Love conquers death...

     On Saturday, my father-in-law passed away.
     I had prayed for so many things for him.
     Healing, if that be God's will. Mercy, in the absence of healing. Peace for him and my mother-in-law. And grace to help us all through this time of his suffering and dying.
     I prayed especially that the Holy Spirit would guide me, and help me to know what to do with regard to my children. How much should they see? Please God, don't let me mess them up. Death is so scary... and ugly... right? Everybody knows that.
     When I shared my uncertainty about what to do with my kids, my brother-in-law Paul commented that, in our culture, we try so hard to hide death, that often, we are unprepared for it when, inevitably, it comes. He said, "This is the time that the grownups get scared, so the kids get scared."
     That was me. I was scared.
     But, I decided to abandon my own understanding... and limited wisdom... and trust the Holy Spirit. And what followed truly amazed me.
     We decided to spend the night on Friday, sensing that the end was close. Plus, Mark was planning to stay, and I wanted to be with him, just in case.
     I had asked the kids what they wanted to do. And they had all clamoured, "Stay."
     I prayed that I would not be scared. And that my kids would be fine.
     I prayed that I would "see Jesus in the dying." That I'd see something beautiful, like I've heard others talk about. Because so far... nothing was beautiful about this process.
     Then I saw it.
     The suffering was indeed ugly. I saw nothing beautiful there... until I studied the faces of the people bedside, gazing at him with a love that said they would trade places with him if they could.
     I watched my mother-in-law kiss his face... and lovingly touch his hair... and faithfully hold his hand. Even as his labored breathing reminded us his time was short.
     I watched my husband, with wet eyes, telling his father that he loved him.
     Mark's brothers and sisters kept vigil, attending to his every need. In-laws and grandkids too. Every last grandchild had made a pilgrimage to visit him one more time, to play cards, or to just hold his hand.
     The hospice workers lovingly helped take care of his body, giving selfless comfort and kindness to a virtual stranger.
     And of course, I watched my children, showing love more than fear, despite his physical condition. Loving him in their own individual ways. Kissing him. Holding his hand. Wanting to be close by.
     Mark's brother Paul is a minister in Washington state. Late Friday night, we had gathered together around PapPap's bed to give thanks, and to bless him with the sign of the cross on his head, his eyes, his ears, his lips, his hands, his feet, and his heart, each time saying, "Into your hands, we commend your servant." My kids stepped right up to take part in this beautiful and consoling rite. We prayed. And we sang a little.
     The next day, just before noon, PapPap snuck his moment of death in quietly, right after his bed-bath... with Mark's mom, Mark's brother Paul and sister Michel there, and then Mark and me entering the room just at that moment. I wasn't even sure that was it. I think I was waiting for a big moment. But that was it. And I was not afraid.
     I went to tell my children, and they came quickly to see him. My six-year-old asked if he could still kiss him. I said, "Of course."
     Mark's brother Paul and sister-in-law Pam groomed him a little, and laid his hands at rest, so he would be presentable to those who would come to see him one more time. And as he lay there, I could not help but marvel at how very peaceful he looked. The more time that passed, the more he looked like how he used to look. Before the suffering.
     The more I looked at him, the more I marveled at him. His skin was flawless. In his suffering, he had looked so old. But now, although he still looked old, he somehow looked so young. I could not help but notice his hands too. Throughout all of the suffering, his face had changed, but his hands had always remained the same. Strong. Giving. Loving.
     As the day went on, more family came. And we cried. And then we laughed, too.
     But there was one thing for sure. Through the laughter, and the tears, there was love. Love filled that room. You could see it on the faces of those that were bedside once more, gazing at him once again, loving him so deeply as to let him go...though painful... knowing he is happy now, enjoying the glory of God that remains our hope, as we stay behind, here on earth.
     And then, with all of us gathered around, Paul anointed him with scented oil. Lovingly anointing his face and chest and shoulders and arms. Praying as he anointed. Honoring him in death, as we did in life.
     My sister-in-law Theresa stood with me later, in the kitchen, and summed it up so perfectly. She said that to look around, what happened there that day just proves what we know to be true... "Love conquers death."
     Death was not the star of the day. Love was. And my children witnessed it firsthand. No need to fear.

"At last God called him saying, 'Good and faithful servant, enter into the joy of your Lord.'"
~ St. Bernadine of Siena ~