new bright and shiny ornament. A rebirth of the mind and body. Mornings laugh with the reunion of the sun on one side of the sky and the moon on the other chatting like old friends. Evenings settle as the moon and sun, again facing, whisper their farewells.
Passing years lie to us. “Yeah…I’ve seen that before,” says our dulled adult heart. Sunrise, sunset, that tree loosing it’s leaves and growing them back…it has all happened before. No big deal. No miracle here, folks! Carry on.
The low hum of boredom returns.
Except for mom’s mantle. It winks at us and whispers truth:
“Don’t be disappointed! There is no such thing as the spirit of Christmas. There is only the spirit of life, joy, and wonder. Christmas just gives us permission to tap into it.
Don’t forget…there’s wonder right outside your door. Watch as the trees slumber and hold tight to life! See the chilly air and bright colored coats of the children as they play! Isn’t that worth a yippie? And what of spring? WOW! Look at all the flowers and birds and animals stretching their tired winter hardened legs!
Hop to it, now! You have permission! There is a child inside of you begging to be let loose! Strike up a chorus! It’s time for a party today!”
Giggling at and judging my mom’s decorating has proven to be a pie in my face. She knew a secret. She tried to tell me, but I was too daft to listen. Though I most likely will not go “all out” like she does, I will count this as a lesson learned.
Next week, I’m dressing up my mantle. It has much to say but doesn’t have the words. It’s my job to give it words. Life is worth celebrating…so celebrate!
She was an acquaintance of mine. We were once friends, but time and distance separated us from building our close friendship. Even so, knowing she was on this earth, walking around and smiling, gave me great peace.
When she died, the emptiness I felt was curious to me. She was not a part of my everyday life. We barely spoke, except through facebook. But, there I was, crying my eyes out.
It was then I knew I had to make sense of these feelings. I needed a story to tell. I needed a visual to explain it.
If you have endured the loss of someone dear to you or someone you barely knew, I hope this story will aid your ability to cope with death and the sorrow of an empty chair.
THE BANQUET TABLE
Imagine your life as a banquet table. All of the people you know or have ever known have a place setting.
You are the host.
Your banquet hall may look like a royal room with golden chandeliers, exquisite plates and silver. It may look like a long picnic table in the woods. It is your room to create.
At your table, there is a chair for each of those people you have known. Sitting the closest to you are your most valued of loves: your spouse, child, parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends. Those sitting further down the table are acquaintances. The one girl you worked with in your 20’s. The guy you knew from church. The lady who always had the peppermint candy…and shared. There are those whom have hurt you sitting at this table, too. The guy or girl who cheated on you, the person who stole your money, the person who was mean to you…everyone you have ever known sits at this table.
The table is longer than you first thought.
Some of those sitting at the other end cannot even be seen anymore. They are part of your banquet, and, if you pull out your telescope, you can see them there. You may feel the emotions tied to the memory of this person: good or bad. It doesn’t matter. They sit at your table.
Each place setting has a tiny card with the name of the person who is to sit in the chair. It will always be there. Though, they may be moved down the table, their chair, and their setting, follow them.
At my table is a place setting for my Granny and Pawpaw. They no longer sit at my table, but their place setting and name remains. When I gaze upon their empty chair, I remember the joy and the sorrow. These people sat so close to me for so long. I remember their laughter, their shortcomings, their love.
They have moved on to a bigger and better banquet table. But, somehow, they are still with me. Their absence leaves an empty chair in my life, but the fact they once sat at my table brings me great joy.
Their empty chair is not empty. It is full of memories.
No matter how one feels about the afterlife, what we all know for certain is how death affects us in this life. It leaves space…a void.
Death is unavoidable. We will all have empty chairs at our tables, and, at some point, we will be the empty chair at someone else’s table.
The experience of loosing Juneko helped me see. I did not know her well, but I was thankful she sat at my table. I was thankful for her life.
I was also thankful I had a table to share.
Now, when I look at those chairs filled with those I love most, I embrace the moment. I make more memories. I appreciate the gift of being able to share the meal of life with beautiful people.
