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, many of you have already heard the latest on Paul through Facebook. For everyone else, here's the scoop:

In my last post, I mentioned 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 to Buffalo.

So the three of us are staying at Paul’s childhood home in Oshkosh, Wisconsin where he has entered Hospice care.

We have long considered making Oshkosh Paul's final resting place on this Earth. After observing 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 traveled 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 attention. So I boarded my return flight solo, the empty seats on either side of me stinging reminders of the rotten week ahead. 

Originally, the plan was to hit up Orlando after our Wisconsin trip. But instead of scoring autographs from Elsa and Anna, I would be spending the week selecting tasteful memorial cards and scouting out prime burial plots. 

Which—have you ever done that? Shopped for burial plots, I mean. 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. Maybe that's dramatic, but as someone who weeps while putting baby clothes in storage, well, you can see how troubling 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 many prayers and well wishes being said on our behalf. That or my meds are triggering some choppy mood swings. Hard to say. Let's go with the former.

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