What Comes Around . . .

OK . . .

Skipping over comments about the delay in writing. And going on . . .

Yesterday I had an experience for the second time of my life. I sat in a room with someone dieing of cancer.

If you refer to my archive of about a year ago you will see the blog of my mom's passing. It was almost a year ago. Around 10am Christmas day. My mom gave up the earthly fight to the same formidable foe. It was a time that change my life forever as well as my relationship with my dad and my role as a son. That is a blog for another day.

Her name is Wendy. I think she is a bit younger than my mom. She has cancer that I think originated in the lungs and just recently they have found it in her hip. Right now she is living with her mom (of 80 years) because she owns a one floor condo type apartment. Wendy can't traverse stairs. She is confined to a walker and sitting on a couch that is up on blocks so she doesn't have to bend so far down.

She spoke of patches for the pain. Mom had the same ones that were changed every 2-3 days. She would beg for a new one as the time period would expire. Then when she got a new dose she would collapse and sleep for a while. Then she would have a day in a half of feeling good. Then it was a downward spiral until the next dose.

The there were meds for "break-through" pain. That usually made her stomach quite sick just to add to struggle.

There were other things that were similar between mom and Wendy. The side table covered with the prescription bottles of this and that.

The occasional phone call that has to be taken in the other room and spoken in whispers . . . giving the daily report with family or friend in a way that doesn't upset the patient. Then returning wiping tears and blowing the nose. I remember we would take turns answering the phone so as to lightly the emotional load of giving the report yet again.

But the biggest thing that was similar was that feeling that we were all in the same room and looking at death. That sounded like it was meant to be scary. But in that room, and like the room with mom, it wasn't as scary as it was sacred.

Sitting in the room with my mom to me was a holy place. I felt at peace. Perhaps it was because I was helping and being a good son. But mostly I think it was the fact that I was sitting with my mom at the front door of heaven. We didn't know when the door was going to open and she was going to be ushered in. We were excited. We were impatient. We were nervous. We were scared. But it was a sacred place. As weird as it may sound . . . I found myself not wanting to be in any other place. I wanted to live in that shelter. I knew God was there. The place was thick with his presence. There were messes to clean, meds to prepare, there was pressure to get it done, there were even times of stress when the pain got too much and when the emotions got tightly strung. But it was peaceful. My faith was confined and grew in that room. God was at work. And he was using me.

Yesterday we sat in that second floor apt with Wendy and we gazed at death. Heaven's door probably wouldn't open for a few months yet. But that peace was there. All the other feelings were too. But peace at the fore-front. God was in that place. Questions, frustration, confusion all were lurking. Like Peter walking on the water. As long as we kept our eyes on the one who has called us out of the boat our surroundings seemed to stay at a peaceful bay.

I left there with tons of things to ponder. But I was struck by at home I felt. God is good. He prepared me for that moment. I was able to add and encourage. I am suited to pray. What comes around . . .

FWIW

Take it . . .