4.16.26 Aimee’s Last Earth Day

To begin with you must understand that we didn’t know this would be the last day. We knew that Aimee was getting closer, fading, but each day was a slow step and so we expected more slow steps. It was a beautiful day and part of its beauty was in the slowness, the unawareness of how little time we had. 

We canceled our plans for the day. It felt that we needed to be close. Ed and I had turns sleeping with Aimee through Thursday night. We cared for her together on Friday morning. In the late morning, a harpist volunteering through hospice came. She played her smaller size harp in Aimee’s room while watching Aimee’s face and keeping time to her breath. Each of us created art or wrote letters to Aimee while hearing the music. It was a sweet experience. 

We spent all day around Aimee, just being with her. She was slightly responsive. Raising her eyebrows in response to conversation. Her heart rate was highly erratic though and her temperature was oddly (for her) high, climbing through the whole day. 

In the afternoon, we did one of Aimee’s favorite activities together, a family chocolate facial. We used her special products. For a few of us, it was a first experience letting the cocao face mask pull dry on our cheeks. Lots of laughter. 

In the evening, we set up a table at the end of Aimee’s bed and played a game of 5 crowns. Louisa insisted that Aimee and her were on a team, showing her the cards as we went along. We took what would be our last family selfie together there. I spoke aloud my gratitude to be surrounded by our 5 children. 

Partway through the game we paused. It was 9:30pm and I felt strongly that each of the kids should have time one-on-one with Aimee before bed just in case. They each took turns alone with her saying goodbye and sharing their art/letters from that morning. Because we didn’t know it was so near to the end, we didn’t rush them. I am eternally grateful for the gentle, peaceful pace of that evening. At 11pm Caleb was the final sibling. As he finished his time, he didn’t want to leave her. We talked around her bed with him for a bit. Her heart rate had rapidly climbed and the pulse ox was struggling to pick up the rhythm it was so faint. We told him that we were going to put her in her favorite position and maybe her heart rate would come down some. 

Once Caleb left, Ed read her the letter he had written that morning while we each held her hands. We started doing midnight cares and placed her on her left side. We were both with her, both felt for her soft quick pulse. I took her temperature and it had soared so so high. Our hands were both on her as her heart beat stopped. 

There are so many little details about her final moments and day that we will keep sacred in our hearts, but I wanted to share a glimpse of how sweet it was that last day. We could never have laid it out better as a final day here for Aimee than it was. And dear Aimee, she was so gracious, as generously present as she had the capacity to be throughout her entire life and especially throughout her death. She let her light shine. She stayed purposefully through each sibling's time, waiting for Ed and I to be alone together with her. And now, she is shining her beautiful starlight into eternity. 

Aimee with her siblings a couple weeks earlier. 5 precious gifts. 

4.2.26 Grief

This time is oddly a combination of hollow and full. There is a thick fog around us of sorrow and a wrongness to each plan. Without Aimee here, every hour is different. The bones, the structure of our day is gone. The rhythm, the heartbeat of our family has stopped. She is no longer here. How can she be gone? There just aren’t words to describe the hole. 

Yet our days are filled with one big distraction: all of the medical stuff. We have communications organizing the pick-up of all these different companies’ equipment and machines, as well as the finalization of hospital plans, disposal of medications, funeral home direction, and nursing companies supplies. Canceling appointments and figuring out how to donate unused supplies and owned equipment. Even getting the death certificate has not been as smooth of a process as expected. Aimee was surrounded by a complicated torrent of needs that we suddenly don’t need. Things we have hoarded as back-ups or fought the insurance companies to cover or relied upon to stay safe at home, suddenly become just unnecessary stuff. It is hard not to feel like Aimee is being erased with each item. Each moment without her, we are farther from her. Her last loads of laundry. The tubing she used. The stethoscope still hanging by the ambu bag where we put it when she died.   

Her room is not often empty though. Her younger sister is frequently cuddled under Aimee’s blankets in her bed. Her brothers too or they sit next to it as we recall. We had gotten Aimee a digital photo frame for her birthday and we find ourselves sitting in her room just laughing and crying at the photos as they go by. Throughout the day we are calling for each other to come and see some picture or other. 

How can we go forward? Even the amazing things, like being able to go outside whenever we want or drive somewhere together, they even feel like a loss. The loss of limitations are like an emphasis that we no longer have Aimee here to plan around. And what hurts is to know that we will get used to it. 

In announcement style news, I have two for you:

Aimee’s memorial service will be held at Marysville Foursquare Church on April 25th at 3pm.

If you would like to donate to help us with Aimee’s end-of-life costs and memorial fund, there is a paypal link under the Support Us tab or there is a gofundme here: https://gofund.me/5f81252eb

Thank you for following along on Aimee’s journey with us this past 17 years. Every kindness has been a part of her story, every prayer and every gift and every heartfelt message. Thank you for being on Team Aimee Love.