Commentaries by Cynthia

Death has been hovering over my extended family for weeks; yet we thought and hoped he had a fighting chance.

He’s still young, only in his mid-thirties, and he has so much to live for, including a four-year old daughter. Despite prayers from several church congregations and the best cancer treatments that money can buy, it looks as though death will win this battle for his life.

You see the signs… the listless eyes that stare into space, the protruding cheek bones under jaundiced skin, the parched mouth and chapped lips. You hear the sounds... the ragged breathing and deep yet soft groans of pain. The doctors claim that there’s no hope, and Hospice is involved. You can’t deny it any longer; the angel of death is in the room with your loved one.

With denial past you, and no other straw to grasp, the anger surfaces. “It’s not fair! He’s too young! His family still needs him!” After shaking your fist at the sky until the anger is spent, gradually a bittersweet acceptance sets in. You have been blessed to know, and to love, and to be loved by someone very special.

I touch his shoulder, wondering if it will be the last time I see him alive. He looks at me, a moment of alertness dawns in his large hazel eyes that look so much like my own. “I didn’t know you were here,’ he tells me weakly.

I try to smile, but the tears are rolling down my cheeks. “I love you,” I say to him, feeling completely helpless.

“I love you, too,” he tells me, and I hear the physical and emotional rawness in his words. My heart breaks a little more as I realize we have just said our final good-byes to each other. Then he gazes into space and murmurs incoherently, no longer aware of his surroundings. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and turn to leave the room. When the time comes, my dear nephew, I pray the angles will lead you into Paradise.