Death, Where is Your Sting?

As the dust settles and our little family begins to find its stride within the new normal, I find myself reflective often about the years I was blessed to know Bernice and the weeks, days, and hours leading up to her passing. On the Monday and Tuesday before she left us on that Saturday night, Bernice was in the hospital receiving blood and platelet transfusions in a desperate attempt to reverse her body's decline. Monday was difficult, but it was Tuesday that I think I began my own process of grief. A process that recycles itself as I go along, yes, but the start of it was that Tuesday morning. There was a clear and present difference in that day. She had had some bleeding that was both expected and unexpected that alarmed her and me both. In the hospital room I helped her to and from the bed and tried my darndest to mask how terrified I was and how helpless I felt. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel like I couldn't handle it. I could. I did!  But after I had settled her back in bed, I turned around to see her dear friend Charlotte standing in the doorway. She was like an angel that God sent for me right then and there. She said, "Rachel, I'm here for a couple of hours. Go get some lunch and enjoy some time with Jonathan and I'll take over for a bit."  It was like God himself was saying those words. Like He knew I was at my breaking point. So I burst into tears (though I tried so hard not to), wrapped my arms around her, and then walked over to Bernice's bedside. I held her hand and said, "I don't have to leave, Bernice. I can do this. I'm ok."  To which she responded, with that quintessential sparkle in her eye, "I know you can sweetie. I don't know what I would do without you. But you need some time for yourself too. I'm ok. Charlotte's here!  You go and relax for a minute."

I reluctantly left the room and went downstairs to find Jonathan. When he wasn't where I thought he would be, I plopped down in a waiting room chair and just cried. I cried for the pain I knew she was in, for the helplessness that she must have felt, for my own weakness, for the inevitability of what was happening, in mourning over what my life would look like without her in it, for that defeated feeling that was circulating in her, in me, in all of us. We couldn't do anything to help her, to stop what was happening, to reverse what had already occurred. I wept. Openly and raggedly. Until Jonathan came walking around the corner and knelt in front of me with our sweet Greysen in his arms and wept with me. He listened to me say "There is just so much blood. I can't stand to see her in pain. I would take this all on for her if I could. It's just not right that someone like her has to go through this."  I openly and angrily said, "What is the friggin point of cancer?? Why would there be something that siphons the life of someone else, only to die when they die?  What's the point??? It's like the medical equivalent of a cockroach. Why does it even exist??"  

In my anger I despised her disease. I still do. Cancer is ugly. It's cruel. It is destructive.  It strips you of your dignity. It wrecks your body. And in the end, it literally sucks the life right out of you. It is not at all understanding or merciful. It afflicts even the sweetest and most forgiving people on this earth with no intention of allowing them the long and full life they should have...

But as these days have rolled by. As Bernice's absence is so heavy at times that I can hardly catch my breath. I have had moments of time to consider what really is the point of cancer?  And why did my Bernice have to go through it?  The best answer I can give is this:

Cancer is not something that God "gives you". It is not a trial He places in your life. He did not deem you "worthy of suffering" enough to afflict you with cancer. Cancer is a disease that exists because of the fallenness of our world. It is a reflection of the imperfections that exist on this earth. We may never know what causes any type of cancer with any certainty.  I think that's because there's more at play than a simple or even complicated medical answer. Our world is fallen, it is FALLING, and we are powerless to stop it...

BUT...

The victory for us comes the next day. After our weak bodies have experienced the brutal blows of things like cancer, it still doesn't win. Bernice didn't "lose her fight", y'all. She WON!  The cancer that siphoned her very breath is DEAD and our sweet Bernice is ALIVE in Christ. What's the point in cancer? Who knows. Maybe Jesus will enlighten me at some point when I get to walk those golden streets with Him one day. But death has no sting for those who know Christ. Cancer doesn't win. It doesn't go on living after its defeated the body it stole. It dies right along with the flesh. But Bernice's spirit left that tired body and was immediately gathered up in GLORY!

I believe that with my whole being. And it's not some blind faith or some really good "Bible story" that I use as my measuring stick. Bernice told me not even an hour before she died that "He came down". Her exact words. Check out this verse of scripture: 

"For the Lord Himself will come down from Heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God." -1 Thessalonians 4:16

You will never convince me that the things I heard her say in those final days and hours of her life were simply grumblings cast out of her dying brain. "Did you see the woman with the rosary?",  "I feel different, something has changed", "I see these stories play out in front of my eyes when I'm between sleeping and waking. Sometimes it's people I know, sometimes it's people I don't know but feel like I should", "No, no. Patrick has to see me first", "He came down". She was surround by His angels all week long. His arms were outstretched to her, patiently waiting for her to run into them. And folks, when it came time, she RAN. She went so fast!  I can hardly wrap my mind around how quickly He gathered her up!  What a mercy that she didn't suffer long. What a mercy that He snatched her up so fast that the rest of us were left thinking "How did that happen so quickly?"  Oh, how He loves her...

So death, where is your sting?  Cancer, where is your victory?  That stupid tumor is dead and buried. It will never rise again. But Bernice was caught up in glory. She has a new body free from the earthly chains of cancer and sickness. She closed her eyes on earth and opened them in eternity. And though life without her still seems strange...wrong even...I know that I know that I know that she is rejoicing today. Whole and new and even more beautiful (if that's possible)...

Cancer doesn't win. Faith does. And death is not our defeat. It's our victory. We win every time...

You Are My Naomi...

