Goodnight, Etta

Etta slipped away this afternoon. We got the call this morning that she had become unresponsive yesterday afternoon and was admitted to the hospital for palliative care. I dropped by to see her this morning as soon as I found out. As I smoothed back her hair I told her that I was there. She made a sound and became a bit more active but her eyes weren't tracking. She wasn't responsive to anyone. I don't know if she heard me or not, but it was the last sound she made.
Jack's great-nephews came by around 11:00 and I sent them off to the cafeteria at noon to get some lunch. Jack didn't sleep much last night and he failed to have breakfast. After they left, I pulled the chair up to Etta's bed and told her that it was time for her to go to sleep--the boys and I would take care of Jack. Then I sang to her, probably for about 30 minutes: Safe in the Arms of Jesus; Amazing Grace; Jesus Lead Me All the Way; Just a Closer Walk With Thee; How Firm a Foundation. She became very still and her breathing dropped way down. When the guys came back from lunch, she was barely breathing. I told Jack that I didn't think it would be very long. She stopped breathing altogether 10 minutes later. It was very peaceful. It was time and she was ready.

It is very hard to see an elderly man cry for his wife of 71 years. Their 72nd anniversary would have been this Sunday. Etta told Jenny, her caretaker, what she wants to be buried in, what to do with various of her personal effects. She knew she was dying but she made ready the best she could by giving instructions and sharing her heart with the woman who cared for her day in, day out, for eight years, missing only one day. Jenny is a devoted, loyal saint.

So Jack's great-nephews are with him this weekend--I am ever so grateful. I will stay in touch but I feel quite sad for him. He is 94 years old. Determined to stay in his own home (and he should), but the woman he has loved for so long, and for whom he has cared faithfully for the last 8 years, is now resting in peace.
Please hold him close in your prayers. He is a dear, dear man. A tired saint who has given much, as did Etta.

And I am without one of my surrogate mothers. Etta always "got" me. I could walk in the door of her house and call out, "Hi Sunshine!" and she would reply, "There's no sunshine here!"
"How are you today, Etta?"
"Well, I'm still alive."
"That's a step in the right direction!" And we would both laugh.
Etta could size me up in just a glance. She could tell if I was irked about something, tired, or going too fast in life.
"Barbara, you need to go home and rest. You're doing too much."
One day she made me promise that I would take a siesta for 30 minutes every day after lunch. I did a few days and she was thrilled when I reported back to her that her suggestion worked like a charm.

Etta was a saucy soul. She had a sense of humor that was unflagging. She often asked me, "How's Tall Dark and Handsome?" And full of zip. I told her that Sam woke me up one day from a nap. She replied without hesitation, "I hope it was with a hot kiss!"
"Etta!" We both laughed. "It was. How did you know?"
She just smiled.

There was never as generous a soul as Etta was. The few times when I told her about students who were in need she always asked, "How can we help?" If I had asked for money she would have had Jack write a check immediately. But I never asked for anything except to pray. She did, tirelessly. There were many times when she'd call me to ask how I was, or my students, or stepchildren, or mother. Etta seemed to recognize the burdens and responsibilities I have carried and her cheery phone calls blessed me.

She always saved her magazines for me to read. She'd dog-ear the pages with blue and white decorations and write next to it, "Blue" so I wouldn't miss it. Sometimes she'd circle recipes and make editorial comments or substitution suggestions on the side.
As I would leave the house she would tell Jack to go out and find me the magazines she had set aside for me. He's slip a mango or two into the sack and I'd go out with more than the food I'd brought in.

Etta was a kindred soul. I loved her grit, naughtiness, tender heart, and warm spirit. Few people in my immediate circle have connected with me the way she has or given me the gift of being so fully understood and loved. I shall miss her more than I can say: sitting up in her recliner, holding court and grilling me about what was going on in my life. How she stayed positive for eight years, unable to walk for the last nine months of her life, is beyond me. I only hope I can be half of the woman she was and I thank God for allowing us to cross paths. I look forward to seeing her in heaven, where we can be friends forever.

Good night, Etta.
I can't wait to see you in the Morning.

Safe in the arms of Jesus,

Safe on His gentle breast;

There by His love o’ershaded,

Sweetly my soul shall rest.

Hark! ’tis the voice of angels

Borne in a song to me,

Over the fields of glory,

Over the jasper sea.

Safe in the arms of Jesus,

Safe on His gentle breast;

There by His love o’ershaded,

Sweetly my soul shall rest.

Jesus, my heart’s dear Refuge,

Jesus has died for me;

Firm on the Rock of Ages

Ever my trust shall be.

Here let me wait with patience,

Wait till the night is o’er;

Wait till I see the morning

Break on the golden shore.

Safe in the arms of Jesus,

Safe on His gentle breast;

There by His love o'ershaded,

Sweetly my soul doth rest.