I'll Follow You Into The Dark

"Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go.  

Acceptance is a small, quiet room." 

- Cheryl Strayed, Author of Wild

At this point, most of you have probably seen the latest update on Paul circulating through your Facebook news feeds. For everyone else, here's the scoop:

In my last post, I mentioned that we were spending Easter with Paul's family in Wisconsin. But as our two-week visit approached its end, it became more and more evident that Paul wouldn't be making our return flight back to Buffalo.

So the three of us are staying in Paul�s parents' home in Oshkosh, Wisconsin where he has entered Hospice care.

We had always considered making Paul�s childhood home in Oshkosh his final resting place on this Earth. After witnessing his almost immediate "release" when the decision was final, I can say with a fair degree of certainty that we chose correctly.

At various points in the last month, every one of Paul�s seven siblings was able to travel home to spend some precious time with their brother and each other. In true Coleman form, we enjoyed boisterous meals rounded out with a minimum of three to four protein choices. Ingrid bonded with her cousins. My sisters-in-law made sure there was never a shortage of Paul�s favorite cookies (oatmeal raisin, for some reason).

There were things back in Buffalo, though, that needed tending to. So I boarded my return flight solo, the empty seats on either side of me serving as stinging reminders of the rotten week ahead of me. 

Originally, we had planned on heading to Orlando after our Wisconsin trip. But instead of scoring autographs from Elsa and Anna in Disney World, I would be spending that week selecting tasteful memorial cards and scouting out prime burial plots. 

Which: have you ever done that? Shopped for burial plots, I mean. I�m sure some of you have. It�s weird, right?! I�d compare it to house-hunting with your real estate agent, only slightly less cheery. 

�Well, The Good Shepherd Hill has the most scenic treeline, which will be lovely in the summer months. But then you can purchase a package deal if you go with the plots around Ascension Bell. Depends what you�re looking for.�

So. WEIRD.

I fully expected to be wiped out after my cemetery tour. I had anticipated feeling a little drained after drumming up an obituary draft with our funeral director.

What I was less prepared to hit me so hard was the realization that the three of us would never be together in our little home again. Relics from Paul�s last few months in our house were like little knives to my heart every time I discovered them. Things like pill bottles tucked behind picture frames and vials of holy water resting on his bedside table.

It was gutting to see the recliner he�ll never sit in again, the bed he�ll never sleep in again, the flannels he�ll never wear again. This may sound dramatic, but as someone who weeps while putting baby clothes in storage, well, you can see how problematic this is for me.

But I survived. I accomplished what I needed to accomplish. Now I'm back in Wisconsin, and we are exactly where we�re supposed to be.

Paul�s days oscillate from �semi-tolerable� to �well, this is the pits.� Some days he can stomach a 20-minute jaunt around the neighborhood in his wheelchair. Some days he can�t get out of bed.

Tearful moments are often followed by welcome stretches of peace. I can only attribute these tranquil periods to the daily prayers being offered up from so many faithful friends. That or my meds are triggering some majorly choppy mood swings. Hard to say. We�ll go with prayers.

Thank you for being with our family in our sorrow. Your continued prayers and kindnesses mean more than I can adequately express here.