My Sweet Bernice,


I have struggled to put these words together all week.  I've been considering what I might say in a letter like this for weeks now as the inevitability of your passing became more and more real.  This is the third time I have tried to sit and express my thoughts and my heart, but this is the first attempt I've made to write to you as if your earthly eyes will read this.  It feels more natural for me to speak to you as if you're still here with me.  As a matter of fact, I have spent this whole week speaking to you as if you're still here.  "Bernice, where in the heck did you hide that Pandora bracelet?", "Bernice, which shoes do you want me to bring to Mercer-Adams for you?", "Bernice, how in the world will I ever learn to function in a world you no longer live in?".  In the days that you've been gone, I find myself looking for you often.  When I'm in a room full of people and I want to sit and be quiet or catty, my eyes search for yours.  When I stand in the studio where we spent so many hours whiling away time beading and chatting, your absence is practically palpable.  When I consider that tomorrow we will "say goodbye" to you, my heart can hardly grasp the concept of the finality of your death...


There was a point during the week of your passing that Brenda had come over to help me bathe you and help you get ready for bed.  After I had made you comfortable...rubbed your feet and legs and hands until I knew you were relaxed enough to rest well...I knelt by your bedside with your hand pressed to my heart and told you how precious you are.  How valued you are. How cherished you are to me.  And how deeply and profoundly I love you.  Every night for the last 10 nights you spent with us here on earth I tried to express those things to you as explicitly as I could.  Later that evening, Brenda texted me with this verse:

But Ruth replied, "Don't ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. - Ruth 1:16

Brenda said "You exude Ruth".  That's when the lightbulb came on for me!  In all these 12 years that I have known and loved you, I have searched for a term that properly describes the unique relationship we share.  It is far more deep than a mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship, but it differs from mother/daughter, sister, friend, or simply confidant.  We are kindred souls, in a way, but you are also a mentor and my wise council.  You have been my touchstone.  You have exemplified grace, humility, and forgiveness when I struggled to muster those things in my own life.  Brenda's kind words telling me that I exude Ruth, though, made me realize that the best way to describe our special connection is that you are my Naomi. 

There are countless reasons I can give for choosing to marry your Jonathan.  There have been things revealed to me over the years that have only further solidified our super human connection...the purpose God had in mind for our union.  But YOU are one of the most precious gifts I received as a fringe benefit of committing my life and my love to your son.  And in these final days of your life, it has become so glaringly apparent that I was created as much for YOU as I was for him.  I was always supposed to be this person for you.  It was always supposed to be me who cradled your head in my hands to ease your pain.  It was always supposed to be me that preserved your dignity until the bitter end.  I was always supposed to be the one you passed your torch to.  And those responsibilities...they were never a burden...they were and are my gift!  It was ME who was so richly blessed by those quiet moments just you and me in your final days...when I needed God's strength and you needed mine.  My body was always supposed to be the one that took over for yours when the life inside of you began to drain.  And I so gladly and willingly gave it all to you...I would do it all again!  


I promised you I would take care of your boys, of your Charlie, of your sweet baby Greysen.  You told me how much comfort that brought you, and so, as your final hours ticked so quickly by, I tried to make sure that I continually reminded you of that promise.  In the hour of your passing before all of us knelt beside you, you drew a deep breath in and whispered to me "He came down".  It was then that I knew that it was almost time for you to step into the arms of Jesus.  That I could no longer offer you the help and comfort that you needed...you needed Help beyond my power...


Watching the life quickly yet ever so slowly leave your body...leave your eyes...was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do.  There was a helplessness there...for you and for us...that could not be avoided.  But Bernice, you have to know that watching that scene while your sweet grand baby was held in the crook of my arm nursing and my hands rested on your arm...while your husband patted your legs and said "You're beautiful, you're radiant, you're strong, you're courageous"...while your hands were each filled with the lives you carried in your own womb...your sweet sons whispering to you that it was ok and that they love you...  


Words cannot express the sweetness of that moment.  The organic nature of your passing will quickly be forgotten, but I will never forget thinking that when my time comes, I want it to be while I'm surrounded by the ones I hold most dear...


I hope when I get to wrap my arms around you again in Heaven that you will tell me, "Rachel, you honored me in the end."  I hope you feel as though I gave you my best...gave you everything I had in me...I hope that I have made you proud.  I will spend my life upholding your legacy of peace, forgiveness, kindness, and gentleness.  I will raise my children to know you well.  I will take on your matriarchal role in this family.  Though I know I can never fill your shoes...I will never come close to replacing you...I hope that I can take a cue from the life that you lived and the example you set in such a way that your memory and your legacy lives on...


My sweet and precious Bernice, this world is dimmer without you in it.  But Heaven is sweeter and more brilliant!  Soon and very soon we will sit once again and spend endless hours together like we did here on earth.  I long for those days to come quickly!  I pray for your nearness in these days, weeks, months, and years to come.  I see little bits of you in each of the people who love you.  I see your sweet spirit in Sandy, I see your initiative and drive in Brenda, I see your candidness and your uncanny ability to make people smile in Charlotte, I see your giving and nurturing nature in Elaine, I see your wisdom in Jonathan, I see your gentleness in Patrick, I see your unconditional love in Charlie.  I can only hope that in my life, I can exude your spirit...your likeness...as it was such a beautiful reflection of Christ in you...


I love you with a love I cannot express in words, my Bernice.  I know you are dancing those golden streets and embracing your Jesus right now.  Though my heart is heavy with your absence, it is simultaneously rejoicing in your newness.  Because HE lives, I can face tomorrow...and every day beyond that...

Until We Meet Again on that Beautiful Heavenly Shore,


Rach