hold on to your bippy

When I was little, my mom-mom, when she was driving over a bump, or a hill, would say "hold on to your bippy"   -- I imagine a bippy is a tummy?  No idea.  I never asked, I always just readied for whatever was she was about to navigate in the station wagon, with the wood trim.

As an adult, it might have helped if I had someone in my ear, whispering "hold on to your bippy", so I'd have been prepared (even, semi) for some of what life has thrown at me (us).   Maybe I could have braced myself?  I doubt it, but it's a neat thought, and it's nostalgic.

But, if I can use just one word that meant all the difference these past 6 years, I say ..FAMILY.
Our family pulls together, in a moments' notice and we don't hesitate or ask questions.
We've run to hospitals in the middle of the night, or early morning. We've loaded up the car with tacos and twisted teas, and headed to my sister's after a breast cancer diagnosis.   We've sat in waiting rooms, waiting for one of us in surgery.   We've accompanied each other to tests, appointments,etc.
Not all of which were favorable.   In fact, few were.  This last time we banded together, we all packed up our overnight bags and went to Samaritan Hospice the day the night that Dad was admitted in the middle of the night.  We stood outside, waiting to be let in, like a bunch of weirdos in the night.  I don't know if I would have let us in. HA!      We set up camp in my Dad's room, from Thursday until Sunday, when he decided it was alright to go.  

Our living space for the weekend

We ordered out, we prayed together, we laughed.  Oh how we laughed.  And I know that sounds strange but that's our family.   I'm sure that Dad could hear our laughter and it made his heart full.  Maybe even put him at ease, knowing that he would soon leave us earth side, while he went on to see his parents and other loved ones.
Without our family, life would be a hell of a lot harder to get through. Funny things just always happen - no matter the circumstance. But that seems to be what gets us through.  I imagine, to those looking in from the outside, it may seem unusual to hear laughter coming from a hospice wing.  But the truth is, however you get through it, is your own business.   We had a funny joke that Dad was so competitive, he outlasted everyone else in his hallway that weekend.  He really did.  Then there was the time, my brother and I, half asleep and coffee deprived, made a pot of coffee in the family kitchen, NOT knowing that it was full already.  Those pots are so deceptive!

Home of the great coffee catastrophe!

So, yeah, that ended up all over the counter and floor.   All I can remember is Maya feverishly grabbing paper towels and trying to clean it up as fast as she could!  Oh my gosh, did we laugh. 
It was not an easy weekend, and it was difficult knowing that it was our last with Dad, but I think it was a gift, of sorts, that we were all able to be there and spend it with him.  He couldn't talk to us, but he knew we were there.   I can tell you, it is not an easy thing knowing your parent is dying and you're just sitting there, bedside, and waiting.  Wishing it weren't happening, but knowing that they're at peace and comfortable.   That was our first experience with hospice, but in a strange way, it was a really positive experience, as opposed to a sudden death, and not being afforded the chance to be there and say goodbye.   It was an entirely different experience, than losing my Mom.. and maybe why it didn't destroy me the same way.  One word: peace.   Hard to explain in full, but trust me on that.