I’m not sure which is worse watching; a young body fighting for life or a worn out one struggling to survive. In my life, I’ve watched three people pass to the other side. Tonight, I’m wondering how long until another passes.

My sister-in-law and friend, Vicki, seemed so peaceful as she transitioned. She surrendered to the comma and later flew to the waiting arms of her Savior. It was my first personal loss of a person besides my grand dad, and it was grief as I hadn’t experienced it…up until that time. My heart hurt knowing I wasn’t going to see her in my life on earth. I’d miss her at family gatherings, laughing with her, and hanging out together. It seems as if her chapters were too short for her life.

John, my husband, was the second person I saw make that transition. I held his hand, crying, trying to make him want to stay. A mighty fight, both his and mine, made this a much more difficult parting. I knew he was heading the way of Vicki. He had held her hand, as I did, and spoke with so much emotion about her meeting her savior on those streets of gold.

I, on the other hand, didn’t want to let him go. Cam and I held his hand; saying goodbye. We were aware of when he left to find Glory before the clicking of the ventilator stopped. God knew John’s story long before we did. I made peace with him going Home. That grief was beyond any that I knew before or since. A giant hole opened up inside me and took years to piece some of it back together. A part will always be missing. I know I grieved well. My life taking turns and twists that I didn’t know would come. I trust that God knows my story also.

My dad, was the third person that I saw transition. His was hard and labored. My friend, Arlene, stood the watch with me as Dad’s breath rasped with an uneven tempo harsh and then faint. When we realized the final breath passed through his lips, we looked at the hospice nurse who had arrived to check on Dad. I was relieved that his journey had ended. It had been a long night and morning. My grief wasn’t too hard with my dad. His body was tired and he was worn out. I miss my Dad and would like to be able to talk with him, but I knew it was his time to go.

Sitting in the hospital room, tonight, with my mom, I’m watching her struggle through yet another infection. This one is by far the worst state I’ve seen her in. Unresponsive, yet awake. I wonder how many days she has left in this world? If her tired body that’s been through so much..will overcome this invader of her system? Honestly, part of me would like to see her set free. The other part longs to hold on a bit longer. As her life stretches out, we are more at odds with one another. Sometimes, I’m ashamed of myself for clashing with her. Other times, I’m like, “What the heck, Mom” because she can be so demanding. Then there will come a visit that I think that I’m lucky that she’s my mom. Her life, such as it is, isn’t one I’d like to be living. I am not the author of her story. I can only wait and see how much more of her life is written. To God be the Glory and may peace be with my mom. And I sit and wait.