Saying Good-Bye

I'm not good at losing people.  The most special uncle in the world is in the hospital right now.  I can't even begin to tell you what he has done for me and my family ... for my children ... for just about everyone who has ever needed a shoulder to lean on ... or has ever been in need of help.

He has always been a very private person, though, when it comes to HIS needs.  If he were ever sick, he didn't want you to know.  If he were ever in the hospital or having surgery, he made sure you knew that he did not want you to come in to see him.  He was very serious about this.  I had to respect his wishes.

When he would talk about the possibility of people praying for him, he almost made me laugh.  He said we could certainly pray -- but he didn't want to show up on a prayer list somewhere.  Or on a prayer chain.  I understand exactly what he's talking about.

If you've ever been involved in a spiritual family, you've probably heard the interminable lists of people needing prayers.  Worse than that -- you've heard people ask for prayers for the sister of the uncle of the best friend ... on and on ...  Recently in a class, someone even asked for prayers for the friend of their friend, but they couldn't remember their name ...

I hate to write this, but a majority of the time, once you walk out the door, the prayer list is tossed.  You don't think about "that list" because you didn't even know "those people" anyway.  He doesn't want to be on that prayer list.

Several weeks ago, my uncle finally shared with my Dad, who is 90 years old, that he has cancer in his hip.  He's actually been fighting cancer here and there for 20 years ... and it finally moved in to stay.  Chemo, radiation, big-time medicines.  He's done all of that.  And last Friday night, three days after he visited my family, he fell and fractured that hip.  On Monday, he had surgery.  For the past four days since ... nothing but sheer agony.  Infection has set in, pneumonia, and spreading cancer.

I have done a lot of crying over the past couple of days.  But I do know one thing:  my uncle is ready to go.  He does not want to be dependent on anyone.  He wants to go home.  His faith is unbelievably strong.  As my cousin, his only son wrote to me yesterday, my uncle is at peace.

How would I have imagined that Tuesday a week ago, when he drove out to my home (an hour away from his) to visit with my family, to share his faith in God, to state his belief in the afterlife and in the importance of living this life as close to God as possible ... to put that first, above your job, your education, your 'stuff'... How would I have imagined that when he drove off that evening after opening up his heart and putting it out on the table, that might be the last time I would see him?

Tonight he is in terrible pain.  No visitors are allowed on his floor in the hospital.  My dad is so torn up.  His brother, the stronghold, is leaving us.  The lump in my throat is swelling.  I cannot fathom not having this uncle at the other end of the line.  I cannot fathom the rest of the Sundays in my life without him at my table, playing his harmonica, but I know that I may not see him again.

"Shall We Gather at the River" was one of his favorite hymns he would play on his harmonica.  "Yes, we'll gather at the river," he would play and tap his foot, "... the beautiful, the beautiful river ... Gather with the Saints at the river that flows by the throne of God ..."

Yes, he'll be gathering there with all of the loved ones who have gone before, who chose to love the Lord and put Him first.

He told my dad the other day, "When it's my time to go, I won't fight it.  I've had a fabulous life."

Those were the exact words of my uncle who will be 89 on August 18 ... if he makes it.  But he would much rather gather at the river.