by Karen Ball
A room for bad news.
I’ll never forget the sadness on his face as he turned to my dad. “Your wife has developed pneumonia on one side. Her blood pressure is dropping, her kidneys are slowing, she’s unconscious. We’ve got the oxygen wide open, but it’s not helping.” He looked at us. That final kind of look that you know isn’t going to change, no matter how much you cry and rant and rave. No matter how much you plead. “I’m sorry. She’s not going to pull through this.”
I sat there. Stunned. Broken. Angry. Desperate.
Helpless.
I wanted to crawl away somewhere and scream. Instead, we nodded. Said thank you. Then we went back to the waiting room. The doctor came in about fifteen minutes later and suggested we go home for a short time. That they had some further tests to do before we could see her and we’d be more comfortable at home.
“Can we see her before we go?”
I was glad Dad asked that. I’d wanted to but was afraid. Thankfully, Dr. Campbell let us go in. Just for a minute. Dad did get Mom to rouse slighty one time. Dad and I were holding her hands, and she squeezed our hands to say she heard him, but when we left, she was unresponsive.
The doctor walked us out of the ICU. “Come back in an hour.”
So here I am, writing you because I can’t think of what else to do. They can’t say how much time Mom has left, or if she’ll ever come to again, but we’re losing her. Probably soon.
Once again, I’m not sure what to ask you to pray, other than for God’s will and mercy. Mom fought long and hard, but her body is so worn down…
I can’t imagine life without her, but I am so very grateful that, if we do say good-bye in this life, it won’t be forever. And I will long for eternity even more than I do now, because I know I’ll see her glorious, sweet smile and feel her arms around me again. I can’t wait for that day.
I can’t write anymore, but I want to thank you for all your prayers and care. I love you.
Faith
The hour came and went.
Faith, Zeke, and her dad came back, and Winnie met them at the double doors leading to the ICU. “I’m really sorry, but it will be another hour or so until you can come in.”
“She won’t—” Faith couldn’t make herself finish the question, but Winnie understood. Her eyes glistened as she shook her head. “No, she won’t die before you see her.”
Faith put her arm around her dad and led him to the ICU waiting room. She sat on the couch, staring but not seeing. Zeke sat beside her, silent, his arm firm and tight around her. Dad stood at the window of the waiting room, staring out at the hospital parking lot. Faith leaned into Zeke, wanting to say something to encourage and comfort her dad, but she couldn’t.
There weren’t any words.
Just a weary, sad silence.
A bustle of sound at the doorway jerked their attention that direction, but it wasn’t the doctor. It was another family coming in—an older woman and what looked to be her two adult children. They sat on the couch across from Faith and Zeke, the woman between the other two. She shredded a tissue in her trembling hands, looking from one of her children to the other.
“He was doing so well! I don’t understand …”
The man beside her shook his head. “Mom, there’s no explanation. Dad took a bad turn.”
“They were hitting him—”
“CPR, Mom.” The daughter stroked her mom’s arm. “They were doing CPR on him.”
The older woman stared at her hands. “What will I do without him?”
Faith choked back a sob. Father God, this could be us any time … Please, please help these people.
The too-familiar sound of the ICU doors opening and closing came and then footsteps. A doctor entered the waiting room, and Faith was ashamed at her relief when she realized it wasn’t Dr. Campbell.
The woman stood, going to him. “Is he …?”
The doctor took her outstretched hands, holding them. “I’m sorry. We worked on him for forty-five minutes, but he was gone.”
The woman dissolved into tears, and her children came to support her, to lead her back to the couch. Faith gripped Zeke’s hands, the doctor’s words hitting her almost as hard as it did the poor woman sitting there.
Just then, another man entered the waiting area. He went to the weeping family, introducing himself as the hospital chaplain. Faith and her father exchanged a look of relief. Here was help and comfort. Thank You, God. Give Him the right words.
He sat beside the grieving woman, talking with her. But as he talked, he offered no comfort, no promise of eternity. Rather, the man made light conversation. Chitchat. He even attempted a joke.
Faith wanted to slap him.
Finally, he asked if the woman wanted him to call her pastor, and she gave him the phone number.
Faith watched the man leave, then caught sight of her father. His features were drawn and troubled. He looked at Faith, then moved to the weeping woman’s side. Zeke and Faith stood and followed, and suddenly she understood.
Her father had wanted the chaplain to pray for the woman. And since the man hadn’t, her father—her introverted, usually reserved father—was stepping in. Tears stinging her eyes, Faith watched her dad kneel beside the weeping woman.
“Ma’am, forgive me if I’m intruding, but are you a believer? In Christ?”
She wiped her face and looked at him. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Well, I’m not a pastor, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to pray for you.” He looked at her son and daughter. “For your family.”
“Oh, yes!” The woman reached for Dad’s hands.
Without a word, Zeke and Faith knelt beside her father and placed their hands on the woman’s. Faith listened with growing awe as her Dad prayed.
“Most holy God, precious Father, help us. Our hearts ache with sorrow, our souls feel wounded by grief and loss. You know, Lord, what has transpired here. You know how lives have been forever changed. And You know what it is to lose one You cherish, one who is part of You.”
