Best Laid Plans

An Unexpected Journey

  When your brother calls to tell you he is going in for a heart catherization, you pay attention. Ted called to tell me that he had become exhausted when trying to mow his grass. He would mow a few minutes and then have to stop and rest until he could regain his strength. Fifteen years earlier, I had gone to my primary care physician with the same complaint. I asked if he was going to schedule me for a stress test and he said, “No need, you have already failed the lawnmower test.” I went for a heart cath and didn’t leave the hospital until the surgeon had completed a quintuple by-pass surgery. As we all know, the heart cath is an exploratory procedure that answers the questions about the health of your pulmonary system. In my family, they usually reveal substantial clogged arteries and an immediate need for correction. So it was this time also. Ted’s wife, Fay, called the next day and said he had 60-70% blockage in two arteries and almost 100% blockage in the main heart artery. Unlike me, he was sent home and his surgery was scheduled for twelve days later. His surgeon was leaving for a vacation on an island in the Indian Ocean and would not return until that date. Ted really wanted to use this physician, so he agreed to wait.

   Actually this worked better for me, I was able to schedule around some of my work and I would be able to stay with him for a week.  I arrived three days before his surgery and embarked on a plan to keep him preoccupied so he would not be thinking about his impending appointment. We spent some laid back time in nostalgic reminiscing and visited some old friends and places that were near and dear to us. I had not planned this trip, but we were able to spend quality time and he was able to divert his mind away from his surgery. I did not tell him that we had received an urgent call from Georgia that our dear cousin Betty Joyce was taken to the hospital. Her son Steve had called and said that she was seriously ill with near renal failure and things did not look good. A subsequent call suggested that she was somewhat improved. I decided that I would tell Ted she was ill, but we honestly didn’t know how serious it was.  

  Fay and I drove him to the hospital at 5:30am on the morning of the procedure. We were led to the pre-op room and he was prepped for the surgery. This was the second time I had been an observer instead of a participant in the process. Most of the nurses were caring and good-natured as they accomplished their daily routines. They teased him and laughed at his humor as they routinely prepared him for the incredible procedure that would forever change his life. (No, not the Bruce/Caitlyn procedure). Ted was quiet, but I could sense the anxiety that was growing to a crescendo in his mind. Some close friends and family joined us briefly and helped distract him from becoming over anxious. A team of nurses came and ran through their checklist while confirming the process with one another. The anesthesiologist visited, the surgeon appeared with his fresh tan from the tropics and then Ted began to remember less and less of the day. We were invited to  the surgical waiting room and bade him farewell until we would see him in the ICU. Ted was in for a rough day, but we trusted God to lead him through it. After getting his birthdate correct for the 14^th time that morning, he slipped off into the twilight zone.

   We would congregate in the surgical waiting room where a growing number of friends and family were gathering. We entertained one another by catching up on each other’s lives and meeting new friends. The coffee was free and the volunteer staff kept us apprised of his progress, as well as the monitor over the hospitality desk. In the surgery, the skilled team of physician’s hands performed the precise intricacies that would heal Ted’s damaged heart. We tried not to think about it, but we silently prayed that all was going well. I had a good catch-up visit with Ted’s daughters and son-in-laws. His surgery progressed very well and finally was complete. The surgeon met us briefly and advised that all had gone very well, and he expected no problems.

Ted and Fay in Pre-Ops

                                                             

Ted in Cardiac ICU Recovery Room

                                                                                                         

   We were then led to the ICU waiting room to await his recovery. A nurse came and invited the family to accompany her to see him in the ICU. She was assigned to him and we would see her for the next couple of days. One cannot give these nurses enough credit for the wonderful work they perform. Ted eventually aroused and as a typical heart surgery survivor, he felt like he was on the brink of extinction. Fay and her sister Kay tried to spend the night in the ICU waiting room, but several large family groups came and were very disruptive to everyone else. They left the hospital and Fay returned early in the morning. He awakened enough that he was brought a tray of food and he managed a smile that he did not feel.

Ted and Fay the first morning in  Cardiac ICU

   He was transferred to a private room in the afternoon. Fay and I accompanied him on the gurney journey through the back halls and elevators to his new room. I told Fay to go home and I would stay that night with him, because I expected it to be a tough one. I was not disappointed.

I settled into a reclining chair and kept one eye open. I remembered how much care I had needed after my heart procedure. Somewhere around 11pm I heard Ted jump straight up out of bed and he landed standing on the floor.
He was upset and said loudly, “How do I get out of this thing, I need to go to the bathroom”.

