It was in the spring of the early 1990's and I was visiting a delightful spit-fire of a woman battling cancer, stage 4. I'd come to understand that each one of us decides, if possible, whether we want to keep fighting even after the doctor says it's time to switch to Hospice, focus on comfort and being with the family. I respect every one's decision even if it wouldn't be mine. Life and death and grief are just as individual as a personality. Suffering is very personal.
This dear soul's attitude was, "I'm not done until I'm done with my fighting." And that was even after the doctor explained to her in the beginning of treatments that her prognosis with this aggressive cancer was poor. She never took those words to heart. "Who does he think he is? God? Hells Bells, we'll go down fighting."
She looked like an actor that might have been on True Grit who would have competed with John Wayne's character! She had purpose in every step she took and she called all the shots!
"I am not skipping the Wednesday evening's prayer meeting just because that doctor told me that my white count isn't where it's supposed to be. Fiddle sticks, I can't miss! There's a new minister coming to our church and I need to lay my eyes on him, put my hands on him and listen to what he has to say. I gauge them by how firm their handshake is and I can tell by watching the way they talk if they are stretching the truth. You can see so much in the way a fella holds himself in a crowd and behind the pulpit."
I didn't argue with her. She knew more about her blood counts and the risks involved than most. How on earth would I have tried to stop her?!! She knew what lay ahead.
Within a few days I was visiting her at her home. A black and white photo of her was hanging on the flowered wallpapered living room wall. Wow! She was a beauty queen in her day! But, especially now, to me, she was even more radiant.
"I'm at peace," she whispered to me while fighting waves of nausea. Sweet peace has come. It's OK now."
"Shh", I said while trying to arrange sheets and blankets and pillows...anything I could think of to be nearer to her and hang on to those fleeting moments. I really wanted her to sit up again and tell me everything. Tell me her life story, her loves, her joys, her disappointments.
I longed for an over sized rocker so I could hold her and rock her back and forth and say, "..and then what happened?"
Her life was such a witness to so many and for so many reasons. But it was her dying that bore witness to me. She feared nothing. I whispered to her, "Hear the words of Paul, "...that the eyes of your heart and spirit may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope of which you have been called to by Jesus Christ, the riches of His glorious inheritance..". She liked Paul.
"In other words dear friend, I pray you now receive glimpses of Glory as angels escort you Home. Well done, well done."
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