On the ride home, Stephen’s pain continued increasing. When I heard my voice say, “You’re going to have to die,” he abruptly exclaimed, “What?” I waited, hoping for more words. “You’re going to have to die to your fear of death,” I continued. Two years passed before I realized the first message was for Stephen and the second for me. When I became a counselor, I understood the previously hidden gift that no one could say to me—You don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody.
While I remained at the hospital, my daughter “returned to the apartment, where a pot of eggs had boiled over. Smoke had brought the fire department, and officers broke in the door, but our minister, who lived in the same building, helped my daughter lock up. Then she waited for my call.
Two days later at five-thirty in the morning, I left the hospital, where I had slept on the visitor room floor, to get his Harris Tweed and guitar. We walked out the door with a doctor following, saying we couldn’t. By ten o’clock, my daughter and I were seated in the front row of Unity Church for the Christmas service, while, as the principal singer, Stephen sat up front, facing us. The congregation had been told moments before we entered, last. When he sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” I saw stars fill his head. Thinking he would be fine, I instead would learn that the cancer cells were star-shaped.”
My realization is, “There are levels of truth in living. We enter one, to find there is another truer. We cannot know all, but we can go forward with faith, compassion, and courage.”
*A Flower for God
While I remained at the hospital, my daughter “returned to the apartment, where a pot of eggs had boiled over. Smoke had brought the fire department, and officers broke in the door, but our minister, who lived in the same building, helped my daughter lock up. Then she waited for my call.
Two days later at five-thirty in the morning, I left the hospital, where I had slept on the visitor room floor, to get his Harris Tweed and guitar. We walked out the door with a doctor following, saying we couldn’t. By ten o’clock, my daughter and I were seated in the front row of Unity Church for the Christmas service, while, as the principal singer, Stephen sat up front, facing us. The congregation had been told moments before we entered, last. When he sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” I saw stars fill his head. Thinking he would be fine, I instead would learn that the cancer cells were star-shaped.”
My realization is, “There are levels of truth in living. We enter one, to find there is another truer. We cannot know all, but we can go forward with faith, compassion, and courage.”
*A Flower for God