Life is a Precious Gift
September 5th marks the fourth anniversary of my friend Paula’s death.
September 7th marks one month since my Aunt Thelma died.
My first essay was soon after Paula died. After the service and after everyone went back to their lives, I felt that I had more to say and so I wrote Paula and Phyllis (Our Story of Friendship, Love and Support). That first essay was very helpful to me. It consisted of nine pages of telling our story. I find that the worst part of losing someone close is the sense of being alone – I hate being alone with myself. When I write, I am not alone. I tie myself into the story and I point out God, as I perceive Him, in each and every essay I write.
Recently I sat next to a widow at the wake of a friend’s sister. She confided in me that she likes being alone (after taking care of an ill mother and an ill husband); “but I hate being lonely.”
My essay Legacy was the first one that I sent to Thelma’s email. Paula and I had often asked each other “What will be my legacy?” In it I wrote:
One of my hang-ups as a kid was that I thought that everything should last; nobody should die; nothing should be discarded or thrown away (I guess I still feel that way). The thought that friends of mine that I cared about very deeply are gone saddens me (“they were important to me!!”).
When I think of Paula, I think of the many times we talked about the spiritual angle from many different perspectives. (I was reading yesterday from a journal entry from 2011. She had described some of her spiritual journey and then made the comment – “that Higher Power is as real as the breath I breathe and closer than my hands and feet”).
My Aunt Thelma and my Uncle Frank have been recipients of these essays for some time. I will miss Thelma’s thoughtful responses. The last response, to an essay, I received from her was from her iPhone on July 15th. It simply read “Love your spiritual journeys. Help me through this.”
It is with a similar need to express my feelings that I sit and write this essay. I may send this to new people (people who gave me their addresses at Thelma’s funeral) – yes I warned them about me.
Earlier in the summer when I called Thelma, she mentioned to me she missed the religious crusades of Billy Graham. (She felt that his crusades were what our country needed – the simple message of repentance through acceptance of Jesus Christ).
From one of Thelma’s email correspondences:
“I love this one. “Just as I Am”. What a thought. Poor, wretched soul. And, God gave His son. For me!
I remember Billy Graham Crusades. That was the invitation song at the end of every service. And hundreds of the thousands of people who were there would be walking the aisles to accept God’s forgiveness. Frank and I wonder if such an awakening will come again. Sometimes it seems our world is too “wretched”. But, with God, are there degrees of wretchedness? I don’t think so.”
When I got the call that Thelma was gravely ill, I found myself listening to YouTube videos of old Crusades, interviews and talks -(the oldest I watched was from 1957). Before Dad and I flew down, I downloaded one of Billy Graham’s books – Nearing Home: Life, Faith, and Finishing Well. One of the repeating themes is that we can all agree on one thing – one thing is certain:
“…this life is finite and will come to an end. Our physical body will die.” I found the book comforting. It seems to me that life is most precious when all the living is done and all that is left is our love – God’s love.
After Paula was diagnosed with terminal cancer, she and I often discussed death and what comes afterwards. She would confide in me her thoughts at the end of her husband’s, Johnny, life. She would describe the hurt and anger that comes from knowing that he was sick and that he was going to leave her alone. But then when the time was measured in hours, instead of weeks and months, she described its Majesty – being witness to the interaction of Johnny and his Higher Power – a love that transcends death.
I am amazed at how my Uncle Frank included all the family and his closest friends to be a part of Thelma’s death. The day before she died, Frank traveled to each of her siblings to discuss her condition. Frank and my dad poured over all of the doctor’s notes that were on file, to make sure that they were making the best decision for Thelma. (He placed a beautiful picture of Thelma on her bed, so that the hospital workers would see the person and not only the patient). Various chaplains came to the bedside and we prayed together. During the entire process, God’s love could be felt. (Frank got Thelma safely to the finish line).
Frank had confided in me that his greatest fear was dying first and not being able to be there for Thelma. Thelma’s niece, Linda, confided in me that it was also Thelma’s biggest fear (not being there for Frank). I suspect that Thelma will be by Frank’s side when he draws his last breath.
I would share with Paula my own views at the end of my mother’s life. My mother had a stroke and heart attack which caused dementia. A few years later, she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I have many funny stories of navigating a mother with no ability to have short term memories through the health care system. One of my favorite stories is when we met with the experts at Yale. I had written a note to the doctor, to talk with me privately; but this goes against their teachings. So, he held her hand and told her that she had stage 4 cancer. She cried a little, but then forgot what he said. In the car going home, she knew something bad had happened, but could not figure it out. By the time that we got to her house, she decided that I must have stolen all her money. (This would account for her feeling bad). We got into the house, as mom escalated into a full temper tantrum. Georgina, our aide, said that she needed to go downstairs; I went upstairs to use the bathroom. When I got downstairs, there was a bowl of ice cream in front of a smiling mom – ice cream fixes all problems.
I loved my mom.
I did everything in my power to take care of her.
My best and the best doctor’s care wasn’t enough to prevent her death.
I have come to believe to the core of my being:
Life is not a right, Life is not a choice, but Life is a Precious Gift from God.
All Are Welcome in my Father's House 