I’ve been pondering the concept of miracles, and how often they occur in our lives. If only we’ll keep our eyes open to seeing them. It’s not the miracles that stop, but so often our sight is blinded (by grief? pain? depression? busy-ness?) that we fail to acknowledge them.
I was recalling some of the small, but miraculous, tender mercies that occurred during the past year for our family. How the timing of some things was so carefully orchestrated even though it may have taken me a while to recognize. Some were so incredibly personal, like the time I had a few new clients and assessments come out of the blue and the difference I earned that month was the exact amount, to the dollar, that we lost from Kendall’s income when he couldn’t work. Or again, when the option to cash out some stocks from work was EXACTLY the amount we needed for an upcoming bill, right when we needed it. It felt like Heavenly Father was telling us, over and over, that He was aware of us and we were going to be taken care of even if we didn’t know HOW things would work out. (A lesson I need to remind myself of often now, as I can’t see exactly how things will work out financially for our family but I do trust they will somehow.)
Or surely it wasn’t an accident that Kendall passed away on March 24th, the very day his first social security payment went through and assuring our kids’ survivor benefits would remain intact. If he had died even one day earlier it would have made a lot of things more complicated.
I have a story that I wasn’t sure if I would share publicly. To me it felt like such an amazing tender mercy, but I don’t know if it will seem silly (or irreverent?) to anyone reading this. As a big Marvel fan, Kendall was excited about the launch of the series “WandaVision” on Disney+. We watched the first two episodes together right before Kendall was admitted to the hospital that last time for his bone marrow transplant, and then for several subsequent Fridays (when new episodes would air) I would bring my laptop and we would watch it together in his hospital room as a pseudo-date.
Until Kendall became too ill to watch, that is. We had two episodes to go until the end of the season, but by that point his condition had deteriorated drastically and was quite critical. After many essentially nonresponsive days, in my constant running dialogue I kept up so Kendall would know I was there and what was going on, I asked him if he wanted me to wait to watch the last two episodes of “WandaVision” (it was, after all, becoming increasingly difficult to avoid spoilers). In a startling moment of clarity he opened his eyes, made eye contact with me, and gave me a clear head nod (he was intubated at the time and unable to speak). !!!!! Surprised, and unsure if he could have really understood the question, I then asked if he was OK with me watching it without him. With that same direct eye contact he gave a definitive shake of his head before falling back asleep.
Needless to say, after that I felt obligated to wait for him! As we went through the various ups and downs of the next few weeks, I would periodically bring up “WandaVision.” But every time I asked he would indicate he didn’t want to watch it (TV of any sort was too overstimulating for him). Fast forward to the day before Kendall passed away. He had an amazing day. Many of his numbers were back in a more normal range (for the first time in months), and he was able to interact and talk more with me. When I once again asked if he wanted to watch an episode of “WandaVision,” this time he said yes. Between therapies we were able to get through the second to last episode and even start the very last episode before it was time for me to go. It felt like such a good sign that things were finally turning a corner.
You know, of course, how things changed so drastically that night. I wouldn’t get to hear Kendall speak again, or even see him awake. It was such a gut-wrenchingly hard day, making the decision to go off life-support, having the kids come to say good-bye, orchestrating final phone calls with family (which I’m positive he was aware of), and the myriad of other details and decisions. Doing the next thing and not sure how I was even managing it, but somehow being carried through it.
When they did finally take Kendall off all of his life support machines and medications (which took 45 minutes, he was hooked up to so many things), it was just me with him. No nurses, no beeping machines, no one else. The medical staff had said that it probably wouldn’t be very long after that before Kendall passed. I said my final piece to him, gave him permission to go, and then…..nothing. Waited. No change. Two hours later it was still just me, and I was starting to feel an urgency to be with the kids who I knew were hurting and needed their mother. Yet terrified to leave for any reason, in case I wasn’t there when he passed.
When suddenly I remembered that we hadn’t finished that last episode of “WandaVision.” I knew I would never be able to watch it on my own after Kendall had been so adamant about wanting to watch it with me. So I crawled into the bed with him, and we watched the last episode. Mere minutes after it ended, he quietly passed away.
What makes this story even more impactful, if you’re not familiar with the show “WandaVision,” it is about the main character’s personal journey through grief, and coming to a place at the end where she can let go of the people she loves. I’d actually been warned that it was going to be emotional to watch, but you know, it wasn’t. At least not in a bad way. It was just beautiful, and so appropriate, and actually seemed to help me through those moments that could have been so frightening and isolating. The memory is tender, but also makes me smile because it was all so, so Kendall. And it felt like a final gift he was giving me, offering support in a way that he couldn’t otherwise physically give in those difficult moments.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to watch “WandaVision” again (I haven’t been able to watch anything Marvel that’s come out since then, but maybe someday), but that show was truly a blessing in my life. And yes, miracles are real, even amidst the tragedies of our lives. Maybe even especially amidst them.