close to death

This morning I got paged to the room of an 92 year old woman.  I stood with my arm wrapped around her daughter as we got the news that her breathing was slowing.  We were still hugging when mom's breath stopped.

This afternoon I sat with a mom and dad and held their 13 week fetus.  13 weeks.  A tiny little alien creature, with a tiny head, and a nose and arms.  He already had a name.  And great plans.  They strained to make sense of my English words as I tried to comfort them and shared their grief.

This evening I stood with 20 family members and watched their father's monitor as his heart slowed down. Then got erratic.  And then stopped.  I watched the line go flat.

Then late late in the night I watched a medical team try to keep someone here.  I watched as they had to give up and make a pronouncement.  And then I went with the doctor to go tell the family.

The end of an era, the death of a dream, the loss of a leader, the finale of father.  One moment alive.  The next moment gone.  Full of life.  Then lifeless.

Is this post depressing you?  Me too.  I can't share a hug, the snot on my shoulder or the mascara on my cheek. But I can share a little of the pain in my heart.  And then say to you the same thing I've been saying all day long.  I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I'm so so sorry.

God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” Revelation 21:3 and 4 NIV

Yes.  This verse again.  Won't be the last time either.