The scene is set: four Cinderellas cluster round the Queen’s deathbed.
They’re doing a push/pull with mortality; wanting Mom out of pain yet willing her alive, not ready to let the cancer win. Since the doctor’s opinion was an hour two days ago, no one wants to leave. Although her body is shutting down and blood has ceased flowing to some of her limbs, the tough old broad tenaciously hangs onto life, especially when a new face appears to say goodbye or a drape is pulled open, spilling sunlight into the dark sickroom. Death, apparently, is best met in the dark.
A random hospice nurse enters and bids the drapes be closed, the voices silenced and hands stilled. “She won’t go with all the stimulation” says she who should know.
Should I hate this woman, who has her patient’s best interests at heart? Whose job it is to comfort? Probably not.
Hospice only makes comfortable, they do not nourish via IV. Mom has not eaten for days and the princesses’ frayed nerves lead to harsh words and hurt feelings among the four. Meanwhile, life and death fights a battle before them like a grotesque passion play. She can no longer speak or hear, but the woman will go when she and her maker decide and not before, sunlight and chatter be damned.
I was gratified to hear that last rites were administered yesterday.
May Christ Who was crucified for your sake
free you from excruciating pain.
May Christ Who died for you
free you from the death that never ends.
May Christ the Son of the living God,
set you in the ever green loveliness of His Paradise,
and may He, the true Shepherd
recognize you as one of His own.
May you see your Redeemer face to face
and standing in His presence forever,
may you see with joyful eyes
Truth revealed in all its fullness.