in between times

There is this in between time in the hospital.  

The bad news has been delivered.  

All hope of recovery is gone.  

We just wait.  

Wait for the lines to straighten out.  

Wait for grieving to officially start.  

Wait for it to be over.

I was surprised to discover how long death can take.  And how different people spend that in between time.

*Some families spend that time hoping and praying for a miracle.

*Sometimes it is one son clutching the last few moments with his mom.

*Or one dad weeping over the unfairness of saying good bye to his daughter.

*Sometimes we stand in perfect silence watching the monitors for signs that it's done.

*This evening it was a wife of 63 years, telling me stories of how John hated onions.  How he would take one bite of her dinner and wrinkle up his nose if he tasted onion in the food.  For a hour and a half of the in between time she told stories - how they met, where they lived, and worked, and traveled, and we laughed at the memories.  We took breaks in the story to be quiet and count the seconds between his breaths, holding our own.  And then when he inhaled, the stories would continue.

It was the strangest yet holiest of in between times.  Waiting and laughing and stories.  Wrapping up his life together.  She, who had known him intimately for 63 years. The love of his life.  Me, who had walked into the room 90 minutes earlier, yet had already fallen in love with both of them.

In between times always end.  The sun set.  The last breath was breathed.  She kissed him good bye and picked up her bags.  Her life would never be the same.  

And in a tiny way... neither would mine.

God said, "You are close enough. Remove your sandals from your feet. You're standing on holy ground."  Exodus 3:5