Until their chair is empty, I will smile and be glad they they accepted the invitation to my life. And, when their chair is empty, I will have memories to fill their seats. The image of their presence will not fade as long as I have a banquet to host.
Wind was blowing the tall pines shading the playground. I could hear the laughter and smell the aroma of food from the family reunion being held at a gazebo nearby. I hoped for an invitation to eat their fried chicken, potato salad, and casseroles of all kinds.
Maybe around 11 years old, a little boy sat on a swing in the mainly deserted playground. With his smart device in hand, he used his feet to swing just a bit as he played his game. He seemed to enjoy the alone space away from the festive reunion, but, there was also a loneliness in his eyes.
My son, Asher, and I played on the little kids playground before making our way over to the big kid playground. On the way over, I noticed Asher looking back towards the swings. He was curious about the little boy with the smart phone.
Realizing the obstacles on this playground were steep and above his skill level, Asher decided to walk over to the swing next to the boy.
“What’s his name?” Asher asked me.
I responded, “I don’t know his name. Ask him!”
“Jake,” said the little boy.
Asher signed and asked me if the little boy was playing “birds” (any smart device). I told him he was. Asher watched him play on the phone a while, and then decided to swing. There were few engagements between the 2 boys. Both seemed perfectly happy to simply be present.
When it was time to go, and Asher turned around and smiled at the little boy. The little boy smiled back.I smiled and told the little boy to have a good day, and Asher and I headed to my Dad’s truck.
“What’s his name?” is a common question in my world. Asher is deeply curious about who people are. The conversations are scripted as follows:
Asher: “What’s his name?”
Me: “I don’t know his/her name.” (He understands gender differences, but “her” is not easy for him to say.)
What happens next is dependent on the time we have to continue. If time permits, I will tell him, “I don’t know. Ask!”
Turning to the new person of interest…
Asher: “What’s his name?” (“Your” is also a hard word for him to say.)
He does not care what color someone is, what they are wearing, if they smell or not…nothing. All are vulnerable to the “What’s his name?” game.
The responses from people are interesting. Some don’t understand what was said, some smile, and others engage the conversation.
I’ve yet to figure out the formula to the ones who engage this conversation, but goodness is a common thread. It is hard to ignore this cute little boy with big blue eyes and crazy hair.
I used to think miracles were rare, but, now, I see them everyday. From a middle-aged man smoking a cigarette in front of the gas station to the war torn lady behind the counter at the restaurant, the power of kindness and curiosity breaks through and wins.
In one question, “What’s his name?”, hearts open and take a deep breath…if only for a moment.Asher meets people in sad situations and leaves them with a smile. He also reminds them that they have a name and someone cares enough to want to know it.
Sometimes, all folks really need is a good moment. Sometimes, people just want to know they are not invisible.
The little boy in the swing smiled as we walked away. He somehow looked happier. Refreshed. I knew why.
He played the “What’s his name?” game, and he did not feel alone anymore.
The ground was weary soil. As far as my eyes could see, in every direction, the land belonged to me. It was ugly and in ruins. The cracks in the ground were deep and dehydrated from years of neglect.
I fell to my knees and wept for these lands. I covered my eyes, and the tears streamed down my hands, arms, legs and onto the ground. I was unaware the tears falling filled in the cracks as I knelt in despair.
A twinge of hope pricked my heart. It had been so long since hope had been found inside me, I did not know what it was. The shock of this feeling caused me to remove my hands from my eyes. The landscape had changed. It was saturated by my tears. It had taken on the appearance of life.
Still weary and broken, I reached down and gathered the soil in my hands. It was soft. The wind no longer had control of the motion of the soil. It was heavy with nutrients given by tears of a broken heart.
My feet and legs grew stronger and lifted me off the ground. All around me, the these lands were ready for planting.
What would I plant? Would I plant peace? Would peace bring to me the essence of life? Or, maybe I should plant hope? Hope would bring the sense of awe my heart loved to feel. Possibly love would be a good crop? Love did bring hope and peace.
Carefully thinking through the many options of seedlings in my possession, I picked the one seed I knew would bring all of the beauty back to this land. It would grow peace, hope and love.