By the time I could get to the other side of the bed he had stretched all of his tubes to the max and was on the verge of pulling some loose.
 “Ted”, I said, “You need to get back in bed, Bud. You are still connected to several tubes and you can’t get off the bed.”

 “ Why not” he slurred in a heavily drugged voice.

 “Why do you need to get up Ted”.

“Because I have to pee” he sluggishly replied.

 “Ted”, I said, “You already have a catheter on so just go ahead, you don’t need to go to the bathroom.”

 “Oh”, he said and he relieved himself where he stood. I called the nurse to help get him back in bed and it took two of them to untangle his tubes and sort everything back. He was very uncomfortable and said the mattress was making him miserable. It was not the mattress, but I agreed with him that it was not a good mattress. He was finally settled back in the bed and I thought that maybe he would make it through the night.

   At 1:00am, I heard him hit the floor again, just as before. We repeated the same dialogue and he was adamant that he needed to go to the bathroom. I called in reinforcements and the three of us got him back in the bed. At 3:00am he hit the floor a third time and was ready to take on anybody who interfered with his intentions. I knew he was in pain and under the influence of the sedatives. After tucking him back in the bed for the third time, the nurse put the side rails up to prevent him from leaping off the bed. I heard him hit the rails once more and then finally he eased off under the influence of a new dose of morphine.

   I remembered how difficult my first night away from the ICU had been. You honestly feel as if you have been run over by a large truck and nobody seems to understand how much it hurts, all over your body. Then comes the morning and you feel as if you are reborn. I told him that each day he would be better than the last, and this past night would be his worst.

   Fay relieved me for the day shift and he had a better day. He began eating and though he was very much in pain, he was able to walk a couple of times down the hallways. In the mean time, I had crashed at Ted’s home. I awoke to a new call from Georgia that Betty Joyce’s condition had deterioated and she was not expected to survive her renal failure. My heart was saddened, for Ted and I considered her to be like a sister. I had to make a decision on whether to go and be with her during her last hours. It was not a choice I wanted to make, but I decided to leave Ted and go to Georgia. Ted was recovering and all indications were that the surgery had been successful.

   Since my return flight was through Atlanta, Delta Airlines allowed me to change the date without a change fee. Instead of flying home on the following Tuesday, I would be going to Atlanta on Sunday afternoon. Unfortunately the luggage had to be shipped all the way to Greensboro, so I had to buy a large carry-on for the clothes I would need in Georgia. Cheryl would have to pick up a bag of dirty clothes at 10:15pm in Greensboro. But it worked out. Mendy, Dave and Kodi and the grandkids visited with Ted at the hospital that morning. I spent a wonderful Sunday afternoon with my children and grandchildren and then Mendy took me to the DFW airport for a 6:00 flight to Atlanta. I knew that Ted was recovering well and my heart was calling me to Betty Joyce. On Saturday before I left Texas, she was lucid when I called and I spoke to her briefly on the phone, I told her I loved her and she told me that she loved me. It was the last conversation we would have.

  

Ted and my grandson Joshua

             

Kodi,Chase, Dave, Maci, Me and Joshua on the TCU campus

                             

   Steve picked me up at the Atlanta Airport and drove me straight to the hospital. Betty was alive but unresponsive and struggling mightily. No one questioned whether she was ready to transition from this life to the next. She and Ralph were inseparable on this earth, it was just a matter of time for them to reunite and click up their heels on the streets of Heaven. But we weren’t ready to give her up yet. Steve and Joyce had vigilently awaited her bedside over the past several days for signs of recovery. Some of her renal numbers improved, but overall her health continued to deteriorate. They scheduled a session with the attending physicians to determine if the improved readings were reason to hope. The doctor explained that although some results were better, the overall prognosis had not changed. She was hanging on, but she would not be able to for long.

   My thoughts went back to childhood when this sweet young lady took care of me and played with me. She was full of joy, humility and shyness. Throughout our lives, Betty Joyce always cared for others. My mother had a special place for her and my brothers and I adopted her as our own sister. I don’t have a memory of her that isn’t a fond one. Over the years we were separated by many miles, but our hearts were of one accord and close to each other. I remembered that she came to Texas and took care of me and Ted and Dad when mother was dying from cancer. She had a servants heart and she had a sweet spirit to go with it.  Betty Joyce’s nickname was “Sweetie” and I can honestly say I never knew anyone more deserving.

