Dark into Light

It was endless. The dark is as oppressive as the feelings going through her.

She never expected this, no, not like this. A horrible slow death from cancer, yes. Time to say goodbye. But never this. A sudden stroke that took her mom away from her as quickly as the phone call that had informed her.

The ICU waiting room is full of relatives who wait as anxiously as she does. Above them all is the ever present TV, even in death watch, you can't escape it. Tuned to one of the many shopping channels, its forced cheer is a stark contrast to the vibe in the room. It is impossible to ignore, as much as she tries.

Having arrived in the middle of the night, she waits for the neurologist who will tell her for sure whether her mother will come out of this or whether she is gone.Not stupid, she knows that as the stroke had hit her brain stem, it doesn't look good. Until she knows though, until she actually hears the words, she can't fully give up hope. It dies hard.

Still, in this little room full of despair you can physically feel and taste, it is hard to hold onto.

The room smells of hospital coffee and cortisol of immense stress. The bench seats aren't designed to sleep people but somehow the most determined among them, make it work.

She isn't one of them. Sitting straight up, trying to block out the sound of endless cheer from the TV and the growing negativity of her own thoughts, she tries to pray.

He is her strength and has always been her mom's. From the beginning of this cancer diagnosis and journey, they have both relied on Him to get them through. Her mom wrote prayer after prayer in her journals. There is a stack of them at home, in her room.

“Please, that she could return to them, please God.”

That is how she prays at first. She closes her burning eyes, heavy with grief and exhaustion. “Please God, bring her back to me.”

An infomercial plays, breaking the monotony of the hopelessly optimistic hosts selling knives and jewelry. She closes her eyes tighter in a fruitless attempt to drown out the noise.

“Please, I am not ready to lose her.”

In and out she breathes, trying to calm herself as her focus centers on her God, seeking His peace.

“Do you trust her to Me?” That still small voice whispers deep in her heart. This brings her up short.

“Oh!” It isn't just about what she wants. It needs to also be about what is best for her. His will.

“Do you trust Me to do what is best for her?”

The tears she has been holding back start to fall. She hasn't the strength to wipe them away. She wants to hold onto her, but is that selfish? She is suffering. The cancer treatment is worse than the disease itself. Her mom is a fighter, but does she have to be, when she can just go home. To His peace.

“Yes,” she whispers in the depths of her heart, “yes but… Oh Lord, if this is your will, give me peace and strength. I don't know how to live without her. I don't know…” More tears fall.

“All is possible with Me.” He reminds her of the verse her pastor had preached on just the Sunday before.

It is covered under all, she knows this in her head, it is her heart that needs some work.

“Lord,” it is whispered aloud, unheard by the others around her, “I believe. Please help my unbelief.”

A few minutes later, her name is softly called from the door. A shot of fear runs through her, so pure that it brings nausea with it.

“All things.” That still small voice whispers.

Squaring her shoulders, she stands and walks towards her.

She must have introduced herself but for as long as she lives, she won't be able to recall her name. Remembering her gentle eyes and the softness of her voice as she explains what her heart and soul already knows, that her mom has been gone since the stroke hit her brain stem.

“We are keeping her organs alive on machines until you decide what to do, whether you wish to donate them.”

“Are you sure? I mean, people wake up from comas all the time.”

She is prepared for this question. On the IPAD she carries, she pulls up her mom's chart.

“This is the EEG we performed. As you can see, there are no measurable brain waves.”

The grief is so monumental that it brings her to her knees in gut wrenching sobs. The neurologist is there placing her arms around her and crying with her.

She lays so still and looks so peaceful. Her hand is still warm when she takes it in hers.

“I know you are already in heaven, in perfect peace,” she swallows back tears before continuing, “I love you mom, so much. I don't know how I will do this without you.”

Again she hears Him, feels Him as His peace floods her.

“I will never leave you or forsake you. I will walk beside you, go before you, all the days of your life.”

She manages a small smile through her tears. How is she to grief her mom's loss knowing she is in His Presence for eternity. Her tears are for herself not her mom.

She knows she would want her organs to go to good use. After some time, sitting with her, saying goodbye, she signs the papers to both donate any useable organs and to take her off the machines. Well, one would lead to the other.

“She is already gone. It is just her shell.” She reminds herself after doing it.

The sun is just rising when she makes her way out. It is a winter sky with very little light, perfect for how she feels. The rising sun pierces through the low clouds. She takes a deep breath.

“It won't be easy but, Your light will go before me, guiding me as You guided her. The grief will be overwhelming at times, I may have trouble finding the sun, but You will be there, just like the sun exists behind the cloudiest day.”