He wanted to die.
The woman who had been his wife, mother of their children, and best friend had preceded him in death, and he wished to join her.
What was left?
We met when I was a college student. He and his wife thought of me as one of their own, and though our contact over the years suffered long gaps, I knew my best friend’s parents meant and lived by what they said—I was family.
He’d served in WWII, married his sweetheart, raised a fine family, and was an exceptional employee, an active member in his faith community, a team player not averse to grunt work, and by all accounts—not his own of course—an active steward of the gifts and talents God had given him.
He is, in my opinion, God’s kind of guy.
I saw him recently at his wife’s memorial service. He’s not ill, but infirmed by the decrements of age. The smile, affable manner, strong handshake, and upbeat approach remained intact though a series of minor strokes had affected his speech—something he readily acknowledged by shrugging his shoulders. His passion for engagement continued to be compelling, just as it had been when I first met him.
At the memorial service, the reception, and later in his retirement center home, he frequently pointed to the ceiling and said “soon,” a gesture directed toward a place beyond our finite knowing. Those of us who know and love him knew what he meant.
My mother, beloved and difficult in equal measure, longed to join my father who had predeceased her by twenty-six years at the time of her death in 2013. She spoke eloquently of what she anticipated heaven to be—a place of majesty where she and loved ones would gather at Jesus’ feet, sing in a choir of angels, and be worry and pain-free. She never pointed toward the sky, but spoke the words of hope and yearning. She, however, clung to this earth-bound world, a life of worry and anxiety, with the same tenacity that she’d exercised when demanding our dinner plates be clean before enjoying dessert.
I often asked her, “Why is it so difficult for you to find peace and comfort in your faith.”
“I do,” she’d reply, “my faith gives me peace.”
It didn’t appear so to me. Nevertheless, her hope in the hereafter remained undiminished throughout her ninety-nine years, as did her incessant worrying.
When she peacefully gave in to the passing from this life into the next I was relieved that her faith had been rewarded, at least I hope so, and that a lifetime of niggling worry, chronic second-guessing, and anxiety would no longer be her companions.
I sensed that my close friend’s father wasn’t about to cling, and though he could be frustratingly stubborn I think that same trait will keep him asking his Maker, “Soon?”—and do so with a smile.
My faith is shaky, and if I point heavenward without acknowledging my doubt I am doing The Creator and myself a disservice. I rail too frequently against God’s silence when it is my ears that are closed to the Spirit. Too often I succumb to embracing God’s absence rather than searching for His presence.
I take great pleasure in the knowledge that kind and loving people of faith experience certainty in their spiritual beliefs—and wish the same for myself.
I hope my elderly friend’s raised hand is acknowledged, and the request for “soon” is granted. It seems only “right” for a compassionate God to do so.
And now, as for my reluctance and doubt…
by 
I hope for a dignified end for all people. This gentleman seems to be full of life but ready to go. The sadness is when a family insists upon desperate measures against the will of a parent, spouse or child. I have a medical directive and take it with me any time I have to go near a hospital. Regardless of whether there is a life ever after, dying is a part of living as is aging and we should treat it, not as an enemy, but as a natural process. As for faith, I cling to C.S. Lewis’ tenet, we choose God, he is always there and it is our choice whether to go to him (her) for you politically correct.
Am I going to die? Undoubtable, yes. It’s the “when” that I live with though I do not think of it often. My faith gives me assurance that I will be in good company after death. I do not fear it. It is the good-byes that sadden my heart. Though challenging, life has granted me much goodness. I hate the thought of leaving my family. I want to see my grandchildren grow and prosper.
So I find myself at opposite ends with this gentleman you present to us. He has lost what binds him to this earth. I cling to what I still have. And so, I must remind myself daily to live, love and be grateful to the One who has given it all to me.
My mother was in the last stages of Alzheimer’s, had fallen and broken her hip, and was heavily sedated on pain medications. After my last visit with her I got up to leave her bedside and go home. Before I got to the door I heard her say what sounded like “Beh, Beh, Beh, Bette, I love you”. Where did those words come from? She hadn’t said my name in so long. She must have dug down very deeply to find them. I sat with her for a while longer and whispered in her ear that it was OK for her to go. She would be met by all those she knew and loved who had passed on before her. I guess you could say that I gave her permission. The following Friday she was gone, it was Good Friday. I’d like to think she was met by a Heavenly Host.
Thank you for your blog….no need to be reluctant.
Bette, Tough to do, but what a gracious and loving act–to be with a beloved–both you and your mother dug down deep, and I hope she was met with open arms and great celebration.
roger
My mother died recently and during the funeral liturgy the priest cited her great faith. We siblings glanced sideways at each other–it was something none of us had witnessed and certainly never talked about with her. I wonder what people will say about my faith when I die.
My guess…welcome, Jean, you have been a faithful servant, thank you for being faithful in reading and commenting on my thoughts.
Sometimes I think we delude ourselves by thinking that our lives are dependent on the lives of key people in our world. We limit ourselves and limit the grace of God who constantly confronts us with new challenges and new people in need of authentic relationship. When Jesus said to John, “behold your mother”, he affirmed the formation of new and meaningful relationships reminding me of the Bible verse about God putting the desolute into families.
Well said, Kay.