   She met her knight in shining armour, Ralph, and she did have that family she hoped for. Steve was the oldest and Joyce followed to complete the circle. The years were good to them as their children had families of their own and she had her only grandson, Grant. And then cancer caught up with Ralph just a couple of years ago. His remains lay in the Hampton cemetery waiting for her’s to join him. She was ready to meet him and our Lord, we just had to have the faith to let her go to that reunion she planned in Heaven.

The doctor advised moving her to pallative care at a nearby hospice. We all gathered at the new facility after she was transported there. Steve and his wife stayed for the night while Joyce went home to try and catch up on rest from the previous night. In mid-morning I got a call from Steve to pick up Joyce and bring her to the hospice as soon as possible. By the time we arrived, Betty Joyce had parted with her earthly family and had already soared to new heights. We all grieved her passing, but none lost sight of the thought that our Sweetie had moved on to where she longed to be. I will be eternally grateful that Cheryl and I spent a warm day in February visiting with her and sharing her love.

Thankful that we spent a day with her in February

   She left us on her 82nd birthday, and her funeral service was on the following Saturday. Ted , of course, could not attend but Cheryl came down from Greensboro and joined me. Steve asked me to say a few words and I tried, through tears of joy, to express how special Betty Joyce had been to me. The service was eloquent and simple, honoring a dear saint who had blessed all of our lives. Chris and Steve both sang to honor her memory and I know that she was smiling down on them.  The message was just as she would have wanted, an evangelistic appeal to join her in Heaven. Hallelujah!

She tended Ralph's grave on a regular basis

Some of those left behind, the day we left to go home

As a planner, I had carefully determined all the things I needed to do to be with Ted. How many times do we start out with a plan and then realize that there was another purpose intended for us? I left home to be with my brother, who was about to travel down a road he did not want to go and I ended up going down a road I did not want to go. A greater need arose and I had to change my plans. Sometimes changes occur when you least expect them. Life is full of unexpected turns and twists that alter our best laid plans. We just have to be flexible enough to understand when we need to change.

I wanted to be there for both of them and in my heart I know that I was there for both of them. Ted and Fay know that I love my brother and Steve and Joyce know that I loved my sister.

                                                

There and Back Again

Going Home

You always like to go home, even when it’s for the wrong reason. Normally, when you are going to visit loved ones, you hope that you will find everyone well and prosperous with bright prospects for the future. Sometimes that is not possible, you make the trip because one whom you loved dearly has departed, and you must go to pay your respects. But you still like to go home, because you will see those who remain and whom you also love dearly. I cherish the bond that can only come from the closeness of kinship. The closer the kinship, the tighter the bond. It is almost on parallell with faith in God, that invisible connection that compels you to want to be in their presence. Family is everything to me.

When you lose a loved one, you don’t really have a choice on the timing. You have to fit your schedule into the pre-arranged  funeral plans, and in this case, they were extensive. The cancer had finally worked it’s evil fingers into my brother Mike’s vital organs and robbed him of his final days of relaxation and pleasure in the desert sun of Arizona. When he should have been enjoying a much deserved life of leisure, he was pressed to the brink of survival and then pushed into eternity. He deserved better, but like all of us, he was not in control of the outcome.

He prepared for the inevitability of life and made the hard choices that are often left to the survivors. Mike was a planner and he worked out the minute details of a complicated burial arrangement that included Church services in Glendale, AZ and then another in Dallas before interment in the DFW National Cemetery in Grand Prairie, TX. This encompassed a period of 10-14 days to achieve. His wife Cynthia still had to make many decisions, but the hard choices had already been laid out. Though I was not a part of any of these arangements, I have recently been involved with other family members forced to confront these difficult decisions. I know it is not easy, but it certainly is less challenging when pre-arrangements have been made. Such as it was, Mike’s journey would take the better part of two weeks to accomplish. None of his kinship, except his wife, was in Arizona so the service there was for business acquaintances, fellow retirees and friends from the local church and Knights of Columbus organization.  His kin would be at the service in Dallas.

The real challenge was getting on the schedule for burial at DFW National Cemetery. It is a typical bureaucratic process requiring coordination from the local mortuary and following all the stipulations of the federal government. The first celebration of his life was completed in Glendale and then Mike was accompanied on his final 1100 mile journey by a fellow serviceman to Dallas. Upon arrival, arrangements were finally determined to schedule the sacraments at the church in Dallas.  The graveside service at DFW National Cemetery would be the following week. And thus began my preparations for the long trek that I would take to honor my brother and rekindle my bonds with my family.

