Our mother passed away on July 31, 2010 at 2:30 a.m., surrounded by those who loved her. As difficult as this road has sometimes been, I feel blessed that Karen, Dave, Paul and I, along with our children were able to care for her at home during these final 15 months.
It's funny how the body knows that something has subtly changed. I woke up feeling tired and extremely lethargic. Karen woke up with a manic need to clean and cook. Brady, our black Lab, would hardly leave Mom's room. By early afternoon, hospice determined that Mom would be on continuous care. Her coloring and breathing had declined even more. Dare I mention again what a wonderful staff of caretakers we have had in our home this last month!
As the day progressed, all of us knew in our heart of hearts that this was likely the last hours we would spend with Mom. It is a pressing weight that fills your heart when you know that the body has lost the fight and it is time to let go. As we watched and waited, each of us, in our own way, spoke words of solace to her. Breathing was rapid and labored, so we told her it was okay to let go. As she finally prepared to do this, she gave one last breath, opened her eyes, and then was gone.
All of us are extremely sad, but keeping busy as we prepare for the final visitation and service this week. Right now, I am alone in my home for the first time since I can't even remember. Paul is en route with Vanessa, who flew in from Vero Beach. Anne and James will cut short their Denver vacation to get back home, and Lara will be on her way from Ohio University tomorrow night. At last, all of my chickadees will be home to help celebrate the life of their one and only "Mamaw".
Wanda Jean Marsh
July 25, 1927-July 31, 2010
E. C. Nurre Funeral Home-Amelia (St Rt 125)
Visitation-Tuesday, Aug 3, 2010 from 6-8 p.m.
Funeral-Wednesday, August 4, 2010 at E.C. Nurre
Gone From My Sight
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship
at my side spreads her white sails to the
morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand
and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a
speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky
come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says, “She is gone.”
“Gone where?” Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as
she was when she left my side, and she is just as
able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me; not her.
And just the moment when someone at my side says,
“There, she is gone,” there are other voices ready to take
up the glad shout, “Here she comes!” And that is dying.
Henry Van Dyke
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship
at my side spreads her white sails to the
morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.
She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand
and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a
speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky
come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says, “She is gone.”
“Gone where?” Gone from my sight. That is all.
She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as
she was when she left my side, and she is just as
able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me; not her.
And just the moment when someone at my side says,
“There, she is gone,” there are other voices ready to take
up the glad shout, “Here she comes!” And that is dying.
Henry Van Dyke
