Friday, December 8, 2006

My dearest God,

Ann died yesterday. Peacefully. Cancer had eaten away her body. Her soul remained intact.

My daughter called me when it was over. "Mom, it was so beautiful." She told me. Jill had camped at the bedside for five days. Leaving only to shower and change clothes, she had stayed with Ann, stroking her hair, whispering her support and love.

Only days earlier Jill had called me, somewhat frantic. She was terrified at the prospect of being with someone while they were dying. She didn't want to be alone with a dead body. She was so afraid; yet, she wanted to be with her stepmother, her best friend, the one who lead Jill back to life a couple years ago. We talked; I assured her that this would be a very meaningful experience and that she would be okay.

When Jill arrived in Colorado, she had her work cut out for her. Having to deal with some strange situations, she took them one by one. Although Ann's husband, Jill's father, was present, Jill had been given the responsibility to make decisions for Ann. She had signed a paper giving Jill the authority, the power to do what she thought best.

"Mom, there is nothing in the world that could have prepared me for what I saw when I walked into Ann's room. She is skin and bones. Her eyes are sunken in her head." She relayed to me Ann's condition, how cancer had robbed her of her beauty.

Jill was right. Nothing can prepare you for a sight such as cancer. Yet, during the next few days Jill and I talked probably two dozen times. She would ask for my advice or share updates with me. Her handling of Ann's deteriorating health would become a matter of faith, love, sensitivity, and joy. Jill would find her own peace in the middle of Ann's transformation.

Jill will fly home tomorrow, having settled certain affairs. She and her family, my daughter from Ohio and I will gather and fly to Colorado together. We will spend about 36 hours, remembering Ann's life, sharing with the girls' father. I will lead the service. Ann will be cremated, her ashes sprinkled in the mountains and the Maine ocean.

We are sad. We wish Ann's life could have had more joy in it. We wish she could have taken hold of the truth of her own value to God. Perhaps at the end, she found her peace, discovering in the final moment that God had loved her from the beginning, in spite of her mistakes.

We will celebrate her life in style, recovering her losses with the good news. And Jill is one of those. These two women found their way home from addiction. They helped one another. Faith took them the distance. Truly, this is good news.

Loving God,
one of your children
returned home to you,
one of the beautiful ones.
A humble person
recognizes the great gifts
of God,
realizes the unworthiness
of the human soul,
yet receives with grace
the gift.
Ann found her way home
twice,
once on earth,
now in heaven.
We celebrate her life
and yours.

Eternally yours, Andrea