(today's word is DONE)
Moving toward the family room I found Cindy sitting on the
floor, her knees drawn up under her, her head bent toward her heart. The flicker of the fire in the fireplace
reflected off the smooth skin of her hairless head.
“You ok?” I
whispered, some force restraining me from speaking too loudly or too much. When she raised her head I could see trails
of tears on her slender neck, and her eyes were red and brimming. I sat in the soft brown easy chair before her
and handed her a tissue. We just
sat. Wordless. Then she whispered, “I
think my body is done.”
“And by done you mean…” I responded, though I knew full well
what she meant. I knew she needed to say
it. Out loud. My heart throbbed at the
realization that the words came out, that her reluctant walk to the gate was
nearing its end, and none of us could stop the holy hinges of heaven from
swinging that gate open for her.
In typical Cindy fashion, she reassured me. “I’m fine with it. Really, I am.
And I am so grateful. But I just
have a feeling that it’s time to let my body do what it yearns to do, and my
spirit should stop fighting it.”
We have known Cindy a long time, long enough to understand
that she has what some people call a sixth sense. Because we are confident in the source of her
premonitions, we recognize it as the Holy Ghost working through her. If Cindy said she didn’t have a good feeling
about something, trust me, we didn’t do it.
I remember her standing at my doorstep a decade ago, frustrated and
emotional because she could not shake the feeling that she should not go on the
humanitarian trip they had planned, a trip to Guatemala where their son Jason
had served his mission. My sister Libby
and daughter Sarah were to accompany Reed and Cindy and Jason.
“What’s bothering you about it? I asked her, and she replied
that she had absolutely no logical reason to not want to go. She just had a feeling. And so, faithful as she was, she cancelled. And the next day Reed had a heart attack and
bypass surgery. He survived, no doubt
because he was in the hands of good neighbors and friends who were doctors who
got him to surgery immediately. Had they
been in Guatemala, or on a plane to Guatemala…well, you know what I mean. I’ve learned not to question Cindy’s
promptings.
So there, before the warmth of her fire, she cupped her hand
to her heart and surrendered. In the
most noble, courageous retreat I can comprehend, she allowed herself to turn
from the battle and face her Lord with dignity and full consent. We wept together.
“I worry about Reed.
I worry about my kids. “ The
tears wove down her sallow cheeks, around her chin, and fell onto her
blouse. “And… she drew a breath, ending
in a muffled sob…”I’m afraid my grandkids won’t remember me. “
There were no words to adequately comfort her.
“I am not really afraid to die. I’m really ok. But I am afraid to leave Reed, and the kids,
and my littles.” The fear, for people of
faith like Cindy, is not the future The
fear is the separation. It’s a heightened emotion familiar to all scouts and
Beehive girls that first time they go to a weeklong camp. There is confidence in the fact that there
will be a reunion, and that the adventure will be dynamic and exciting. But the loss of the familiar faces of those
we love is frightening.
I searched the air for the right words for her, the true and
softest words to say to her, but I cannot recall what I said. I don’t even recall how the sacred moment
ended. I try to keep it still, tucked
away under my left shoulder, the same place I cradle my grandbabies.
Not long after, when her skin became yellow and her body
swollen, she felt a profound need to visit her family in Arizona. So Reed took time off work and they drove
down. I talked to her on the phone as
they were driving back to Utah. She was
lying in the back seat as Reed drove. I
knew it could not be good, if she was not there in the front beside him. Lib, Sherry, Dave and I went over Sunday
evening, when they got home. Kathy Kay
was there, with her magical hands and sacred oils, massaging her swollen feet
as Cindy lay on the couch, her profoundly compassionate spirit doing as much
good as her hands. I had brought a
blueberry pie. We cut it and nibbled as
we talked.
“Well Cinny,” I said (that’s what we called her, an
endearing name that has a story of its own). Well, Cinny, I used your pie crust
recipe. Only I added a tablespoon of
vinegar. “
She looked over at me and smiled. “Then you didn’t use my
recipe.”
And she is right.
Five days later she was gone.
All the kids and grandkids were there, thankfully, and the
passing was divinely orchestrated. We gathered at her bedside the night before,
with our guitars and our voices, and we sang her to that gate. But the holy moment, when she was completely
and triumphantly done, was reserved for her husband and four children.
We sifted in and out in the coming days, those who know and
love her. The morning of her passing,
while her flesh was still warm but her spirit risen, her three year old
granddaughter Chloe took my hand as we walked from the living room to the
kitchen. As we passed by the hallway to
GG’s room (GG for Gramma Gardner) Chloe stopped and looked. She pointed and smiled and squealed, “GG!”
Don’t forget, Chloe and Treven, and Stella and Anton, that
your GG adores you. Look for her. Look toward the things and the people she
loved, and continues to love. Embrace
what she embraced, and you will feel her.
Follow her recipe, and since it is an especially wonderful recipe, don’t
go fooling with it. Her finest ingredients were compassion, service, devotion,
faith, commitment, laughter and love.
The most important ingredient, for sure, was love. Never leave that part out.
The last words Cinny said to me, when she was really able to
talk to me, were these. I had bent over
to kiss her, and she looked up at me, her voice weak and her eyes amber. “I love you”, I had said, and she whispered
back.
“I love you. I love
you. I love you.”
I hear her whispering them to me now, over and over. I love you, I love you, I love you. As if the words could not be repeated
enough. I think she left them to me so I
would repeat them to her treasures.
No one I know was more courageous, more gracious, more
selfless in her journey. Most people were surprised when she left, because she
had appeared to be rallying against all cancer odds. And indeed, we had been blessed with many
more months than we had anticipated. But
the final lap for her was kept for her alone.
Her and her Lord. And maybe
Reed. Her last figurative steps were
strapped with dignity and poise, so much that few knew it was near.
On that unseasonably beautiful winter day less than one
month ago, we laid Cindy Gardner’s body in the soil, just east of the spot
where our mother lies. Her body is done.
But her spirit…her spirit soars!