I wrapped the apron around my waist and filled the pockets with seeds.
With every step, I leaned down, and in the soil, I made a cradle for the precious seeds. As I dropped the seed into the warm and protected space, I named it: my husband, my son, my mother, my father, my step-father, my sisters, my brother, my nephews, my nieces, my friends, my ability to love, my strength…
The seeds were plentiful, and the name on each was unique. I gave it a fingerprint of thanks.
This work never ended. I planted daily from morning until night. The work was not grueling, but it did take reminders to myself of how important this harvest would be.
One day, while I was planting these seeds and naming each one as they settled into their space to grow, I stood. My eyes found the horizon behind me.
As far as I could see, across the landscape of my land, were fields upon fields of lavender. I was in awe.
My eyes were the mirror to the greens and the purples as the sun backlit the entire vision. I took off my apron, and walked carefully through the rows of lavender, crushing some of the leaves between my fingers and inhaling the beautiful fragrance of gratitude.
This was the variety of seed I had decided upon: gratitude. Through gratitude, peace grew, hope bloomed, and love breathed.
I spun as a child in this field I had planted. My laughter found it’s way through the clouds and into the sky. It reverberated deeply out past the horizon of my limited sight. It fed these plants, as if by some sort of miracle, with joy. I watched them grow before my eyes.
I looked back to where I had stopped planting. The soil was ready to harbor the seeds. My work was not yet finished. I had an entire life to fill. I walked back over to my apron, lifted it around my waist, and began the good work of planting one seed, naming it, and moving to the next.
One day, I reached the end of my lands. The planting of seeds was no longer necessary. A new adventure into a new land, already planted, awaited. However, there was an infinite amount of seeds available. I realized a lifetime is not enough time to count every blessing.
I took off my apron, threw the seeds up into the air, and the wind carried them past the clouds and out of site. They were off to find a new home in another heart. My harvest was plentiful, and my life was full. The life I left behind was fields of lavender, fragrant and dancing in the wind. It was watered with the sorrows of my neglect, and planted by the strength of my hope. Gratefulness filled every inch. I smiled knowing this harvest gave to all who knew me and provided me with what I desired most: a beautiful, wondrous, joyful life.
Yesterday, I turned 37 years old. It was the birthday I have looked forward to my whole life. I never thought I would ever see this age. I almost didn’t. This is the story of my near death experience, and how it changed my life.
36 IS THE LAST OF THEM
My maternal grandmother died of heart attack when she was only 36. My mother told me this as a child, and I thought, at that time, she was very old to die at 36. Mom told me it was actually very young. Then, on my mother’s 37th birthday, she told me she was officially older than her mother when she died. For some reason, I carried this around with me my entire life. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I wouldn’t live to see 37.
When I found out I was pregnant, concern grew in my heart when I realized I would be 36 years old on the day Asher was to be born. I kept telling myself it would be ok. When all of the craziness began to happen with my pregnancy, I turned off that fear and concentrated on what I had to do: carry the baby and be a mommy. This was all that mattered.
THE WEEK AFTER GIVING BIRTH
Two days after returning home from giving birth to my son, I was admitted into the hospital with fluid around my heart and lungs, heart murmurs, and high blood pressure. I was there a week, but I had survived. Maybe getting to 37 wasn’t an impossibility.
Soon, a schedule developed for our family. None of us had much sleep, but, we were happy.
WHAT IS GOING ON?
I awoke at 6 a.m. with Asher on November 29th. He was one month old that day. I had to go to the bathroom before I got him to nurse, and as I was sitting there, a very large clot came out. It was about the size of a basketball player’s hand. Of course, I thought it was quite strange, but I didn’t worry.
The reason I didn’t worry was because the previous Wednesday, I had a similar experience. After the clot, a stream of blood began to pour out of me, then another clot, then it stopped. I thought it was strange, so I called the doctor. They told me to come down to the hospital, and after they checked my blood, they released me and said this sometimes happens after having a baby. My blood counts were fine.
