First published November 12 2007
Every Thursday after service I visit a sister from my hall. She is 90 yrs old. At a glance she looks fragile, and old, sick and worn out. But she is no ordinary sister. She is one of the first Spanish speaking witnesses in the north Texas area. She has been here before any of us came around. She has stories that would amaze anyone.
I visit her every Thursday, sometimes we talk, sometimes we drink orange juice, sometimes I just drop off the weekly bouquet of flowers I take her. And when she’s weak sometimes we just sit. Her sunken eyes peer up over her glasses once in a while… looking over she’ll grab my hand and say “ya no falta mucho”.
“It wont be long” she says. And it won’t. See she’s sick. She has cancer and in the medical standpoint – has no hope. She’s dying. Slowly but surely.
Last Thursday as I sat there talking to her daughter. She handed me over a brochure. The hospice brought it over, titled --- The process of death.
And sure enough in it you found the signs that would arise as the person reaches death. On one side it mentioned the symptoms: their loss of appetite, hands getting colder, their weakening heart… etc. Beside it, the methods of coping with the symptoms. As I read about the process I couldn’t help but think that in between those lines there was no real method for coping with the pain of death. Because you can put the symptoms in paper… but the emotions of watching someone you love slowly die… that cannot be written.
I found myself again this Sunday watching someone slowly give out the last of them. I sat there watching the shadow of what used to be one of the most outgoing, sweetest, and funniest guys I’ve ever known. Now strapped to machines and breathing hard. I sat there watching him struggle to live. He too has no hope. Cystic fibrosis has taken its toll. And at a very short 23 he has but days to live.
Surrounded by friends and family who nervously await the end, he opens his eyes once in a while and with a crooked smile will say… “What’s the score?” The cowboys are playing and still in his character he hopes they will lose.
I sat there watching his mom and dad for a while as they huddled over him. Making sure he was comfortable and that his pain was limited. With tears in her eyes his mom holds his hand squeezing it once in a while as if to make sure he’s still alive. And every time she does my heart sinks. And I pray for Jehovah to give them all strength.
When you find yourself in front of the process of death you cant help but humble yourself and realize just how short life is, how tomorrow isn’t quite guaranteed. Watching death take its toll you can’t help but to feel powerless. Watching the pain it can cause you can’t help but feel sad. Watching the process of death as it slowly ends a life is like watching an hour glass drop every grain… you know it’ll eventually run out and still you can’t help but hope there will be one more grain of sand.
Every Thursday after service I visit a sister from my hall. She is 90 yrs old. At a glance she looks fragile, and old, sick and worn out. But she is no ordinary sister. She is one of the first Spanish speaking witnesses in the north Texas area. She has been here before any of us came around. She has stories that would amaze anyone.
I visit her every Thursday, sometimes we talk, sometimes we drink orange juice, sometimes I just drop off the weekly bouquet of flowers I take her. And when she’s weak sometimes we just sit. Her sunken eyes peer up over her glasses once in a while… looking over she’ll grab my hand and say “ya no falta mucho”.
“It wont be long” she says. And it won’t. See she’s sick. She has cancer and in the medical standpoint – has no hope. She’s dying. Slowly but surely.
Last Thursday as I sat there talking to her daughter. She handed me over a brochure. The hospice brought it over, titled --- The process of death.
And sure enough in it you found the signs that would arise as the person reaches death. On one side it mentioned the symptoms: their loss of appetite, hands getting colder, their weakening heart… etc. Beside it, the methods of coping with the symptoms. As I read about the process I couldn’t help but think that in between those lines there was no real method for coping with the pain of death. Because you can put the symptoms in paper… but the emotions of watching someone you love slowly die… that cannot be written.
I found myself again this Sunday watching someone slowly give out the last of them. I sat there watching the shadow of what used to be one of the most outgoing, sweetest, and funniest guys I’ve ever known. Now strapped to machines and breathing hard. I sat there watching him struggle to live. He too has no hope. Cystic fibrosis has taken its toll. And at a very short 23 he has but days to live.
Surrounded by friends and family who nervously await the end, he opens his eyes once in a while and with a crooked smile will say… “What’s the score?” The cowboys are playing and still in his character he hopes they will lose.
I sat there watching his mom and dad for a while as they huddled over him. Making sure he was comfortable and that his pain was limited. With tears in her eyes his mom holds his hand squeezing it once in a while as if to make sure he’s still alive. And every time she does my heart sinks. And I pray for Jehovah to give them all strength.
When you find yourself in front of the process of death you cant help but humble yourself and realize just how short life is, how tomorrow isn’t quite guaranteed. Watching death take its toll you can’t help but to feel powerless. Watching the pain it can cause you can’t help but feel sad. Watching the process of death as it slowly ends a life is like watching an hour glass drop every grain… you know it’ll eventually run out and still you can’t help but hope there will be one more grain of sand.
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