“Nothing more we can do,” they say. An ER nurse for years, the tables turn. They now discharge her to hospice care.
I grieve. I hurt.
For my friend. For his family. For the sense of powerlessness that I feel, confronted in his mother’s imminent death by my own sense of mortality.
Hopeless. Such a devastating and powerful word–this illusion called hopelessness.
You see, it’s not true. She has deep faith–the kind that’s rooted in the earth of her soul and spreads it’s branches high toward heaven.
Death is not a loss of life, but an expansion of it–true ETERNAL life.
We grieve for what we are losing. But for her, death is passing through a door. It’s finally arriving home after a long double-shift in life’s ER and slipping out of her old, cancer-torn scrubs.
Of her courage in life. Of what she can see from there that I can’t. Of what she now knows that I have yet to learn.
I pray that I find the same courage and grace to live.
Fearless. Now. Today.