This was different
Back to the 29th. After the clot came out, I was ok. No blood, no big deal. I went in, picked up Asher, and we cuddled and rocked for about two hours. (Yes, I know…I spoil him with love)
When the blood started flowing, it was soaking my pants immediately. I jumped up and went into the bedroom where my husband was sleeping.
“Steve, you have to take the baby, I am bleeding everywhere!”
He took Asher, and I headed for the bathroom. I was covered in blood as if I had been stabbed, and it was pouring out of me. POURING. There was nothing I could do to make it stop. In the moment, I was concerned, but was unsure of what to do.
I told my husband to come quick, and when he saw me in the bathroom, he said, “We are going to the emergency room NOW”. He grabbed the phone to call our neighbor to come and watch Asher, and I was trying to figure out how I was going to clothe myself with all of this blood. I had my nursing tank and sweatshirt on, but I could not figure out what to do with the bottom half of me.
It Happened FAST
Only maybe 5 minutes had elapsed since I felt the first of the blood in the rocking chair and when I got up from the toilet. Steve had gotten me a towel to put between my legs. After I stood, while Steve was on the phone with the neighbor, I told him to tell her to send someone over NOW. The weakness hit like a brick in the face. I walked to the door in the bathroom, turned, and fell to the floor. Looking to Steve for help, I told him to call 911. I was dying and doing it quickly. Crawling across the floor, I fell into a seated position against the bed.
ON THE FLOOR
We all want to be remembered as stating something fabulous when we die. Unfortunately, this is not how it happened for me. All I could do was to tell Steve over and over again how much I loved him.
In the meantime, my neighbor had arrived. When she saw me on the floor, she froze. This woman is superwoman. She is fantastic at everything she attempts. But, at that moment, I saw pure fear. The baby was screaming. I figure he probably knew something was wrong. Amber just stood there. I said, “Amber, can you please get the baby.” You know, she may have been wondering how to get over to the basinet, because I was in the middle of the floor. She stepped over me, and Steve had to show her the toilet. She said, “Oh God”. Then, she pulled herself together and got the baby.
“I want you to know I love you, Steve.” I repeated frequently.
A couple of times he had to leave the room to help Amber find things for the baby. I was left alone. VERY alone. I prayed quiet prayers. For the first time in my life, I was praying as if God was there in front of me. This prayer was a conversation. Could I hear God’s voice audibly? No, but I could feel His voice, and I knew what He was saying. Words of comfort and calm. So I was. Calm.
I was still hemorrhaging quite a bit. Steve laid on the floor with me until we heard the ambulance. We have 3 dogs who love to announce the coming of any blaring cop car, ambulance, fire truck, etc. Annoying generally, but I told Steve, “I have never been so happy to hear those dogs howl.” He laughed nervously.
Paramedic Saviors
The paramedic came into the room and stood over me. “Some women have strange periods after they give birth,” said she. “Uh, no, this isn’t a period…look at the toilet” Steve said. She stuck her head around the corner, and turned back to Steve and said, “Go tell them to bring the stretcher now!”. She stood beside me, and I leaned over on her leg and told her, “Please help me…please help me…please help me”.
The whole time I was on the floor, I fought to stay aware. There were so many times I almost passed out, but I fought and fought and fought. I wanted to have some control of the situation. Yeah, right.
The guys came into the room with the stretcher. They picked me up and put me on, and then they lifted my legs. Ah…that was so much better.
As they were wheeling me out of the room, I was telling Amber where the bottles were (that we never used because I was nursing) and where the formula was they gave us from the hospital. For the first time, I was ok with the fact Asher was going to have to take formula. Up until this point, he had only breast milk: even through all of the previous drama. This was different. I knew I wouldn’t see him for a while, and he had to eat. The paramedic told me to concentrate on myself because that baby would be fine. He needed his mother.
IV’s Hurt
In the ambulance, they tried to start another IV. I had lost so much blood already that finding a vein was difficult. They cut off my sweatshirt. Very sad for me, because that was my daddy’s adidas sweat shirt from the early 80’s. I loved that sweat shirt, but I didn’t have the strength to take it off.
The first IV didn’t work, and it hurt like hell. It was the size of a drill bit, or at least it felt that way. The woman paramedic found a vein the first try. (Women rock) My blood pressure was something like 70 over 50. Once they had me stable, we got going.
