Thank You Sarah

It was just past midnight as I sat in hospital with my friend Sarah. Her children and grandchildren had gone home for some much needed rest. It was obvious that Sarah was at the end of this life's journey and preparing for her next. The nursing staff had kindly moved her into a private room, affording more privacy and dignity.

I had brought with me a small radio and a book, which I read to Sarah during the night. And I was prepared to offer her Viaticum (a prayer of provision for her journey) as morning broke. It was our private time together.

It was close to 2AM when Sarah opened her eyes. I had stopped reading and was watching the shallow rise and fall of her frame as her body instinctively fought, clinging to the last vestige of life. The music that softly played from the small radio was Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending.

I asked Sarah if she would mind my saying prayers for her now. She had such a sweet and lovely radiance in her face. I found a tissue in my pocket and wiped a tear that ran from her eye. I stroked her hair and briefly thought of her sisters and children.

Almighty God, look upon Your servant Sarah, as she lies here in weakness. Comfort her with the promise of life everlasting, given in the resurrection of Your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Sarah surrendered her mortal life a few hours later, with dignity and embraced in love.

Thank you Sarah. Thank you for the honour of being my friend.

Words of Comfort for the Dying

I'm Only Dying!

Falling In Love At Clapham Junction

It's Life Jim But Not As We Know It

So What's a Good Death?

When It's Okay To Let Go

My friend Sarah has recently entered hospital. She’s fought a valiant battle over the past few years. But as with many of these situations, the chemotherapy and medications were simply unable to fight off the advances of the progressing cancer.

With hand on heart I can truly say I have never once heard Sarah complain about her cancer: in fact, quite the opposite! A few weeks ago, whilst she was still at home, Sarah's thoughts were on getting back into her garden, sorting through papers, and visiting friends.

I’ve been saddened to watch her deteriorate so rapidly. On Sunday, my thoughts were that she would most likely quietly slip into a coma overnight. But how wrong I was! On Monday, Sarah was bright and chipper. In fact, she asked me to bring her a ham sandwich and a few mandarins.

When Mary and I returned later that evening to bring her an assortment of goodies, Sarah’s conversation was again about getting rid of her ‘awful cough’ and the fluid in her lungs, and going ‘home.’ I was delighted and I truly hoped that she would indeed be returning home.

But yesterday Sarah was unable to speak. She had received a get-well card from a neighbour, but was too weak to hold it in her hands. Her face was contorted as agonising pain shot through her chest and back. And she looked at me with an imploring sense of helplessness. I spoke with the ward sister: Sarah had already received as much morphine as was safely possible. (an irony that could release an agonising rash of invectives from me!)

I know that Sarah is still trying to fight her battle. She told me she would never stop fighting it. When I suggested to her that it is also okay to accept. Sarah said that if she did that she wouldn’t be very proud of herself.

The elderly can teach us so much about our lives to come and we constantly learn from them. But we also need guidance in how to finish our mortal lives as well.

As the Apostle Paul put it, ‘I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Finally there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will give to me on that Day’

Funny, that’s just what Sarah says!

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Words of Comfort for the Dying.

We Are Never Alone

Bedside Prayers For a Child's Death

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