The latest letter from my friend Jan. She graciously gave me permission to share it here.
Peace,
Jeffri
===================================
Greetings all.
I have mentioned this before, but it sure is in front of my face again. I haven't had a funeral in a while, but even so, death is all around me. Now, I would not be surprised at this if I had a congregation, but I don't. These are just people who are within my own orbit.
Perhaps it really is that "I'm that age," but 50 is too young for people to be checking out in droves. You know, they don't tell you this in the School of Life, that as you age you watch people around you drop like flies who have unfortunately wandered into a mist of Raid. I personally know 5 people right now who are dying of cancer; not LIVING with cancer, but DYING of cancer. And given how god-awful that disease is, that is five too many.
A dear, dear acquaintance that I just love is losing her husband right now. He injured himself in December driving a truck without shocks. (The injury, as it turns out, was a vertebrae in his back breaking because it was riddled with cancer, but he didn't know that at the time.) He was subsequently diagnosed with metasticized cancer of the spine in early March I think. He has a predicted 9 to 20 days left on Planet Earth as of this writing. He is in his mid-40's.
Understandably, my friend is beside herself. She will soon be a single mother with 2 young sons, which is her greatest fear come true. I've kept in fairly close contact with her, and every time I've talked with her since mid-March, she has been in tears (naturally). Now ministry is a funny thing; I have gotten quite used to carrying on conversations with crying people. And that is one of the things I love about this business: it's a privilege to be fully present and comforting to crying people.
I talked to my friend today, when she gave me the update. Her husband has been on a meteoric slide downward since his diagnosis; he has chosen to take the express train Home. Between her tears I ask if I can bring her anything, such as food. (In this culture, we comfort by food.) It's really difficult being of assistance to someone in deep, active grief. It's not like I'm going to say, "Hey Friend, wanna go kayaking? Wanna take in a movie with me?" So I offer food.
I hear her say very dejectedly that she really ought to eat the food that is overflowing in her refrigerator. I can tell she is as excited about that as she would be riding a dead horse. So I say, "Honey, can I bring you a milkshake?" She quickly accepts. "Yeah," she responds with the first hint of excitement I've heard in a while. "Make it vanilla."
So I go get a vanilla milkshake from Baskin Robbins (only the best for my grieving friend, even if it is a king's ransom priced at $4.00), and go to her house. But unfortunately for me, the hospice nurse had arrived and was teaching my friend how to give her husband meds (intraveneously, I presume). So my friend met me at the door, gave me a big hug, took the milkshake, explained to me what she was involved in and said she would call me later.
I was massively disappointed. I wanted to be of help to my friend, and I had imagined that sitting and talking with her would be good for both of us. But one thing I have learned already: social convention, politeness and niceities have no place in the grieving process. When one is steeped in crisis, one doesn't have the energy for social politeness. Don't get me wrong - my friend was VERY nice to me. But I was disappointed that I went to the effort to get a milkshake, and then had to hand it over at the door and be turned away.
Then I got to thinking, and I know this is true. Ten years from now when my friend thinks back on this time when she watched her husband suffer and die before her very eyes, the whole experience will largely be a blur. But I would be willing to bet that, in the middle of that fog, she will remember receiving a milkshake at the door. She probably won't be able to say from where it came, but she will remember that someone thought enough of her to bring her a milkshake.So a hug and a milkshake. That's what my friend needed today, and that's what I could offer her. And in the end, that was probably exactly right.
So here's my new prayer:
Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace,
And keep me in money to buy overpriced milkshakes
So that I can comfort the grieving
As they can comfort the dying
Until we all meet together again
In that great Baskin Robbins in the sky.
Love,
Jan
No comments:
Post a Comment