The Ride in the Ambulance
The drive to the hospital was interesting. We were flying, sirens were blaring, and I knew we were running all kinds of red lights. You have to go over Chapman Mountain to get to the hospital from here, and as we were going over it, I looked up into the sky. It was a cold November day, and there were big puffy clouds covering up only some of the bright blue sky. I wondered how it would feel to die. What actually happened?
I was frightened.
The calm feeling from earlier was gone. As the tires rolled along, I knew I was closer and closer to death. I was not ready. I had a new baby, a husband who is great, but who would be in a terribly difficult situation with me gone, a mother who loved me, a sister who would be devastated, and my daddy who would miss his little girl. As the clouds passed by, I could feel the ambulance take the exit towards the hospital.
MENU OF SUFFERING
When we arrived, the hospital nurse outside of the ambulance began to spout off all of the tragedies of the day as if they were a restaurant menu. “Yeah, we have had a busy morning! A stroke, a heart attack…” and she rattled off several other life threatening situations. All I could think was how I was not alone this day in my fear.
They rolled me into the ER. About 10 nurses surrounded me and moved me to the ER bed. The stretcher was covered in blood. Though the ride to the hospital was mostly quiet except for the paramedic asking me if I was still with her, I did mention to her that I was still bleeding a lot. I knew it was going to be bad, even with the towel, but I didn’t know it would be that bad.
All Hands on Deck
The nursing staff cut off my nursing tank while an RN started another IV. Two IV’s going on full blast with fluids. My blood pressure was 55 over 30. There was one nurse to my right who was such a sweetheart. I looked at her name tag and said, “Hi Jackie”. I don’t know if her name was Jackie, but it was something that started with a “J”. She looked at me with this confused look. I said, “I read your name tag.” She smiled and said, “I didn’t think I recognized you”. Another nurse, Josh, said, “I know…it’s confusing when they do that.” They laughed. A moment to laugh at was exactly what I needed.
Once they had me set up, Jackie and Josh began to clean me up. Jackie removed the towel. She asked if I wanted it as she held it up. There was no hope for that poor towel, so I said, “No”. The ER doctor came in and told me my doctor was on his way. After the ER doctor left, I looked over at Jackie and said, “I am really scared”. I could tell she was, too. She was touched by this and was fighting back tears. She said, “It’s going to be ok, dear.”
RELIEF AT THE SIGHT OF YOUR FACE
The gynecologist came into the room, and I was really doing poorly. I felt relieved seeing his face.
Steve had arrived. He had to stay behind to get everything ready for our neighbor who was watching Asher. The gynecologist told me all the things they were to do, and the ER doctor kept reminding him there was a lot of blood. She instructed him to look. He lifted the sheet and said, “Oh, that is a lot of blood. Is she ready? Let’s go”.
Jogging Through The Halls
They wheeled me through the hospital with a slight jog. My poor husband had packed me a bag and had the breast pump bag with him, too. The bags were falling off his shoulders, and they were going so fast, he could barely catch up. He would catch up, tell me I would be ok, he loved me, and fall back again. If it had not been such a dramatic situation, I would have laughed out loud.
As the doctor was calling down for blood, running down the hall, and telling me we would be there soon, I suddenly started having labor pain type of pains. It was severely painful. “It hurts, it hurts,” I cried tearless cries. I couldn’t move I was so weak. The tram worker had the tram held for us, and we got on the train to get to the women’s center OR. My husband said my fingernails had turned purple, and I was whiter than the sheet. My body was dying.
I Love You
I said, “I love you” for the last time to my husband as I was wheeled into OR. The anesthesiologist introduced himself, and I said, “I know you. You were there for my c-section. I’m so glad it’s you.” The little operating table they had hoisted me onto was so narrow. I kept telling the OR nurse I was going to fall. They finally got the arm straps in place, placed the mask on my face, and I was out.
OPERATION AND ICU
The events that unfolded while I was out I didn’t learn about until later. I was in surgery for an hour and a half, I had received 4 units of blood, my blood pressure was dangerously low, they had to bring in another doctor for consultation, and they had taken my uterus.
