when i go don’t cry for me
in my Father’s arms i’ll be
How many years it’s been now, it doesn’t really matter; time becomes irrelevant and each day morphs into the next dreary day of sitting, existing, a drag of moving forward. Wake up in pain, move out to the living room in exhaustion, pain, weariness, pain, pain, numb pain and yet the sharpest kind.
They call life a battle or a war — in these cases, the terms hardly seem to apply when it only feels like you’re being trampled down with each wave that you can never truly fight against. Helpless. The word comes to mind more than once. Helpless to fight for a loved one, only waiting, loving, praying it can turn out differently.
the wounds this world left on my soul
will all be healed and i’ll be whole
An older woman — a twig, really, skin and bones after long hard days with her only source of nutrition coming from a tube for however long it’s been now — lay in the bed of a hospice, her white hair only just beginning to grow back from months of chemo, with her tired husband sleeping next to her through the night. They knew it would likely be her last. She was off support. The pain was greater than ever. Oh, God, take it away.
The room was so dark. The softest bed could not have made this comfortable in any way. It was so alone in this room despite the fact that there were two — no, three people. One lurked in the corner, a dark shadowy figure, watching and waiting as the pain continued to throb in her entire body, and she knew it was coming for her very soon even as her eyes began to slowly close.
sun and moon will be replaced with the light of Jesus’ face
and i will not be ashamed, for my Saviour knows my name
As the dark figure hovered through the black room toward her, her eyes opened again as she felt something else; not the dark presence, but something that could only feel like music. Soft music. Familiar music like she may as well have heard it all her life, but only just remembered it now as she heard someone call her name in the most loving, most awesome, most indescribable voice she had ever known: ‘Sarah!’
The dark figure lurched for her. A strong gentle hand pulled her up in a loving embrace just before it reached her.
it don’t matter where you bury me
i’ll be home and i’ll be free
A few hours later, her husband awoke and made the call first to their three grown children, and then the rest of the family, friends…
Sarah was with her Father.
it don’t matter anywhere i lay
all my tears be washed away . . .
lyrics from Ane Brun’s ‘All My Tears.’
love you auntie Sarah. You made a huge impact on the lives of everyone around you. Jealous of you, but also happy for you. Say hi to everyone for us.