Faith struggled to hold back the sobs. “One who is part of you.” That’s what her mom was. Part of her. Part of her dad. How could they bear the loss?
“Please, Jesus, be with us, even now, in this very moment. Come to this woman and her family, loving God, and cloak them with Your peace, Your comfort. Speak healing to their broken hearts, hope to their sorrowing spirits. Help them to remember, God of eternity, that the good-bye is only temporary.”
Her father’s voice rang with such certainty that shivers skittered across Faith’s skin. Grief and fear couldn’t douse the truth. Indeed, as her father prayed, it was as though his words breathed the embers of her own shaken trust back to life. They shimmered, caught, and blazed through her, creating warmth and light that shone brighter than ever before, chasing the shadows from the dusty corners of Faith’s weary heart.
“One day we will be reunited with You, Father, and with those we love who knew You.”
Her dad’s voice choked, but Faith knew it wasn’t so much from sorrow as from anticipation. For she felt the same thing surging through her. What a day that would be!
“But right now, that day seems so far away. Help us endure. Grant us grateful hearts for the many gifts You give, for the memories of the love we have shared—and especially for the promise of the life to come. And during the coming days, as these, Your children, walk through the valley of the shadow of death, let them know You are there, beside them, loving them, guiding them.”
As You’re beside us. Thank You, Lord…
“We place them in Your hands, Almighty God, knowing there is no better place for them to be. Amen.”
Tears coursed down their faces when he finished, and Faith had never been quite so proud of her dad. There he was, in his own quiet way, reaching out in the midst of his own pain to minister to someone who was hurting.
If Faith had ever doubted her father had a heart governed by God’s love, she would never do so again. Yes, she was still
weary and afraid. Still painfully aware her mother was even in that very moment, slipping away from them. And yet…
Beneath it all, Faith sensed holy hands holding and comforting and guiding. God was there. He was with her mom. He was with them.
And that was sufficient.
thirty-one
“Why does it take a minute to say hello,
and forever to say good-bye?”
ANONYMOUS
“MR. BENNETT? FAITH?”
At the sound of Winnie’s voice, Faith, Zeke, and her father looked up from where they were sitting on the couch with friends from church. Don and Anita Clark, and Von and Marge Clark, two couples who had known Faith’s mom and dad since right after they were married. They’d been a part of Faith’s life for so long, they were like extended family.
She’d been so grateful to see them walk into the waiting room. She went to embrace them, thanking them for coming.
“We couldn’t be any place else,” Anita said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. They all sat together, talking, praying, waiting.
And, best of all, sharing memories of Faith’s mom.
Faith had been so engrossed in the stories she hadn’t heard Winnie come into the room. When she looked up and saw her there, Faith stood. As did her father.
Winnie smiled at them. “You can come see Mrs. Bennett now.”
Faith turned to their friends.
Marge nodded. “Go ahead. We’ll be right here when you come out.”
Faith, her dad, and Zeke followed Winnie into the ICU, to her mother’s room. The room was full of the sounds of machines. Blips and beeps, hissing oxygen. They had her mother on a machine that forced air into her lungs.
Faith went to one side of the bed, Dad to the other. Zeke stood beside Faith as she and her father each took one of her mother’s hands.
“Anne?”
It took all Faith’s strength not to break down and weep at the sound of her father’s voice, calling her mother.
“Annie, open your eyes, hon.”
Nothing.
Faith knew without a doubt if there had been any way her mother could do as her father asked, she would. She would never have refused that voice she adored.
But there was nothing. Not even a flicker of her eyelids.
“She’s not in any pain,” Winnie said. “She’s in a deep sleep. Her breathing will slow more and more, until …”
“Until it stops.”
Winnie nodded at Dad. “Yes.” She put her hand on Faith’s arm for a moment. “We’ll be right outside if you need us. I’m praying for all of you.”
Faith nodded her thanks, and when Winnie left, the room fell silent except for the sounds of the machines. After a moment, his gaze fixed on his wife’s face, Dad said, “We should sing to her.”
Faith bit her lip and nodded. Her mother loved to sing. Loved to hear Faith and her father sing. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Jesus … Jesus, help us.
Her eyes on his, Faith began to sing. All the old songs, the songs from her childhood. Songs they’d sung as a family for as long as she could remember. “This Little Light of Mine.” “Every Day with Jesus.” “Whisper a Prayer.” “Everybody Ought to Know Who Jesus Is.” “How Great Thou Art.”
On and on they sang, the words flowing around them, soothing their ragged spirits, the sound filling Faith’s ears and soul. She closed her eyes, focusing on the music, on singing the songs her mother loved.
On saying good-bye.
She didn’t know how long they sang. It was as though she was transported from that place of pain to a place of quiet and peace. And in the stillness of that place, one more song came to her. The last song they would sing.
“Shepherd of Love …”
The words came halting at first, then they flowed more smoothly, as though God Himself poured them from heaven into her heart that she might anoint her mother with the sound of His love.
