For a million (and one) years

I assumed because my neighbor had just been given morphine, she would fall asleep quickly and I would read quietly until her nurse came in two hours. But according to her caregiver, she had been waiting all day for the visit. Coming into the room, I announced as I always do,

“I am here to annoy you.”

She responded as she always does, her eyes heavy and her voice strained,

I am here to annoy YOU.

And then she laughed her deep throated laugh, rough from years of smoking.

Unsure of how to enter into this space, I first asked her questions, but she faded in and out of the conversation. Then we tried reading various books out loud but none seemed interesting to either of us. So finally I read her my blog about the women wearing bikinis at the river which ends with this line about me wearing an oversized t-shirt, afraid to show my body. When I read that line, she bolted into full consciousness and chastised me. 

That’s just wrong. You do not need to hide your body!

We both laughed and then I failed at a few other attempts to find something meaningful for her without tiring her out even more. Finally, I did the only thing I knew how to do. Since her eyes were closed, I started to softly sing “Near the Cross,” thinking it might be soothing. Her eyes opened, and she smiled. 

You have a beautiful voice.

Because the singing seemed to calm her, I quietly sang other hymns. She drifted off momentarily, and when she woke up after a few hymns, I told her a story about riding my bike to work and bursting into “How Great Thou Art” as the sun rose over the mountains. Then I softly sang the hymn.

When I finished, I told her about a drawing I have of Jesus with someone who had run into his arms, buried their face in his shoulder and been embraced by His love. “That is how I am going to be when I meet him,” I tell her, “I am going to run into His arms and get all wrapped up in His love.”

She opened her eyes wider. And then she looked straight into my eyes

That is how I love you.

When she fell back into slumber I lost it. And I lost it because Jesus promised to live in the least of these, and today He took up residence in my dying friend. When she spoke those words over me, I felt as if Jesus himself had spoken them over me. 

I asked if we could hold hands while she slept, and she replied,

Of course.  I love you.

When my fingers began to fall asleep, I carefully tried to extricate my hand, thinking she would not wake.  But she startled and looked at me as she grabbed my hand more tightly. “I just need to move my hand because my fingers are falling asleep,” I explained. She told me she had thought I was falling and wanted to make sure I was okay. Then she asked me not to leave her side, so I leaned over and whispered quietly, “I’m not going anywhere.” As she turned to get more comfortable, she spoke.

You are precious. I will never forget you in a million years.

“Well,” I replied, “I will not forget you for a million and one years. 

You are such a smart ass. She laughed. And then she fell fast asleep. 

In that quiet room with her struggling breath the only sound, I prayed through my tears  for her sweet relief, that she would pass mercifully into the arms of Jesus, and that she would finally know the love she deserved to know her whole life.  

Maybe this will be her last day on planet earth. I don’t know.

But I do know that waiting for her on the other side is a million and one years of love. I know that the hand that will hold hers will be there for eternity and never tire. 

And I know that her love will be waiting for me when I finally cross over into my next, best life.