When I woke up, I was in ICU. They wouldn’t let anyone back to see me for 2 hours. My dad had arrived, and my sister and mother were on their way. Mom had to fly to get to me. Several of our friends were there with Steve. The doctor came in and said the surgery went well, and though he had tried, he could not save my uterus. I was so stoned on medication, it wasn’t for another day or so that I realized the gravity of what had happened.
Good Nurses
The ICU nurse was an angel. She helped me when I became sick from all of the anesthesia, and she helped me find my morphine pump button when I was in agony but barely able to move. Thank you to all nurses. You are saints.
Great Family
Steve came back as soon as my blood pressure stabilized a bit, and I could see the stress all over his face. I asked about Asher, and he said the baby was fine. He told me about my family, and that my dad was there. I asked him to please let my dad come back.
The nurse let Steve and Dad come in at the same time. I told my Dad I wanted some of his homemade vegetable soup so bad. He smiled and cried.
Mom and my sister Allison got there and came back. I was so cold! The nurse put a hot air blower under the sheet. After about 2 minutes, in my drunken stupor, I told mom, “My goodies are hot, my goodies are hot!” I have never used that term before, nor had I ever heard it. Crazy. Mom and Allison giggled, and I smiled. Ah…laughter was a nice change.
Caring Doctors
My gynecologist, the one I loved and who had delivered Asher, had seen early Monday morning that I was in ICU. He came in and apologized for not being there. Crazy, huh? I told him it was ok because he had to be with his family. I told him they had to remove my uterus. Of course he knew this. He said it was ok because it was either that or die. I said they made a good choice.
After about 12 hours in ICU, they took me to a room. The next few days were absolutely the worst of my entire life. I missed my son because he was not allowed to visit me in the hospital. Plus, I wanted to get pregnant again. I wanted to birth another child. I cried more in those few days than all of the tears of my life put together. Another hard choice I had to make was whether or not to continue nursing. I chose to quit, and it broke my heart. This decision was so hard I can barely even think back about it without crying. This was going to be my only naturally born child, and I did not have the strength to care for him.
They had to give me another 2 units of blood as well. This made 6 units of blood total. That is a lot of blood.
THE AFTERMATH
I had intense pain from 2 operations in the same place in the same month, and my hormones were a disaster. But, I was alive. The doctor told me 15 more minutes, and I would have died. Somehow, I already knew it.
They released me from the hospital 4 days later. I cried and cried. How was I suppose to care for my child? I could barely walk! I couldn’t even hold him without having significant pain. Thankfully, my mother stayed with me for the week, and my dad came back for the next week.
It has been a slow recovery. I still have some pain in the area of my incision, and I still struggle with weakness from time to time.
Keeping it together
The mental recovery was the most difficult. I cried for 2 weeks, and my husband just could not stand it. The traumatic event exhausted his mind and heart. He was almost to his breaking point.
I called my daddy and told him I couldn’t stop crying. He said something to me that changed my future coping capabilities. He said,
“Autumn, you have to gain control of yourself. You cannot and should not live your life this way. You have a beautiful baby, a wonderful husband, and it is time for you to take charge of these emotions. I know you are hurting, but you have to learn how to live again.”
I knew he was right. So, anytime after that when I just needed a good cry, I would go off by myself, let it all out, regain composure, and then get back to my family. A mild anti-depressant helped out as well. I weaned myself off of those after 3 months. The time had come to stand on my two feet and be the mom and wife I knew I could be.
I AM 37 YEARS OLD
Now, my son is 10 months old, and I am 37. I know at some point I will die.
Here is what I have learned about death by almost doing it:
I am more prepared for what that feels like.
I know that though you may want control of the situation, the only thing you can do is fight.
Sometimes living after almost being dead is harder.
I am stronger than I have ever been.
I know that any day can be the last one.
So, I live my life unconcerned about what others think, but I walk hard and quickly towards happiness. I live as though I could die at any moment and appreciate every breath.
Happy Birthday to me. 🙂
Our Family 3 weeks after the HysterectomyAn important birthday.
