I have a friend who is dying. It makes it all the more real by just typing it out. Since I met her a couple of years ago, she was candid about her six-year battle with cancer. And, I knew upon meeting her that she was not only a special person, but a real one. We clicked right away and felt like we had known each other a long time.
She is a mutual friend of my best friend and I. We don't know quite how to process it all. Literally seeing her have no strength to stand after a chemo treatment was nothing in comparison to what we have seen the last week after 3 strokes have ravaged her.
Yet she still smiled and let us know that she was glad we were there. There is nothing more difficult than trying to make small talk with someone who is not only gravely ill, but not able to really respond much. We tried to be encouraging, smile and not let her on to the pain that we were feeling. We assured her of our love and support and that we would help in any way we could (meals, prayers, driving her children to events, etc.)
I have asked "why" many times. Why would a woman who is needed so much by her family (she has an 8th grade son and a profoundly disabled daughter who she dutifully has taken care of around the clock for 20 years) be taken so soon? I have also asked when is enough enough? When will her suffering end?
That answer came last night when we were advised that her husband was signing the paperwork for hospice care. It is happening.
I have never experienced quite anything like this before. I have had relatives who have been ill, but the onset was usually sudden and the outcome quick. She has told us many times over the recent months that she was trying to get "things in order." It hurt everytime I heard that. It is unfathomable to me that she would know that she wouldn't see her son go to high school, college or get married. How difficult must it be to consider what will happen to her daughter without her constant care. I cannot imagine her strength and determination to keep on fighting, even after two hospitals told her to contact hospice, but she found a doctor who would try. She underwent radical, aggressive chemotherapy these last months that took their toll on her. Yet, she continued to be active in 4-H, care for her home, raise and support her kids, be a wonderful wife and teach several college classes a semester. I admire that strength. I need to tell her that. Soon. I wouldn't have blamed her if she would have given up a long time ago. Many of us would have. She has a physical and emotional strength that I could not imagine having in similar circumstances.
Although I haven't known quite what to pray for, I have prayed. And, through all of this prayer, I have learned a few things. I have learned that there is a peace that comes from complete and total trust in the Lord-- giving it all to Him. I had to since I just couldn't handle it without Him. When in church the other day with my kids, I felt a peace that I hadn't ever felt before. It was like Him telling me, "I've got this." It doesn't make it hurt any less, though. I can only be consoled that even Jesus, when learning of his friend Lazarus' death, cried. He was mourning a friend, too. He has shared personally in what I am feeling.
I have also learned that the little things do not matter. As my legs hurt from going up and down the steps countless times doing wash, I now realize that it is a blessing. I wonder how much my friend would love to have sore legs from doing wash right about now. Whether or not there is something out of place, needing a bit of cleaning, the growing laundry pile or a million other things, it really doesn't matter, does it? This woman is dying. I bet she would give anything right now to have more time with her children or be worrying about what wasn't added to the shopping list. I'm sure she would love to be able to sweep up crumbs on the floor rather than lying on her death bed. That makes it real to me. It slaps you in the face.
Life is too short. She is only 67 years old. That is young in the scheme of things. Is it worth it to complain, be angry, be petty when our days are numbered, too? We may not know exactly when like she does, but we should never take for granted how many days we may have left. Shouldn't we be cherishing every day as if it were our last? Perhaps we all need to remember people who are suffering, dying or alone and be grateful for what we have. I am deliberately trying to be more joyful, to finding the good in every situation and being grateful for every moment that I have my family, my health and my life. I think my friend would want it that way.
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