A journey through the shadow

The call went out and one by one, we came.

We gathered, adults now, but only just, parents ourselves of small children. We were aware, in the back of our minds, that this call could come at any time, but we shrank back from the thought like shadow from sunlight.

She was our anchor. Our peacekeeper. The center of our family. And she was deathly ill, more than a thousand miles away.

Debi went down for a visit at Christmas time and her report on her return forced the shadow forth.

But, busy with small faces and smaller needs, we chased the shadow back.

Back it went, hidden for a time when the nation mourned the loss of Challenger and further back with each busy day, until this day, when the phone call came. The shadow of the valley of death engulfed us then and held us in its fearsome grip for days.

Doctors knew the truth and gently led us to it. Nurses were quiet, compassionate and unfailingly kind as we began our vigil.

Still, we were suddenly children again, wandering in a shadowy darkness, uncertain of the terrain, clumsy in word and deed.

We were desperate for our anchor, lost without our center. And since it was for her we entered this valley, she could not help us now.

So many years before, in a million different ways, she had been the one to say, "Hold onto my hand. I know it hurts. Don't be afraid. Hold onto my hand."

Now we implored her with the same beguiling words, "Hold my hand, Mom, I know it hurts. Hold my hand."

She was dearly loved. Visitors came and went. Prayers begun were never quite finished. It's hard to know how to pray if you don't know what to say.

Daddy, overwhelmed by her steep decline, was in the same hospital, one floor above her, across the hall. Heavily sedated, he barely knew us and could not know of the vision given to Mom when their youngest son approached her bedside.

"Kiss me, Ray," she said softly. Dean's eyes widened. "What do I do?" they asked. Though no words passed between us, he read our approval and encouragement and bent forward, loving her more then than at any other time.

"Oh, kiss me again," Mom whispered, and then, finally, mercifully, slept.

We knew her destination and had no fear of her future. Her faith had carried her through many a storm in life, and on her faith we first began to build our own.

Oh, but the journey she was on, the path before her, how hard it was. And for each of us, one at a time, or all together, how hard it was to walk with her, holding her hand, as she moved further away from us and drew closer to glory.

In the aftermath, we wondered, and wonder still, in the dark watches of the night, were we any comfort to her at all? We felt so inept. We were caught up not only in her pain, but in our own colossal loss. Did she know and taste our hidden tears? Was the salt of them a blessing or a sting?

For all of the conscious awareness of the truth before us, for all of our sophisticated ways, for all of our human understanding, we don't do death well. Not our own, nor of those we love. We shrink back from the inescapable valley of the shadow of death, fearing evil, deathly afraid that there will be no one to comfort us, no one to lead us safely through to other side, whether taking the journey ourselves, or journey as far as we can, with another.

Thank God for hospice. Thank God that there are those who are willing to be earthly companions to those bound for eternity. Practically trained in what to expect and what to do to alleviate pain, how to restore dignity, they smooth the paths before us. Not only in our own dying, but as we journey with the ones we love. Hospice is there with us as the last breath is loosed, the heart of love silenced within, comfort known, fears prayed away. Free to leave, free to let go of our hands, those leaving and believing, turn and find the wounded hands of Jesus, ready to receive them. And for those left behind, the hands of hospice hold onto ours and guide us still, now through the questions, the doubts, the regrets, the hidden tears, now revealed.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me." Psalm 23:4 (KJV)