Monday, December 4, 2006

Dearest God,

"Hi, Andrea..." her frail voice trailed off. Ann was sitting near her bed as the phone was placed to her ear. "Hi, Ann. I've been thinking of you daily and praying even more often." Her weak voice thanked me as I continued to talk about her death.

Ann is afraid. She thinks that her behaviors in the 1970's has her stuck somewhere between heaven and hell. Caught up in drugs and disease, Ann is dying with cancer. Now spread over her whole body, Ann weighs about 90 lbs. Diagnosed two years ago with liver cancer, Ann was given six to twelve months to live. She's been through every experimental trial. Nothing more can be done. She is a breath from heaven.

Recognizing that this was our last conversation, I spoke with conviction. "Ann, you will travel into a great light. The light will be so warm and inviting that you will forget your fear. You'll be given a dazzling white gown. You'll be so beautiful. God loves you so very much." "I hope so," was all she was able to mutter.

Months ago Ann and I discussed her dying wishes. I will fly to Colorado to do her memorial service. Then following the service I will carry her ashes with me to Indiana. When the winter frost passes, I will fly to Maine. I will drive to my home, don my white dance clothing, then make my way down the coast to York, an ocean town. There I will stand at the ocean edge. I will dance to the heavenly tune, then scatter Ann's ashes. I will pray and sing, accompanied only by the ocean's rhythmic band.

Ann is my former husband's third wife. Although she has never lived in Indiana and I have only actually been with Ann a handful of times, I liked her immediately and she was struck by the fact that two wives of the same husband could get along. She once asked how I would feel about sharing my children. I told her I would be delighted to share my children with her. She was so pleased because she was never able to conceive.

Now she lay dying. Ann's never felt worthy. She has allowed her past to shadow the good God wanted to give her. She could never imagine a true picture of joy for herself. I think she believes that her wild actions in her youth caused her cancer. I've tried to tell her that that's not the way it works. I have made a few strides; I can only pray that she will discover the peace that awaits her.

More than a year ago I tried to get Ann to fly with my daughter and me to Maine, to drive to York, to dance and sing and pray and laugh, to return to a place she only traveled once, yet made such a great impression. When she was able to imagine the experience, she was so happy and said we would do it. But she could never leave her doctors; thus she never lived the experience. In her mind she always hoped. That's why I'm going for her, carrying her with me to her ashes' final resting place.

I'm not sure why
you select me for
such glorious work,
dear God.
I have done nothing
to deserve
magnificent moments with you.
Yet,
they come my way.
Ann and I will dance
along the wide expanse
of ocean shore.
I'll mingle my joy
with sorrow,
a life cut short,
too soon.
I'll dance heaven's dance
and sing heaven's song.
I'll give back to God
the dust of Ann's life,
a body filled with cancer,
burned, purified,
ready for earth's embrace.
Her soul will watch,
captured by the greatest love
she has ever known.
Joy will meet joy,
hers, mine and God's.
The final frontier.

Love always, Andrea