For our sweet Bonnie, while she rests in a coma.
Hi, Bonnie…
The past couple weeks have been so surreal for me.
To be clear, the past couple weeks have been WAY MORE surreal for you. But, wow, it’s been a really weird time for all of us. Maybe writing you a letter will help me make sense of what’s going on.
Your hospital waiting room has been a painful and beautiful party. So many of your friends and family are all gathered together in one place. Every time I’m there, I look around at all their faces and think, “Bonnie would love this.”
Your mom is her usual sparkling self, even though she must be exhausted. She’s laughing a lot. Her inspiring faith has never shined more.
All your aunts are there, and they’re telling funny stories about getting lost in the hospital and losing their cars in the parking garage. (By the way, nothing tells me we need you back more than how hopeless some of us are at navigating hospital hallways and parking garages. Can you see how much we need your help with this, Bonnie?!)
Your Catherines are there, one in body and one in spirit. Hungary Catherine sends funny voicemails, and Hospital Catherine (along with Amanda) tells us the stories of them. Everyone loves the stories of these voicemails. I hope they save them for you to hear when you wake up.
Charles is exactly himself, and exactly whom you love. He is so calm, sincere, funny, and earnest. His close friends and family have surrounded him with love and prayer. They’re making sure he’s taking care of himself, but he seems to be doing a good job of that on his own. His genuine, patient faith shines in a crisis. I know you know that, Bonnie, but it’s inspiring to watch his determined care for you.
Also at this beautiful, horrible party are so many others you love. Lauren, of course, has been there whenever she can be. Your friends from church and your pastor come by to pray with you often. And so many others. Seriously. It’s been like some twisted Homecoming of Bonnie’s friends and family at the hospital.
When I’ve been in your room, and prayed with you, you’ve raised your eyebrows and seemed to almost blink. Surely this means you can hear me, right? Maybe you were saying, “Amen”?
Everyone who visits you seems to have a similar story, about you fluttering your eyes, about you moving your fingers and toes. We all are looking for meaning in your movements.
But in some ways, we’re also not looking for meaning. We’re learning lessons about unconditional right now. Sweet Bonnie, even now, you’re teaching us so much about how love really works.
Do we pray or not pray, depending on if you hear us? Of course not. Do you visit or not visit, depending on if you know we’re there? Nope. Will we only play your favorite music if you can hear it? Not a chance. Will we only kiss you if you can feel it? Or kiss back? Not at all. I think everyone’s kissing you whenever they can.
Even while you’re sleeping, sweetie, you’re teaching all of us that true love is so much more about giving than receiving.
Bonnie, you are always so present, so good at responding to love, so good at reciprocating. But right now, we’re able to shower you with unconditional love. No one is sitting with you because they expect something in return. Even when you have nothing you can give, beautiful Bonnie, we love you. This is a rare and beautiful blessing for each of us. One day, you’ll see all this. I know you will.
I can’t remember a conversation I’ve had with you for in the last ten years that you didn’t tell me, “I love you.” Hearing you say that and knowing you love me has always been so comforting to me.
But now, I have the opportunity to shower you with love, to tell you I love you, to show you I love you—and expect nothing in return.
Just like the past couple weeks, that is such a strange and beautiful blessing. And, yes, so so surreal.
I love you, Bonnie.
Tina
