Michael Is Still Here - Thu. Nov. 7, 2024.

Wow, how do I wrap this up for Laurel's Facebook People?

First, regarding a memorial service for her, after some decompression time I will decide on and announce the date. It will be at our ward building on Edgewood Road in Redwood City on a Saturday, with a trip up to Skylawn Mortuary on the Friday before to dedicate our niche. The memorial service will also be accessible via Zoom. Laurel asked that people wear cheerful colors to the memorial service. There will be light refreshments afterward. You are invited to all three events.

Man, I wish Laurel was writing this. My first draft of this post described the events of the last two days of her life. I told about the progression of her pain, the eventual failure of the meds to comfort her, visits from hospice and about a Facetime call with a doctor so she could observe Laurel's labored breathing. It was a detailed account that a casual observer would probably find interesting. But we are not casual observers. We are friends and family, holding our breath, waiting for news, importuning our God to bless Laurel.

I will instead tell you about the moments before Laurel's passing and a little about the events afterward. Aaaaand, here come the tears. You guys, I just can't tell you how emotional, faith-building, and painful and beautiful this journey has been.

Breanne and I spent Wednesday, Nov. 6th, working desperately to reduce Laurel's pain and to help her breathe. We were not having success. After an afternoon visit from hospice nurse Victor, a call to the doctor, and perhaps the meds finally, FINALLY kicking in, Laurel had settled into a calm, rhythmic breathing pattern. That was such a relief. She was no longer struggling to draw breath. She had those crackly sounds from fluid in her bronchial tubes, but she was calm and appeared to not be in pain. By the time a different hospice nurse, Danny, arrived shortly after 6pm, she actually looked pretty good and I figured we were out of the woods. It had taken all day, though, and I was concerned about how the night would go.

Danny listened attentively while I described the day's events, then he did a careful evaluation of Laurel. He checked her skin for blotchiness. While he was doing that, I glanced down at her right hand and was shocked to see the tips of her fingers were dark. Danny said she may be starting to 'transition'. He checked her breathing. He suggested that we slide her toward the head of the bed, then raise the bed up and let gravity help clear her bronchial tubes. Laurel was not responding to any of our touching but he still quietly told her, to her face, what we were going to do at each step. So gentle, like she was his own family. We slid her higher up on the mattress and after he raised the bed up, he told her he was going to tap her chest. Using his open hand, he was tapping his fingers gently a little below her throat to try to dislodge the mucus in the bronchial tubes. I could hear an obvious improvement in her breathing. Good! I turned from the bed to get something on the desk behind me and heard Danny quietly say "I think this might be it." I turned back and saw Laurel very suddenly stop. Everything. It was like when you press pause on a movie. There was no head rolling to the side, no exhaling, no drooping of relaxed muscles, no movement anywhere. She was completely still. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I calmly said, "Is that it?" Danny said yes. At that moment, two things happened. Breanne, who had been observing from the couch, leaped up to get Mike in his room. I held Laurel's head with both hands and put my cheek against hers. I cried out "I'm so happy! I'm so happy! It's over! You're released! You made it, you made it!" I no longer needed to keep my measured composure and could just freely let my feelings out. I kissed her forehead over and over and put my cheek against hers and wept and wept. For one very brief moment, her eyes opened one last time and her head moved very slightly. Perhaps this is a common physiological occurrence but I choose to believe it was a brief "I love you! I'll be waiting!" There was no sorrow or sadness. There was joy for this long-awaited answer to fervent prayer. I felt palpable relief that Laurel's terrible and seemingly endless suffering was over. I felt I could begin breathing again after months of taking just tiny breaths. Mike knelt beside the bed, held his mom's hand and wept openly. I think he's been holding his emotions inside, either in denial or in hope. But now there was no denial. Mom's struggle was over. She was gone. I cried and cried. Moments of sadness immediately replaced by joy and a wonderful anticipation of our eventual reunion.

Danny gave us the time we needed. When I had regained a bit of composure, we discussed next steps. I broke down a couple more times during our discussion. This path was very, very difficult and it was suddenly over. Just like that. I just couldn't receive all the feelings that were coming to me. Danny performed some minimal last steps, leaving the more detailed needs to Breanne, who, being a nurse, could take care of the rest.

We thanked Danny for his help. He expressed his condolences, gathered his things, and left. Breanne, Mike and I sat looking at Laurel, mostly in silence. Words were neither necessary nor sufficient. We comforted each other and let the sacredness of the moment soak in. How amazing that all happened as it did! Our whole family was present. Hospice pronounces time of death (6:40pm) and since they were onsite, we didn't have to wait for a nurse to come to the house. My fears for the coming night were no more. No more medications. No more trying to comfort. No more labored breathing. No more wishing the Lord would answer our pleas. No more worries. Only peace and calm and hushed voices.

Once we three were ready to take next steps, Mike excused himself and Breanne and I got to work. It was a great honor to perform one last service for Laurel. We carefully cleaned her and dressed her in her temple dress and clothing. Breanne and I moved in concert, using quiet voices as we respectfully got Laurel dressed. I had to pause every few minutes to give my sweet bride a kiss. I cradled the sides of her face and gazed at her, trying to lock in a memory. I took pictures. She seemed to look less and less gone as time went on. As we finished, she looked very good, literally like she was just sleeping. That was a blessing.

Breanne and I stood quietly and reflected in our own way about our mother and wife and the events that had transpired since that fateful day of diagnosis, February 5, 2024. A lifetime ago. But there was a beautiful lifetime before this last one. One filled with love and becoming closer and closer over the years.

I got a call from Mike. He was out in the building parking lot where a number of ward members had gathered. He said they wanted to sing hymns to us. We went out and greeted them. In the still of the night (ignoring the trucks and motorcycles driving by on Industrial Road...) we sang hymns together. It was a beautiful thing. Loving conversation followed. I told the group how lucky we are to have such an amazing ward. The members have been so supportive during Laurel's trial. Prayers, meals, fasts, cards, gifts, texts. We feel very blessed.

It is now one day and four hours since Laurel passed. I feel good. I feel emotionally healthy. As I move through the house, I take pictures of things Laurel used on a regular basis, then put them away. I occasionally dip into sadness but I don't spend long there before the joy of the promise of seeing her again draws me back out. I feel a little like Joseph Smith when he went to the grove to pray. In the event you're not familiar with this record, here's the part I'm talking about:

-- After I had retired to the place where I had previously designed to go, having looked around me, and finding myself alone, I kneeled down and began to offer up the desires of my heart to God. I had scarcely done so, when immediately I was seized upon by some power which entirely overcame me, and had such an astonishing influence over me as to bind my tongue so that I could not speak. Thick darkness gathered around me, and it seemed to me for a time as if I were doomed to sudden destruction. (This is how my sadness can feel)

But, exerting all my powers to call upon God to deliver me out of the power of this enemy which had seized upon me, and at the very moment when I was ready to sink into despair and abandon myself to destruction—not to an imaginary ruin, but to the power of some actual being from the unseen world, who had such marvelous power as I had never before felt in any being—just at this moment of great alarm, I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me. (And this is what I feel when I recall my assurance of being reunited with Laurel)

It no sooner appeared than I found myself delivered from the enemy which held me bound. (And I climb out of the sadness and rejoice in my eternal future with Laurel) --

Another sincere thank you for everything. Without the Gospel and your friendship and support, this would have been impossible. Your unfailing comments on her FB page have lifted us and carried us. We wish the Lord's blessings to accompany you as you move forward in faith. I know you will be ready to help the next person in need and we're grateful you were there for us.

Michael