When Death comes
sliding silently into the room
and plucks the essence
of those we love,
leaving only the shell,
yes, when Death comes,
people are kind.
They speak soft words,
like mourning doves.
They coo and they huddle,
in flocks, for comfort.
We dress our loved one
in the finest of robes.
The room is aromatic
with flowers.
We keep a candle lit,
and music always
playing.
We tell stories.
We remember.
We laugh and we cry.
When Death comes,
it reminds us
that we are
alive.
It tells us
how precious
and finite
this life is.
We are burying
this one man,
but our lives, too,
are slowly
slipping
away.
The sun has come out
to light
this pilgrim's path.
His dog looks at us
with sad eyes,
for her loved one
is gone.
We stand
respectfully silent,
as his widow weeps.
We dip our heads
as the bagpipes play
for the fallen soldier
beside his open grave.
But we must not forget
to lift our eyes
up and beyond,
to the hills,
to the wild blue heavens,
to track the flight
of an eagle
soaring Homeward,
remembering that,
while we still have breath,
all of this beauty
is ours,
each day
a new gift
to be opened.
Our lives
- our lives! -
are always
and only
on loan.
Well, kids, this morning was special. Faiza called me to come and be with her while the ambulance brought Bill home. When I got there, she had Christmas music on, all the lights were on to cheer the place, she had ordered a massive bouquet of flowers, enough for three vases, "to welcome Bill home", and the house was singing with joy.
While we were waiting, I told her the story of the woman who died and came back to life, that I posted the other day, and Faiza said she had chills listening.
The sun came out to celebrate the day, and Faiza pronounced, "Now we will all have a happy Christmas. I prayed to God from my heart, and He heard me. My beloved Bill is coming home." Faiza's faith is so strong and her heart so pure, I know God answers her prayers.
Lara, his faithful Doberman, stood on the sofa, nose pointed out the window, watching for him.
When they arrived, my heart sank. They rolled Bill out on the stretcher and his face was yellow, and pale. He looked grim. He was not able to weight bear at all, transferring from stretcher to wheelchair, or from wheelchair to his special recliner. I was worried. He is a big man and Faiza is tiny, under five fet tall.
Right after they got him settled, hooked up his oxygen, and left, Bill decided to go to the bathroom. He did manage to get up onto his walker and his tiny wife went right beside him, encouraging him, directing him to hold onto railings, helping him navigate. I fluttered alongside, moving tubes out of the way of their feet. (Now they both have to be extra careful not to trip over the oxygen tubes that follow him wherever he goes.) He made it, and I let my breath back out again when he was safely back in his chair. I suggested to Faiza that he try to make these bathroom trips when the home support people are in the house - they come four times a day. He really is not steady on his feet and the effort exhausted him. But knowing that he had to, and with Faiza's strong will for him to be home and okay, he somehow managed the feat.
When it was all right for me to leave, Faiza told me, "Your presence here was a blessing. I so deeply appreciate your coming." I told her it was a privilege to be there for Bill's homecoming.
Faiza has such faith, she needs Bill to be home so much, that I hope, for both their sakes, that Bill will manage being at home (where he smiled for the first time in 21 days).I pray they have a happy Christmas together.
But as I drove away, I was pretty worried.
