On the Other Side

I could hear the murmuring over the phone--low and barely audible. the trembling voice thanked Him for her life, but beneath that the whispers were engulfed in the kind of sorrow so deep, there was nothing to be said that could soothe the pain. it seems like the strongest feelings are those that are impossible to put into words. now matter which way you yammer, no word seems suited to describe that emotion.

there is nothing beautiful about a hospital. the frenzied flurry of nurses and doctors, the crackly radio spitting out irrelevant commercials, the eerie glow of the fluorescent bulbs, the chilling atmosphere, the stench of sorrow. people come and go every day and we barely blink at such news, yet when it's somebody you know, somebody you love... the world seems to flip upside down and suddenly, you understand.

you know that feeling when you're half praying, half hoping that maybe, just maybe the inevitable won't happen? sure you were expecting it but deep down inside you ached with every fiber for a miracle. but then the inevitable comes strolling up in plain sight and even though you see it, it still comes as an ugly surprise.

the lights cast a dull reflection across the worn linoleum. the grief hung over in a thick cloud as we each retreated into our own silent bubble. what we could not say in words, we felt for the family deeply. oh, the sorrow and the joy swept together in one! her daughter, M, dabbed at her eyes and spoke of His faithfulness, how her mother had fought so valiantly, how they'd received the miracle they prayed for, how her mother had gently pinched her cheeks as if to thank her for all she'd done before closing her eyes one last time, and how the time had come to say goodbye. with a trembling voice, she recounted how good God had been to her mother. 

at the age of ninety-four, her health had slowly began to fail when a stroke left one side of her body paralyzed and sent her into long bouts of physical therapy and all the will-power she could muster to keep going. countless friends from church pitched in to help the family during this time--whether it was by praying and cheering for her recovery, delivering home cooked meals, or simply paying a visit to let her know she was being thought of. the road to recovery was long and tiring, and though a couple strokes followed the first, by God's grace, she pulled through with none other than a miracle and learned to walk and use her left side again.

I remember one time my mum and I had to drive her and M to the hospital. I must say, it's a daunting task to lift a ninety-something year old down a flight of narrow stairs without fear of dropping her or accidentally bruising a loose appendage on a corner of the wall. thankfully, we were able to get her down safely. once we got her into the car, we had to figure out where to prop one of her legs, because she was unable to bend it. after a lot of gentle shoving and adjusting, we situated her to sit diagonally so she could rest her leg on the little tray table and went on our merry way. the only problem was that because she was seated diagonally, she didn't have a seat belt on and she couldn't stop herself from flying forward or falling to the side whenever the car braked or made any sort of turn. I hadn't the least clue what to do so I did what any sensible person would do in the situation, I wrapped my arms around her in a good ol' bear-hug to keep her from sliding around. though she couldn't speak due to the stroke that had damaged her brain, she would communicate with soft grunts every once in a while and with her eyes. they were so soulful and deep, I swear they told the most amazing stories.

anyway, so we're swaying to and fro in this awkward position, and I had no idea what was going through her mind because she sort of had this emotionless expression. I, on the other hand, had thrown whatever last shred of dignity out the window and just wanted to get her to the hospital safely. when we arrived at our destination, mum and M hopped out the car and immediately started to assess the situation and discuss how they would get her out of the car and into the building. just before they opened the car door to take her out, she did something I'll never forget. she looked right at me and though no words escaped her lips, her eyes shone with an indescribable gratitude.

last Monday, the call came that she had suffered from another stroke. this time it was on a much larger scale. the nurse dismissed her condition as normal and that they would have her back home in no time. M disagreed because something about this stroke had been different than the others and she sensed the inevitable gaining slowly but surely upon them. the following days and a test result later, the neurologist confirmed the worst. her mother's chances of waking up were slim, and even if she did, she would remain in a precarious position that only delayed the inevitable. her loved ones agreed. she had fought the good fight. it was time to let her go home.

I stood mesmerized by the scene in the hospital room. the sheets rose up and down periodically with her shallow breath and seemed to swallow her entire being. the tuft of pale white hair framed her delicate face and though she wore an oxygen mask on, she still looked beautiful, even serene. I could hear her labored breathing as I leaned over to kiss her goodbye.

she went into a losing battle, but emerged victorious as she went home to see her Maker on October 20, 2012. I will never forget her charming personality or her brave spirit.