Mike had asked Cynthia to have me deliver a eulogy in his behalf. The burden and the honor weighed heavily on my heart, but I prayed for God to strengthen my emotions and guide me to say the right words. My heart was heavy with grief and though I had sung at funerals, I had never worded a eulogy before.  I had no desire to speak at the funeral, but I would honor my brother’s request.

My wife Cheryl and I determined to drive the almost 1200 miles from Greensboro, NC to Dallas. With the two of us swapping out on driving, we should have been able to make the drive in about 20 hours. We also had to crate our two yorkies and take them with us. It was the first week in March and though winter storms and rain appeared likely on the northern route, the southern route looked like a more agreeable option. I called my granddaughter in Asheville and asked if she would like to accompany us on the journey. She welcomed the opportunity to visit her Mom and other family members in Texas. She arranged to have a friend take her to a stop near Charlotte, so we could pick her up enroute. I serviced the car and worked on the eulogy, eventually re-writing it a half dozen times. Finally, God gave me peace that I had the right words, it would be a question of whether I could deliver them honorably.

Cheryl and I determined to leave early on a Tuesday morning, pick up Taylor at Gastonia and spin down our path to Texas by midnight. Our destination was Burleson, TX where my other brother Ted lives. He advised that the weather was holding good but a front was expected late in the night. We managed to avoid the early morning rush in Charlotte and cruised through the non-rush hour traffic on the Atlanta perimeter loop. By the time we reached Alabama we ran into some occasional rain but we were making good time. I was alert, so Cheryl let me drive to South Carolina before she took a turn at driving. She continued through Georgia and Alabama and then I resumed driving in Mississippi. We hit the first rains around Jackson and as darkness fell, the storms became heavier and our pace was slowed significantly. After filling up in Shreveport, we drove into very heavy bands of showers and the traffic moved forward at a snail’s pace. Cars were pulled over because they couldn’t see adequately through the blinding rain.

In addition, our weather access on our phones was warning that the DFW Metroplex was under a winter snow advisory. Strange that we had picked the southern route, but the gods of winter had reached down as if to show us that we couldn’t escape. As we drove through Marshall and Longview, I suggested that maybe we should get a room and wait out the storm. We decided that we were so near that even if the weather turned worse, we could get accomodations in the Dallas area.

As midnight approached, we arrived on the eastern outskirts of Dallas, just as the snow began. It was light at first, but as the temperatures dropped it became a blinding blizzard whipped along by 25-30 mile per hour winds. It was pitch black, the highway disappeared and the snow began to freeze on the windshield wipers. I could only tell where the road bed was by the bridge guard rails. My speed was reduced to under 20 mph. Cars were peeling off right and left but we were only 40 miles from Ted’s house, and we had already traveled 1100 miles. I pulled over and put the SUV into 4-wheel drive and then I managed to get behind an 18 wheeler and drive in his ruts through the snow. As he plunged into the teeth of the storm, I managed to maneuver behind him as a running back behind a lead blocker. I silently prayed that he would continue to the same place I was going. It was not to be. After a few miles, he too turned off to escape the storm. Now I peered into blinding snow and a carpet of white covering what had been an interstate highway. Though the defroster was working at top speed, the wipers were covered in a thick layer of ice and my vision through the windshield was becoming more obscured.

It became very quiet in the car, like a group of monks in a monastary. I think maybe we were all holding our breaths and afraid to breathe. I made an executive decision and it was not necessarily the wisest choice; I turned off at the very next exit because I couldn’t see the road. I crawled along the narrow channel that suddenly elevated to one of those infamous Texas single lane bridges that remind you of a Six Flags roller coaster. The further we travelled, the higher the bridge elevated and the more vicious the storm became.  At the pinnacle of the bridge I repeatedly muttered, “This is not good……This is….. not good”, but there was nowhere to stop. Cheryl and Taylor silently gazed out the windows and estimated how far we would drop before we crashed. The whiteout continued with nothing but blinding snow and the wind whistling around the SUV. Finally we crested and began the downslope to wherever this road led. The first thing I found was a fast food place that was locked up tight, but I was able to pull into the parking lot and beat the ice off the wipers. This helped to drive a couple of blocks and discover a convenience store where I could top off the gas tank.

