THAT MOMENT

The doctors had delivered their statement on my birthday, no less, that my husband, Slick, would probably die within the next 48 hours. Well, those 48 hours passed, but my husband didn't die. Doctors can only give their prognosis with the best information they have at the time. Their knowledge is limited, also, due to their humanity. None of us know what will happen in the future or when it will happen. So, I waited each moment after my birthday for THAT moment. I had experienced THAT moment when our daughter died. I was not looking forward to experiencing it again.

The doctors continued to remind me, in a compassionate way, that Slick would not be leaving the hospital. There were subtle suggestions to have him removed from the ventilator. I just couldn’t. That decision was too big for me. I desperately needed God to be in complete charge of that decision. I believed there had to be a way without me determining the moment.

So, one day passed, then another day, then a week, then another week, until an entire month had passed while we waited. The same routine and schedule for me, our son, and those taking care of all of us. Over and over every day.

Until one Sunday. My dad, who was helping me that weekend, decided to take Justin fishing at Lake Conway, just a short drive from our home, while I visited Slick that day. I so wished I could spend the day at the lake instead of in the dark ICU waiting room. There never seemed to be enough light for me in that room. Lakes are my peaceful places; I love their beauty and calm waters. The weather was beautiful that day, drawing me to the sunlight. I had finally reached an emotional point where I felt I couldn’t spend another minute in that hospital. I wanted to be done. I wanted an escape from our waiting while nothing changed. With that desire for freedom, I also felt guilty because I knew the only way that I would get that freedom was for THAT moment to arrive, unless God intervened with a miracle.

My dad graciously waited until I returned from the morning visit with Slick, and I joined him and my son, Justin, on the bank of the water. There was a rule when my dad took me and my sister fishing as young girls that there was no talking allowed; he didn’t want us to scare the fish away. What my dad didn’t realize, in those days, is that both of us would rather be reading a book, not talking at all, instead of holding a fishing pole with a squirmy worm or a smelly fish. He was so glad to have a grandson that would fish with him. The ‘no talking’ rule had been passed down to the next generation.

So, there was quiet at the lake that morning. No visitors asking me the latest update which had not changed in a month. No other families around me in the waiting room so they could see their loved one. No phone calls from people who couldn’t visit. No interruptions.

I had time to sit and truly talk to God without interruptions. I shared my weariness with Him. I shared my desire to have some freedom from the hospital schedule. I shared my guilty feeling. Barring a huge miracle from God, I knew the ending to this story. The Lord listened to every one of my heart’s desires and aches. God was and is so good. As I sat on the bank of that lake, He prepared my heart for the rest of the day.

We left Lake Conway so I could see Slick at the next scheduled visit after lunch. When Slick realized I was there, he motioned that he wanted to write something on his pad of paper. He wrote, “I’m tired.” Then, “will you and Justin be okay?” I knew at that moment that he was coherent enough to understand what was going on. He knew THAT moment was coming, and he wanted to make sure that we would be okay.

I absolutely had no idea how Justin and I would be okay. Of course, I assured him that we would. With God.

Then, he wrote, “I’m ready to go to sleep now.”

It was time.

He was ready.

God had stepped in to make that decision.

“Since his days are determined, the number of his months is with Thee, and his limits Thou has set so that he cannot pass.” Job 14:5

The nurses were informed of his decision; the doctor was called to the hospital. They explained to me what would need to happen. I called the family members and close friends to invite them to make one last visit.

We all spent the rest of the day together in the waiting room making the “legal” visits, two at a time, during the scheduled hours. After those hours ended and the family of the other patients in the unit went home, the medical personnel took him off the ventilator and ended the medication that had kept his heart rate up. The nurses then allowed us to go in and stay with him.

That night was so hard. Just waiting. My son was at home, unaware of the circumstances. I listened to the breathing that occurs at the end of life. I found it very difficult to stay for a long time in his room, so I went back and forth from his room to the waiting room many times.

Each time I entered his room his heart rate would go back up, even without me saying a word. He knew, somehow, that I was close.

At one point when I was in the waiting room, he opened his eyes and looked at the closest person to him, a good friend. The friend asked if Slick wanted me. By the time I entered the room, he had closed his eyes again.

Hours passed. Back and forth we all went, taking turns to be with him or take a rest. Early on Monday morning, just a couple of hours after midnight, those in the room knew to get me. THAT moment was close. Yet, when I walked into the room, his heart rate again beat a little faster.

I stood by his side, telling him I and Justin would be okay, and saying my last “see ya later.” In a few moments, he took his final breath and entered the presence of Jesus.

“Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His godly ones.” Psalm 116:15

Heavy sigh.

I have been dreading this moment in our story. Even now, my emotions overwhelm me. His desire to live and be with his family was so strong. I knew how much life he brought to others. I knew how many people wanted him to live longer.

I also know how painful this part of my story will be for Slick’s children, his daughter, Jenny, and our son, Justin. Jenny had visited her dad that day and was old enough to remember. Justin was too young, both to visit and to remember. However, he wants to hear his parents’ story. I’m so sorry, Jenny and Justin, that he left us so soon.

Stories are hard to tell sometimes. Endings can be painful for years to come. Even over 29 years later.

But God promised eternal life.

“Truly, truly, I say to you, he who hears My word, and believes Him who sent Me, has eternal life, and does not come into judgment, but has passed out of death into life.” John 5:24

Slick believed in Jesus!

So, Slick didn’t really die that day. He moved from his ICU room straight to the presence of Jesus. THAT moment is when he truly began to truly live. No more cancer! No more ventilator! No more pain!

And one day, those of us that wanted him to live longer on earth with us and who, like Slick, believe in Jesus, will join him in truly living and will begin that “longer” time with him.

“For it is for this we labor and strive, because we have fixed our hope on the living God, who is the Savior of all men, especially of believers.” 1 Timothy 4:10

This promise is why we all continue to put one foot in front of the other, sleep and wake, go to work, have our meals, and keep on keeping on. “For it is for this” is the promise of the best moments which are yet to come.