I’m not sure why. That’s usually how I start my thoughts when I begin to write. I don’t know why I would share such intimate things. But as I sat here thinking what I was to write, many things popped in my head. Perhaps that is because my mind has not stopped thinking. In fact, I am positive that it goes in hyper-drive at night because even though I have been sleeping like a log, I wake up exhausted, as if I was up all night.
But God kept pressing upon my heart to share Molly’s last moments with us. Perhaps because even though it was a scene I will never forget, it doesn’t mean it was all horrible. It played out the way it was supposed to. And I don’t regret a moment.
On Saturday, we needed to up Molly’s pain medication significantly. In doing so, we knew that this meant she would now sleep and not wake. It was very apparent that her time to meet Jesus was close and our only desire was to make her comfortable and peaceful.
Sunday morning, when we came to her bed, it was apparent that she was not doing well. We spent the morning around her bed. Holding her hand, talking to her, and Samantha even read a book to her. The girls climbed up to snuggle and even though Molly was not responsive, I am 100% sure that she felt her sisters with her.
As the day went on, the girls began to tire out. Sam went upstairs for a while, but Clara was clearly in a high anxiety state. Even when you know death is coming, it’s hard to really prepare for an adult. Even more so for a four-year old.
We sent Clara next door to visit some neighbor friends and separate from it all for a bit. However, within 10 minutes, Molly’s breathing drastically changed and we knew this was the moment we had known was coming since June 17, 2014.
It’s hard to explain all the emotion packed into one 5 minute span. There was a quick rush to get the girls to Molly’s side. Samantha wanted to be there with her and we thought it best to be together one last time and help usher Molly to heaven. I had prayed so hard and envisioned us at her side for her last breath. I thought for sure, even though I prayed, that it would not happen. Molly has always been stubborn and her own person. I thought that once she decided to let go, she would do it when no one was around. I think she did it for me. For us.
We watched her take her last breath and cried like we had never cried before. It has been a year of holding our breath just waiting and at that moment, for me, I felt that I could finally let it go. It was done.
Clara, not fully understanding, got off the bed and got the stethoscope. She wanted to hear for herself that there was no heartbeat. It was a sweet, yet sad thing to watch. But we let her because she needed to do this.
Once some time had passed and the girls cleared out, Peter and I just looked at our little girl. She looked so incredibly peaceful. So beautiful. More beautiful than she had in a very long time. The funny part was she had this little smirk on her face as if to say, “Ha! I showed cancer.” I will never forget it.
Death, of course, was not the outcome I wished for. When I prayed for healing, I wanted it on earth. But I will say that if death was what was to come, it came in a beautiful way. Together. Peaceful. Home. That’s all we wanted.
I could write so much more. Like where from here? What is the plan? How are the girls? It will come. For now though, I desire to leave with the thought of Molly, flying through the heavens, opening her eyes and seeing the most beautiful home she will ever have. I can actually feel her smile. Big. Wide. Beautiful.
Posted June 1, 2015