love is watching...

One of my grandmother's favourite stories to tell me was of a stormy night in September.
It was the earliest I'd been for anything -
two weeks too early -
and she found herself
in the wee hours of the morning
in a gown,
in a delivery room
the day I entered the world.

Today I sat beside her bed
holding her hand in mine,
singing the words to an old hymn
as I received the parting privilege
of watching her exit that world.

 I was reminded of a lyric to a song
"...love is watching someone die..." 

I cannot even begin to tell you
how difficult it is
to sit beside someone you love
and watch them struggle with every breath.
To observe their mortality
knowing you are unable
to reverse the cycle or ease the journey.

And yet love sits.
Watching.
Waiting.
Amidst the suffering.
Inconvenienced.
Uncomfortable.
Comforting
while quietly grieving.
Because love
is not afraid of death.

I hold dear
the gift of the last nine days
fresh with memories...
reading short stories,
scripture,
singing,
praying,
dutch cheese,
cactus fields,
cologne,
armchair naps,
that last game of scrabble...

It will be a while
before her warmth
fades from the memory of my fingers,
and her laboured breath
falls silent in my thoughts...

but what I will hold forever
is that final moment
where I felt God compel me
to sing over my Beppe
that it was well with her soul.
To watch her,
in the final phrase of the song,
turn her eyes heavenward
and be face to face with eternity.
To see her earthly body
finally find peace
in a slow exhale...
it's battle over.
The race, won.

And, Lord, haste the day 
when my faith shall be sight, 
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll; 
the trump shall resound, 
and the Lord shall descend, 
even so, it is well with my soul.