Footsteps

We follow the footsteps of those who have come before. They have left impressions; gifts given unconsciously. They can be anything. A wise word spoken, a smile shared, a special moment spent together. It could be a kind gesture, a certain mannerism or a particular expression. But most are as small as a child’s hand print gently pressed into clay. Nevertheless, they linger as memories and become a greater part of us, sometimes unrealized when lost beneath the clutter of our daily lives.

I have followed in the footsteps of two families – Boniface and Carmen Perez, and Sherman and Jenni House. The clans merged with the marriage of Manuel Luna and Florence Jane. Michael, Valerie, Robin, Mark and Jennifer walked in their footsteps. Mike’s children Elizabeth and Andrew followed. And this November the great, great grand son will follow.

The first generation and my father sat at a conference table in a private room of the Cardiac Unit. My oldest brother, Mike, sat at the head of the table across from the two cardiologists. The doctors wanted to know how the family saw the situation. Mike acted as spokesperson for the family, a role which to this point we have never needed. His role wasn’t designated by the fact that he was the oldest, or that he felt compelled because he is the oldest. It happened as a natural course of things and we accepted it. As a retired science teacher, Mike articulated the situation as we understood it. The doctors complimented him by saying perhaps he should be a doctor.

It does not look very good. Another twelve hours has past, no positive changes in mom’s condition have occurred. Conditions the doctors were looking for—relearning or a reconditioning of the heart, and elimination of the fluids that have been pumped into mom to maintain her blood pressure—they are not seeing. In most patients who are to make a recovery they expected to see some progress by this time. One physician stated he had never seen anyone take so much fluid—40 liters since Thursday and she has expelled a ½ liter in the last 24 hours. (The fluids keep the blood pressure up.)

Once all our questions had been asked and the doctors answered as honestly and candidly as possible, they left us to process the information. My father said a prayer and asked us to hold hands and pray. We were all holding emotions in check as Mike shared a prayer that our grandfather, mom’s father, recited at Thanksgiving dinner. As a kid it seemed impossibly long to memorize and just another moment of waiting before we could dig into the turkey, gravy and mash potatoes.

For the new morning and its light
For rest and shelter in the night
For health and friends
And all the gifts His goodness sends
We thank the gracious Lord
Amen

Footsteps. Footsteps.

Time is seeping away from mom. As a family and as individuals we are coping with the reality of this bleak situation. Emotions ebb and flow. Each of us must come to terms with the loss that will come if mom’s condition doesn’t change for she is doing nothing on her own. A pacemaker beats her heart, a respirator gives her breath and nutrition is slowly fed to her intravenously. We talk to her, stroke her hands and brush the thin hair on her head. She is sedated.

My family has come together as one. Strong and supportive, our independent natures have melted away as we seek comfort in the compassion and strength of our brothers and sisters. We are here for each other and for dad as we process the reality that while all hope is not gone (even in the minds of the doctors), we need a miracle. We believe in them, but acknowledge that even with a miracle mom’s recovery would not be whole.

Over the next couple of days, without improvements, we will need to make a decision. Perhaps mom already has.

I have asked God for one thing. I have prayed that she accepted Jesus Christ as her savior.