I'm not sure how long I've sat here in front of the computer wondering what to write and how to write it.
When Alan got home from his mission in August of 2011, he started volunteering at a local nursing home, making friends with most of the residents there. When I met him, I started going with him periodically. Now that we're married, we go together every time, unless one of us is sick. This is not something I'd ever think of doing myself, but I'm glad that Alan is a good enough man to get outside of himself and then drag me along. I've learned so much, felt God's love so immensely every time we go. I've been blessed every time I set foot inside those halls and get to hug those people. Because of finals and stuff, we've been unable to go as much as we'd like--the last time we went, I was sick and Alan just went by himself.
That was like 2 or 3 weeks ago.
Ina is a woman in her early 80's. She has lived a full life and survived her husband and her pet pig named Elvis. She lived in Alaska and was an airplane pilot! She has lots of stories to tell, and I love to go and sit next to her and listen to them. I love to see her smile and talk about the latest nail polish color she's got on. I love when she teases Alan. I love her long, thick, curly hair--it's incredible. We have tried to visit her every week, if possible. She doesn't really enjoy being at the nursing home, not able to be physically independent or self-reliant but still feeling perfectly healthy in her mind. Over the last few months, she has been getting sicker. She stopped eating a little while ago. When we come, we tell her silly stories and we bring her pictures and once I made banana bread to try and convince her to eat a little.
Yesterday, Alan and I went over to see her. As we walked towards her room, I got a little confused. Her name tag wasn't by the door. I figured they must have moved her rooms, so I started looking down the halls to see if we could see her or someone who would know where she was. Alan grabbed my hand and we stepped into the doorway of her room. The curtains around her bed were pulled closed, and none of her many pictures were on the wall. Her TV was still there, but there were boxes and empty hangers in the closet. I was still confused, a little bit in shock. Alan knew, but I couldn't bring myself to think it. He approached the lady in the bed next to Ina's, and asked if she knew where Ina was. She was honest and kind when she said "Ina passed away." I couldn't listen to anything else she said. My heart clenched tight and I just remember Alan and I walking out of her room silently. We left the nursing home without stopping to see anyone else.
Alan and I made it to the car and sat there for a little while, me wrapping my arms around him as I stared out the window, still a little bit in shock. It's not like I've never had anyone close to me pass away. I have. That doesn't mean it gets any easier. I remember my great-grandmother passing away when I was little. My mom told me and instead of feeling sadness, I felt numb, and then angry. How dare she leave me? I remember when a girl I knew in High School passed away a few years ago. My mom called me and I remember dropping the phone when she hung up, the silence pressing into my ears and my heart. I just sat there in shock. It wasn't until I was at her funeral, faced with her family and friends and my family and friends that I finally cried.
It wasn't until Alan and I got home that I snapped out of my shock and began to feel upset. The same thought ran through my mind over and over again: I should have been there the last time Alan went to see her. I should have been able to say goodbye. But I wasn't, I didn't, and I regret that.
I think life is like that. It's messy and it's unpredictable and we never know when our last chance is. I mean, Ina hadn't been feeling well for a while, so it wasn't really a surprise, but I still am struck by a deep sadness at the unexpectedness. I thought we'd have more time. Unlike Alan, I didn't guess before we came that she wouldn't be there.
Alan and I laid in bed for a little while together, speculating about where she is now. Her husband greeted her, along with all of the loved ones who'd left her behind in this life, we're sure of it. We're sure she's met our little ones and told them about her time with us. We're sure Alan's grandfather met her, too, and thanked her for the time she spent with Alan and the warmth she gave his heart.
The one truth about this life is that we are all born and we will all die. Throughout our lives, we walk the earth, we pass through time, we touch other lives. And then we move on. It's the natural, eternal progression of things. We must live our lives and we must die. But death is not the end. I feel it stronger now than could ever be possible under normal circumstances. Ina's life isn't over, though her time on this earth is. I imagined her at the feet of her Savior and Heavenly Father, feeling more love than she'd felt from anyone at the end of her mortal life. I imagined her in their arms, feeling safe and well and free.
I didn't get to say goodbye to her, but I know that someday I will see her again. She will be there with my loved ones when it's my turn to leave this mortal life. I will get to hug her and tell her that I'm sorry that I wasn't there. Last chances aren't last chances because of the Savior and his Atonement.
I feel the truth of Elder Uchtdorf's words when he said that "we are made of the stuff of eternity. Endings are not our destiny." I am grateful for that.
And I am grateful for Ina.
