After The Work

He is a man of many talents; he built his house, served his country, raised a family, loves art, has a passion for nature, and grew himself an amazing beard. His greatest passion save for his family was music. He loved to sing, play guitar, and filled many evenings filling his home with music. Family camping trips included sing a longs, he sang and played in his church for a while, his younger years featured himself in a band with some friends playing locally just for fun and beer money. He had a good heart and had accumulated friends throughout his years.

Now he learned that he had cancer, and it was advanced. Its like the music in his life suddenly fell silent. One day he was well, the next he would be fighting for his life. He had no warning, didn’t feel any different until recently. He only went to the hospital because he fell after getting dizzy one day, the first clue he had he was sick. The cancer had done its parasitic work, stealing away his time on earth. He was understandably dumbfounded, angry, saddened, and afraid. He wasn’t a perfect man, but who is? He didn’t wanna talk about it, was short with his wife at times, sulked on the couch for a week and drank a little more beer than normal. He was 78, not the oldest guy he knew but certainly no longer young. Fighting a long battle with cancer so far advanced may be a losing proposition. Shall he spend his final days suffering? Would he fight it for himself? Maybe so that he doesn’t let the family down he would try chemo and see how it goes. He has lived a full life and certainly didn’t relish being sick but he wanted to fight one more time.

The chemotherapy was miserable, like a cacophony in his soul. He felt sick, deeply sick. His body was struck by the treatment in short order, leaving him nauseous, weak, and shivering. Deeper still, he felt as if he wasn’t doing the right thing for him. He was comforted by prayer in the past, but when he tried to pray he felt blocked. Something deep in his soul told him to rest and fight no more. His time was approaching. He recalled being oddly calm with the thought and had peace when considering Eternity. It was a gift. On the other hand he loved his family so much, he didn’t want to leave them behind. He wanted to see the next wedding, the next baby, the new job, the new house. He didn’t want to miss time with his wife, those quiet mornings together, the quiet comfort they had together, the conversations that still charmed him about her after all these years. When he considered them, he felt very conflicted. Did they want him to fight?

The rhythms of his life were thrown off miserably. He was tired but couldn’t sleep. He laid on the bed missing his family, but when he was around people he was on edge. He couldn’t sausage in the morning, couldn’t keep a beer down. He was given pills to take for pain that made him too mentally dull to his liking. He didn’t like television, music was painful to hear. They hadn’t told extended family yet, just the kids and some friends. They would call everyday and he loved to hear their voice. He also would get frustrated on the phone because it could all be over soon, and wouldn’t hear them anymore. Plus he couldn’t focus very well and felt like he wasn’t good conversation. The morning light was too bright and the evening gave him a feeling of dread regarding the coming night of tossing and turning. He moved to the couch so his wife could get some sleep.

His family felt nothing but love for him. His wife was sleepless regardless of where he slept. Every noise in the house snapped her to reality as she listened for him in case he fell or needed help. His family loved him so, but they also saw how he suffered. They were torn also, they didn’t want to say goodbye but they also didn’t want time to be so sick. If he was to say goodbye, why should he do so sick? One day he sat his wife and children down around the kitchen table and worked up the courage to say his peace, that he was done, and he felt like he was letting them down. They answered almost in unison “absolutely not”! They wanted him to be happy and not suffer. They would be ok. God would provide. They proceeded to tell him how much they loved him and what he meant to them. It was a conversation that takes a lifetime to have, edification only available after years of devotion, hard work and love. He broke down and wept in front of them, something he didn’t do often, mostly at funerals. These tears were different, they were tears of gratitude. He felt as though the music returned to his heart as they reminisced and told those family stories that get passed down over holiday dinners and games. He slept all night that night.

He got on hospice services and stopped his chemotherapy. He felt better, pain was controlled. The family got the burden of equipment, medical visits, supplies, and medication removed so that he could make phone calls to say goodbye, wrote some letters to his family to be read after he passed, and spent each day enjoying the visitors from hospice, his family, and friends. He was able to get some sleep, and so did his wife as she knew she could call for aid at anytime during the day. She was relieved to see him being his old self again, almost the best version of him in fact. He was the same man she married, only wizened by years of life together, wiser, evolved from the young man she met at a concert. His smile returned, his eyes sparkled, and he picked up his guitar again. He couldn’t quite play as well as before, but no one cared. Dad was playing some music, so they got out their phones to video him as they sang along.

Then came the day he couldn’t get out of bed anymore. His peace had not left him, but his wife and family had gained a spirit of urgency. The experienced hospice nurse knew the signs when someone was getting close to saying goodbye and she informed them his time was coming. They stopped in after work, called mom to make sure nothing changed. He got more frequent medical visits, his medications where adjusted. Despite all of this, he knew deep down he was not long for the world. He dreamed of his mother and father, his prayers seemed to last longer as he laid in bed half awake. It was if his soul was learning to leave his body, slowly, the Lord was showing him the way. The hospice nurse told them that his hearing would remain after he could not see or speak and encouraged them to speak to him, to let him know they would be ok, that it was ok to go. There were tears, meaningful glances, hands held all around.

They called for the hospice chaplain who prayed with him and the family. He woke for the first time in a day to hear the prayer and receive an anointing of oil. Everyone held hands in prayer and goodwill. His guitar was presented to the chaplain, an old Taylor guitar weathered with use, to play some songs and hymns. He remained awake and mouthed words to Amazing Grace, smiled when he heard Country Road, and wept at In the Garden. It was as if the chorus of heaven had started early, not because the music was good, but because of the love in the room. There was a palpable Presence in the room with them as they sang. He rested fully in that moment and fell back to sleep. His family remained and reminisced with the chaplain about memories they held together. The chaplain asked them to tell him what they valued about their dad, what they learned from him, how much they loved him. They laughed and were all smiles by the end of the visit.

He passed into Glory that night, his wife laid next to him in bed and held him all night. It was her last gift to him, to be their “till death do us part”. He passed as he slept into that Great Mystery without pain or complication. He truly had a “good death”, the best case scenario in a sad situation. Is it truly sad? To be edified so? To be surrounded by what matters most? They believe he was going to a better place, and after all, we all pass away. He had a good life and was also rewarded with a good death. He knew they would be ok, that hospice would check in on them as they grieved, that all the decisions were made so they didn’t have that burden. Yes, it is sad but it is also meaningful, holy even. He sang in his heart right up until the end, getting an early start to the Chorus that awaited him. Music carried him throughout life, into death, and on into Eternity.