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November 14
Washburne Court, Paynesville
Tucked in a corner room smaller than most living rooms, Mass at Washburne Court assisted living facility with Father Glenn was absolutely as reverent as if held in a proper church, so it was especially meaningful that in this intimate space the gospel, Luke 17:21, told us that The Kingdom of God is among us. Unlike most kingdoms, it does not demand fanfare, and many completely ignore it as it is unseen. We might want to see more, but must live in hope and trust our faith in his power. Dad’s faith and hope was a testament to this power. I know that as a little girl I consciously looked for Christ in others, peering into their eyes when Dad would instruct us to look more deeply, but since this often was followed by a full-on hair-pulling, shoving, brawl with my sister, I was too literal. Eventually, I realized the depth of his message and it made the end of his life even more meaningful.
Dad’s Forever Nap
During Mass, I had the pleasure of exchanging the sign of peace with Mary, who had survived breast cancer longer than anyone else in Minnesota, living 51 years since diagnosis. At eleven years, I would need another 40 years to get to her 51. Yes, please! I also felt a special connection as she lived in the apartment my parents had rented. There were a few residents from 2016, but most of the rooms had changed occupants, quite a literal connection to the gospel which stressed not waiting for the Kingdom of God, but to find it here now. The sense of time is different in assisted living; there is both a slowness in activity and yet a white-knuckled holding on to time as it is so dear.
I try not to dwell on my timeline, not to set up events I wish to see before I pass “if I could only….” I decided my lifetime hourglass has finer sand that is running more quickly than before. Perhaps it could get clogged in the middle and slow down. When my heart was racing, I tried to visualize the sand tumbling slowly and then reduced to a mere trickle. When I explained this to a dear friend, Sister Ruth, she said, “I think God is adding more sand,” with a twinkle in her eye. Well, I hoped He orders his sand by the truckful!
For six or seven years, Scott’s coworkers in the rehab department and their spouses had participated in an annual bowling fundraiser for Rice Memorial Hospice. The original escapades included prizes for best dressed and we went all out: 80’s prom, heavy metal band and even blue suits like the Blue Man group. The blue suits zipped up the back and were just thin enough to see through. My sorry bowling game was not hurt by the suit but it was a challenge to eat and drink with my rayon-covered hands and the process required to go to the bathroom made me limit my intake.
In the Fall of 2015, after decades of remission, Dad’s cancer returned with a vengeance. He chose not to fight it. The drugs available were very expensive, listed pages of side effects and offered only a few weeks of survival. Instead he nap