The Munce Family: Goodbye Grandma Helen.

We received a phone call on Monday morning, February 15th at 4am that Helen wasn't doing well. Nothing prepares you for what our next three weeks would look and feel like. Initially it is panic, urgency the need to get there asap. Dave went, I laid in bed and waited for an update, finally one came, describing how awful and helpless he felt, that he was going to reach out to someone to sit with him, so I called Maggie, and Jeff, and Maggie, and Jeff x10 until Maggie answered, she gathered her self and showed up 15 minutes later. I arrived at Prince of Peace at 5:35am, to a quiet room and labored breathing, and then improvement, but not really. So this set the stage for the next 5 days. Because of Covid, Dave had not even held his mom's hand since March 2020, but until then, Dave was the most devoted son, visiting Helen almost weekly in spite of her mind. He loved to take the kids when they were babies to visit her, in fact, when we cleaned Helen's room, we discovered a dusty box of toddler toys and trains and books he would pull out every time they would go, it gave him something to talk to Helen about. Dave reached out to his family, and they showed up, and kept showing up. COVID made the visits quiet, two by two, pieces of conversation interrupted by the text of the next person in the parking lot ready to come in, "whenever". The nurses would come in to check, acknowledge she had quit eating, confirm this was the beginning of the end, but Helen always appeared comfortable, hospice was our guide. Cathy Kellogg, an old friend of Dave's and an amazing hospice care provider popped in at our request, we talked about the process, she casually mentioned her mother's passing was similar, except that they had moved her home so they could provide her cares in the final days, she planted the seed. Then a positive covid test in the family, and the realization that we can't get around COVID in the nursing home and the only way to manage it was to take covid out the situation by bringing Helen home.

Dave and I had two quick conversations about it, my confidence grew, we said the word and plans were in motion within about 30 minutes.

Helen moved here on Sunday afternoon, as she was settled, Maggie and I met to clean our her room. We moved in tandem, as efficiently as possible, one load to our garage and the other to goodwill. Within a few hours, the house was full of family, we had an open door policy, food was always hot and ready. The family was here, gathered around the fireplace, chatting, laughing, crying, piano playing, Helen peacefully resting in the next room, Dave and his nieces and nephews taking turns with the support of their spouses, something they weren't able to have at Prince of Peace. All of the children gathered here, cousins playing and the house was a constant mess (in a good way :)). The nurses and techs and social workers would come and go, meals dropped at the front step, Dave's partners stepping up to give him the time and space he needed. Support, flowers, cards, text messages, love and concern, our village showed up.

Helen had Alzheimer's and by the time I came into the picture, her disease was pretty advanced, so I didn't have much of chance to get to know her. I knew her through her family, which is the same way I know Julie. Listening to Dave and his family reflect on how much of an impact Helen had on their lives helped me to understand what kind of a woman Helen was. When her own daughter died unexpectedly, she was the one who showed up and kept their boat afloat- i cannot imagine. She worked tirelessly through her grief to provide some sort of normalcy for Julie's family. I could go on and on... but the important thing is that Dave's family is all so incredible and connected, wether this is due to their tragedies or not, they are able to make it work in an honorable fashion, this is a testament to those who are gone.

Helen began an obvious decline on Tuesday evening when Lauren was here visiting. I completed her evening cares and when I situated her for the evening, her breathing changed. Dave and I spent almost the whole night up with her, Dave not wanting Helen to be alone, and me not wanting Dave to be alone. Finally around 2am, I came to bed for a few hours of sleep and he found some rest, but not much. The alarm went off at 5am each morning so I could do Helen's cares with the support of Dave, and once I was up, it was impossible to sleep again, my mind spinning, full of anxiety and questions. I got the kids up and off to school on Wednesday and prayed on my drive home that Helen would still be alive when I got home.

I returned around 9am and the home health aid came shortly after, and then the nurse called to schedule a visit. When we were on the phone, they asked how the kids were managing the changes at home, I did have concerns about how this was impacting them, and they each deal with things so uniquely. Sully is sentimental, sitting at night with Dave visiting with her, Greta is timid, prefers not to go in, and Piper is matter of fact 'is she still alive in there?" I knew in my heart we were doing the right thing by setting this example for our kids about how to care for our loved ones at the end of their life, but between sleepless nights and full days with the kids, I felt myself shrinking. I started this journey with all of the confidence and adrenaline I could ever need, and by this morning, I was so low, I couldn't even get level. I felt scared, alone, anxious, trapped, stretched thin, but also capable of pushing through.

Dave returned from work at 1pm, he was able to work, but did so with the heaviest of hearts. We had an outpouring of people reach out who had seen him and expressed their concern and support for what he was going through. People are so amazing. He was here the rest of the day as his family, like clockwork, showed up. We ate every last leftover, and at 7pm, things were quiet, we were gathered around Helen as her breathing continued to fade and we noticed more signs that the end was near. The children played upstairs, absolutely destroying every room on the second floor (in a good way :)). Our friend Cathy stopped over to help with some cares around 7:30pm and let us know death was imminent. Quiet, calm, peaceful, words of love and encouragement, "its ok to go, mom, we are going to be ok here, your work is done..." It dawned on me, everyone was here, except for Lauren. I made a quick call and returned to the room. Sarah, in her tender voice calling on the Holy Spirit to come, more encouragement for Helen to let go, and then Lauren's headlights out the front window. She ran in, sat down, completed the circle, and within five minutes, Helen was gone.

We moved to the living room to support and comfort one another and Lauren said 'they are already together!' Sarah repeated, 'already.' The mother and daughter reunion had taken places, and Helen waited until Dave and all of Julie's children were her before she went. What a site, something I will never forget.