August 5, 2018

Jesus Grieves with Us

Jesus wept. – John 11:35

Our chairs faced the bed. We watched him breath in and out. He could have been sleeping. My heart ached for him to wake up, to speak, to ask for a drink of water or some ice cream. My mind understood that when he did wake up it would be in heaven.

Mother and I watched the medical equipment that monitored his blood pressure and heart rate. Silence surrounded us, interrupted only by the nurses who checked on us. The vigil continued. Hour after hour.

It had been days since we’d gone to his rehab facility for a visit. We were with him when the wheezing started. The staff acted quickly and he was soon dispatched by ambulance to the hospital. We were hoping they’d give him medicine and send him back. He was admitted to ICU.

We were not prepared for the doctor who told us he might not make it through the night. We were not prepared to stay at the hospital. We would not leave. The ICU nurses brought comfortable chairs into his room for Mother and I. They understood better than we did that it wouldn’t end well.

Hope circled my heart as we all monitored him through the night. He clung to life. He was stubborn that way. His frantic eyes sought mine as he struggled to understand. I leaned close. “I love you, Daddy,” I told him again. I held his hand and tried to explain that he was sick and in the hospital. His body relaxed and he slept. He never woke again.

Two days later even the doctors had given up hope. We were moved to a regular room to wait for the end. People came and went. Few seemed to understand this was not a time to loudly talk about politics or their own ailments. Didn’t anyone get it? My Daddy was dying! It wasn’t a social occasion; it was a death vigil.

It was late when the last person left. A few caring friends didn’t want to leave us alone. We assured them we would be okay. It was right somehow that in the end it was just the three of us. How many days had we spent in hospitals and rehab facilities? How many nights had I slept on a sofa or chair to be close to one of my parents? How often had my heart broken under the weight of responsibility and criticism from people who skirted the outside but never dared to show up and help.

Jesus was there. We were never alone. His strength carried us, comforted us, held us in the storm. And then it was over. The machine’s flat lines, the nurse’s sad confirmation, the quick glance at the clock. Death at 12:25 a.m. on this day two years ago.

Calls were made. Mother and I were escorted to the waiting room. Numbness. We went through the motions. There was paperwork to sign. There’s always paperwork. And then the silent trip home.

The tears would come. They still come. I guess they always will. “Jesus wept.” I love this verse. It’s a short, powerful reminder that Jesus grieves with us. He doesn’t leave us alone. Not ever. Indeed, He draws close to us providing comfort and strength and hope.

Death doesn’t have the final say for those of us who believe. I will see my parents again one day. Do you have that certainty in your own life? Are you headed to heaven one day? Are you sure? None of us know the hours we have left. Know where you are headed before it’s too late.