As the last of the words faded into silence, Faith looked at her father. “Do you want some time alone with her?”
His eyes stayed on her mother’s face. “No. I already told her everything I needed to.” He looked at Faith. “Do you?”
She bit her lip, and he nodded. “We’ll be right outside.”
Tears burning, Faith waited. Then, when she was alone, she touched her mother’s face and poured out her heart. “I love you, Mom. I know you know that, but I wanted to tell you again. You were the best Mom in the world. You loved me the way no one else could. You fought for me, didn’t give up on me. And you prayed me back to life when I was lost.”
Her breath caught on a sob. “I’m so grateful you are my mom. Thank you for everything you taught me. Thank you for sharing your heart with me.” She clenched her teeth, knowing what she needed to say, forcing the words out though it tore her apart to speak them. “I know you don’t want to leave us. But it’s okay, Mom.”
Faith could scarcely talk through her tears. How was it possible to feel two years old and a hundred years old at the same time? “I love you, Mom. I’ll miss you every day of my life.” She squeezed her mother’s hand, laid her head on her mother’s chest, and let the tears flow.
When her tears were spent, she lifted her head and pressed a kiss to her mother’s soft cheek, then walked from the room and into her husband’s waiting arms.
It was time.
Faith and her dad stood there, holding her mom’s hands. Zeke stood close by, watching. Praying. Winnie had come in and turned off the machine that had kept Mom’s body breathing.
“What will happen now?”
She looked at Dad, answering his question in an even tone. “Her breathing will slow. You’ll see the numbers drop on the oxygen monitor. When they get below sixty, it won’t be long.”
Faith’s dad nodded.
They stood there, watching. Bit by bit, the movement of Mom’s chest slowed. Faith’s gaze went from her mom, to the monitors, then back to Mom again. The numbers on the oxygen monitor kept dropping.
75. 71. 66. 64…
“It’s okay, Annie. My sweet Annie.” Dad held her hand to his chest. “I love you. I’ll always love you. It’s okay to go …”
Faith’s throat constricted. She wanted to cry out, to beg God to stop what was happening. But she couldn’t.
62. 61. 59.
She reached trembling fingers to touch her mother’s curls. Smooth them. Stroke them away from her sweet face. “Go to sleep, Mommy.” Faith’s whisper was ragged. “Rest now. I love you. Go to sleep.”
With one final whoosh of air, it was over.
Faith’s mom was gone.
Her father choked, tears streaming down his face. “Oh … oh …” He broke down, his sobs tearing at Faith’s heart.
Faith laid her mom’s hand on her still chest, and then she and Zeke moved as one to embrace her dad.
They stood there, weeping, until Dad took a gasping breath and straightened. “Let’s go. I need to go home.”
Faith nodded. She gripped his hand as they walked from the room, allowing herself one final glance back at the still form that used to house the center of her universe.
thirty-two
“Forsaking All I Trust Him. Now that is FAITH.”
ANONYMOUS
From: FaithinHim
To: TheCoffeeCrew
Sent Saturday, April 23, 2005
Subject: Homecoming!
Surely, there is rejoicing in eternity tonight because one of the sweetest, funniest, kindest, most loving, most encouraging, most godly women who ever walked this earth has passed from mortality to immortality. Mom fell asleep in Jesus this evening, around six-thirty.
This whole day seems unreal, and yet I know it’s true. Mom is gone. Even writing that makes me shake my head. I think I held out a sliver of hope that she would rally, that we’d all be looking back on this time saying, “Whoo, yeah. Remember how we thought we were going to lose you? Man, am I ever glad you made it through that.” And yet…
God is
good. He is faithful. And He has been with us through this horrible, wonderful day.
He was with us early this morning, when the doctor called and said we needed to come, that Mom was not doing well. He was with us when dear friends—friends who are like family—from the church came to sit and weep with us. He was there in the hearts and kind spirits of the nurses who cared for Mom and for us, in my friend, Winnie, who God used to bless me in both childhood and adulthood. He was with us when the doctor told us Mom wasn’t going to make it. He was there when I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and wept.
He was there when Dad, Zeke, and I were in Mom’s room in the ICU, holding her hands, and we started to sing her favorite choruses and hymns for her one last time.
And He was so clearly there in the way the last hour unfolded. As her breathing and heartbeat slowed, I stroked her hair and whispered, “Go to sleep, Mommy. It’s okay. I love you. Go to sleep …” And she did, her hands held by those who cherished her, anointed by our tears, cradled in the arms of the One who called her His own.
Anne Marie Bennett may only have walked this earth for sixty-nine years, but she will be a part of us forever. And I will never stop thanking God for the gift of this woman, this mother, who was a blessing every day of my life. If ever I have done you a kindness, know that it was because of my mother. If ever I have been a blessing to you, know that it comes from all that my mother gave and taught me. She was one in a million. I’m so glad she was mine.
Thank you, dearest friends, for your prayers and notes. I will let you know when the memorial service will be held.
Until then, if you still have your mother in your life, go tell her how very precious she is to you. And give her a hug from me.
I love you.
Faith
The
Solid Rock
“It won’t collapse,