The Light of God.
Holt’s sister called and said, “I’ve got cancer.” Because her husband had passed away, my husband Holt was all she had left. She decided to stay with us and we figured six months or a year, she’d be with us for however long it took.
She arrived, we arranged for hospice to come in and assess her, and that was a Friday afternoon. She’s toddling around the house with her cane and they knew where she was.
On Monday when the hospice nurse returned, Wrenette was immobilized and no longer speaking. It was so swift and so immediate and so painful to see that demise, but when she decided it was time to quit therapy, she also decided it was time to go home to her Lord.
In the next few days she didn’t move. That beautiful creamy skin turned to an ashy gray and we physically had to move her. One afternoon the hospice nurse said, “Who’s she holding on for? Who has she not talked to?” Our son Matthew! We had been so consumed by her, we hadn’t even thought to call Matthew.
We texted, “Matt, call right now.” He was able to step out of work for just a moment and say, “Aunt Wrenette, I love you. Goodbye.” In that moment she said, “Well hello, Matt.” My husband, the hospice nurse, the chaplain, her two friends—we all jumped with surprise, absolute delight. But that’s all she said. Her skin was still that ashy gray color.
She had converted to Catholicism. I had never heard Catholic last rights before, but the priest had been called in by her friends. In that moment, the priest physically called Father Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses and David and the other saints to the front gates of heaven to welcome their sister home. The woman who was ashy gray and couldn’t move—physically we had had to move her—pivoted from her hips with her arms outstretched and a soft yellow glow not only filled her face but it lit the entire room with light. We saw the physical light of God in that moment. In that moment of death was the beauty of life.
[Tweet “We saw the physical light of God in that moment. In that moment of death was the beauty of life.”]It’s the most beautiful moment of my entire life.
It’s so amazing how God gives us that glimpse of Him at that moment. It’s like a gift of hope to us that helps us heal from the hurt of losing our loved one.
Glimpse of hope…YES! Exactly
Wow. This is what life is made of Susan – that moment. That moment when we see – Him. I can’t imagine it, but I love how you conveyed it. Glory! All Glory! Staggering. Come Jesus! Thank you for this dear Susan.
Yes Kelly! The Glory of the Lord shines so brightly. Beautiful indeed.
Come Jesus INDEED! He sure does.
Susan thank you for sharing your #livefree words – this story reminded me so much of when I lost my MIL two years ago. So glad that Jesus was there to greet them both! Have a great day, Kim
Amen Kim
beautiful invitation into his special moment thank you. #livefree
Oh Astrid. So glad to share. Susan
Wow. Just wow. Such a beautiful story. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m currently reading “Being Mortal” about doing death better, more humanely. It sounds like you all succeeded as far as that is possible. Blessings to you.
Lisa, thank you. I’m learning…to lean on God to let Him carry the weight (sometimes I forget to do that…)
Oh! What a clear picture of how He wants us home with Him more than anything… how His light is not hid from us, even with our last earthly breath.
Christine, that is so beautifully said. It was the most magnificent moment of my life besides birthing 2 sons. Susan
Oh, Susan, so beautiful!
Gayl, I completely agree–it was beautiful. Susan
Mmm. Words escape me Susan. To experience something so ‘God’. Praise Him for the ability to see and feel in a real and tangible way His presence in our lives. Happy to be visiting from the #raralinkup
Tyra, thank you for stopping by from Kelly’s blog. Yes ma’am, praise Him that He reveals Himself to us. Susan