They come to this place to have their broken parts fixed and the people I work with work hard. They care, they really do. But when the fixing needs a little nudge or there is no fixing to be done, they come and get me.
That’s how I end up sitting at his bedside.
They told him there was nothing left that they could do.
I’d met him before—in his sleep. We couldn’t get him to awaken so I sat with his family in the dim light with rain pattering the window. They told me who he is—who he was…what he likes to do…Who he loves. They told me how fast this has all happened.
He’s a tall man but his proud frame has wasted into a smallish one. The top of his head is fuzzy with new-growing hair. He keeps rubbing it when he talks to me. No longer asleep, he looks me in the eye. He can’t always find the words; his mind is still a bit fuzzy. But when he can’t get it out, he just looks at me with a vague smile and points up.
Yeah. And I smile back. With watery eyes. Because I know exactly what he’s talking about.
His family is quiet and he keeps reaching for his wife’s hand. The air flows gentle in this place. I ask because I can’t help myself and I ask if he will. We pray together. I hold his hand and it is strong and tender. His voice is sure as he leads this familiar conversation. When he is finished, he tells me that he will see me again one day.
We will be dancing with joy, he says.
Will you save me a dance? I ask.
Yes, he says. I will.
And when I turn my back and walk away, I carry something real with me.
There is joy in the homecoming. There is great joy.
Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his faithful servants. (Psalm 116:15)
I’m a morning person and happiest in a place with no walls. Give me a bed of grass and a blanket-sky and I will dream deep in wonder. But a good story takes me to this place too. And a poem? Even better. You can always find me here. Or connect with me on on facebook, twitter, or pinterest.