In spending time with a woman who is in the last stages of cancer, I have had an opportunity to reflect. We sit together in a quiet room, curtains drawn to protect her from the sunlight, she in her chair, I in mine, and a coffee table between us. Although she is awake, her eyes are closed and she rarely speaks.
I read a book awhile and then my mind drifts. I see faces of people we helped or who helped us; I remember projects we worked on together and train trips across Asia; like snapshots of two young women on an adventure, then growing older and now with graying hair. We were often stretched beyond our individual ability to meet the challenges in front of us, but together we made it through.
I rouse myself. “Would you like a mandarin orange?” or “can I make you a cup of tea?” A whispered yes or no, or sometimes a nod or shake of the head. For the most part, nothing more.
We have always enjoyed one another’s company through the decades, talking not always necessary. But now, in this time, I realize how much I want her to engage with what I am saying, some kind of acknowledgement, a smile, a sign of connection. And I want a message of any kind about what she is thinking, feeling, experiencing, hoping, fearing, happy about, sad about. Something more than “yes” or “no”.
Somehow, I have to find an acceptance and peace that such engagement is not going to happen. She is on her own journey, physical, yes, but also an inner journey, and I can only be there with her, help her sometimes, and simply share the time.
And that is the purpose of these hours. She may be well on her way to her eternal reward, and I am still rooted on this earth, but for now, we are in each other’s company. She knows I am here, and wants me here. I would not want to be anywhere else.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is tell someone what they need to hear. Prov 25:11 says, “The right word spoken at the right time is as beautiful as gold apples in a silver bowl.” Other times, words can interrupt what is happening on a deeper level, and it is better just to be present to one another or one for the other.
I feel my heart trying to reach out to her heart to communicate in a different way. I don’t know if she receives it or not, but somehow it is meaningful to me. I pray briefly that God will say to her all the things I cannot say, will bring reassurance and comfort, and that she will sense in Him a love beyond anything she has ever known.
And I simply wait, present, listening, a companion for these last steps along her journey.
Molly Deatherage 