By now it was after 1am and we were obviously not going to make the last 35 miles to Ted’s house, so I drove through the virgin snow of the parking lot to the entrance of a Best Western Inn. I couldn’t get under the sheltered entrance, but I pulled the front of the SUV into shelter and Taylor and I eagerly jumped out of the car. I think we were just grateful to be off the bridge and safely on the ground again. The night manager advised us that he and every other motel/hotel in S Dallas were full and had no vacancy. I asked if we could stay in his lobby and he said no, but we could come and use the rest rooms or get coffee as we needed. I thanked him and went back to share this exiciting news with Cheryl who was still with the dogs in the car. Now it was 2am and needless to say, we were all exhausted in every way. I again made an executive decision to ride out the storm, and the night, right where we were. We would sleep in the car and use the facilities as generously offered. Having just filled up the tank, I kept the car heated with frequent engine crankups at half hour intervals. I don’t know if any of us really slept, but we managed something akin to rest over the next four hours.

The sun rose brilliantly, the snow had stopped in the night,  we could see, so we decided to venture back on our journey. We scheduled a rendevous with Taylor’s Mom and she picked up our precious cargo and took her home. Cheryl and I wandered through a malaise of snow covered streets and eventually  landed back on the interstate headed for Ted’s house. We finally reached Burleson around 8am. We said our greetings and then excused ourselves to pass out and recoup some lost sleep. It had been a rather long adventurous journey and we were thankful that we weren’t in a snowbank in S Dallas.

The funeral service was the following day so we were able to rest adequately and plan for the poignant ending to my brother’s sojourn. The church service was mid-morning and the graveside service was scheduled for early afternoon. Catholic sacraments are a beautifully orchestrated pageant that elequently tie our carnal nature to the infinite nature of an eternal God. I was touched by the simple beauty and the majestic performance of the sacraments.

God answered my prayers and gave me the grace to speak the words on my heart.  I hope that those whom I love were comforted as I shared fond memories of my brother Mike. We bade our brother goodbye and then shared fellowship with those who remain and we love dearly. (Betty Joyce, Steve and Elaine’s travails to get to the funeral is another story that should be told) The graveside service was touching and filled with honor for one who served his country during a time of war. The National Cemetery is a beautiful setting that teems with respect for the honorable dead. I am happy that he is there, and deservably so. His voyage was complete, may he rest in peace.

We stayed an extra day so we could visit with Mendy & Taylor, Darren & Kristofer, David & Kodi and three of their children. The little ones grow so fast and our visits are infrequent. Ted’s and Fay’s daughters dropped by and we all enjoyed fellowship with family. After a few hours, we bade them goodbye with hugs and kisses and waved as they drove away. It was not home, and it was not for the right reasons, but it was a great visit, even under the circumstances.

The following morning we packed up the dogs and picked up Taylor from Mendy on the interstate near where we were stranded for the night. It was a beautiful sunny day and there was no trace of snow anywhere. We left early in the morning and started the reverse migration. East Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina and then North Carolina. This time we took Taylor back to Asheville. I started driving and then switched off with Cheryl in Louisiana and she drove the rest of the way home. The return trip was lengthened by a couple of hours as we routed from South Carolina through Asheville. By the time we arrived in Greensboro, we had been on the road for almost 24 hours. It was all we could do to keep each other awake. Finally we made it back home; It had been a long, long journey that drained every aspect of our beings, physically and emotionally.

But isn’t that what life is. A series of journeys that we carefully orchestrate and then God steps in and throws a curve ball when we were expecting a fastball. We go from month to month and year to year thinking that we have it figured out. We know what life is all about, we know what’s around the corner, we know how to deal with our adversity. But we don’t. I think the beauty of life is not knowing what is ahead, not knowing what lies beyond the bend, not knowing what God has in store for us. The real beauty is trusting God to lead us when we are blinded in a snow storm, trusting Him to give us the strength to finish the journey, trusting Him to give us the important words to say when they need to be said. Whether it be a jaunt across the globe or a lifelong passage to our heavenly home, our lives are a long, long journey that end with going home. Home, where our loved ones wait for us, where eternity beckons us to sit at the Father’s feet. You always like to go home.

For there are two heavens, sweet,

Both made of love, - one, inconceivable

Ev’n by the other, so divine it is;

The other, far on this side of the stars,

By men called home.

-          Leigh Hunt   -

Hebrews 13:14

II Corinthians 5:6-8

Written by David Warbritton expressly for the Warbritton family.