In 2015, doctors delivered news that Sarah’s mom’s cancer was terminal.
This is her story of how GOD BEGAN TO BRING PURPOSE TO THE LAST CHAPTER OF LIFE.
February 12, 2015
Last week the oncologist delivered the news that Mom's cancer is terminal.
Beginning to process what this means has left me heartbroken and afraid. This is new territory, propelling me into a long, heart-searching week of deep contemplation and prayer. As hospital time seems to slow and blur into indiscernible fragments of doctor's rounds and beeping machines, it takes a lot of effort to keep my mind focused and clear. While lying down to sleep last night, processing the day, God brought a vivid image into my mind. Clear and focused, penetrating to the core of my being, this vision felt as real to me as the pillow underneath my head.
A woman was patiently sitting on a wooden bench inside an old, weathered bus Terminal. Looking around at her surroundings, she was content to wait for her next ride to appear. Sunlight poured through the windows of the station casting a brilliant glow around her head. Beauty, peace, and joy radiated around her. Traveling light with no bags in tow, she straightened her Hawaiian-print walking cane, and touched up her shiny lips with deep red lipstick.
As time passed, people came to sit beside her. Some talked about her past, asking about experiences and stories she had already lived. Others inquired about her future, where she was headed, and if she was ready for her next destination. Most of her company just sat, comfortable in simply being in the present with her, cherishing their time and good conversation. No one was in a hurry. No one seemed anxious about their impending departure. Everyone was filled with deep love and affection. Through this beautiful picture God began to reshape my idea of "terminal.”
Mom is at the Terminal of life—her journey on this earth isn’t over. She is at a transition point from healthy years past to her eternal home waiting in the unforeseeable future. Without fear or regret, she is neither eager to leave her past nor dreading the future, content to sit in her Terminal until her departure time arrives. I should not fear this Terminal.
Many people don't get to ever sit in this transition point with their loved ones, never getting the opportunity to “gather ’round” one last time. To listen. To laugh. To learn. So many loved ones never get to wait patiently on the wooden bench, enjoying this sweet sliver of time together. This Terminal is a gift to me, to everyone who knows and loves Mom. Hard, yes. Tears shed, many. Do I wish I could take her off the bench and firmly place her back to her past life, definitely. But I will choose to see this Terminal as a gift; space where we can share memories of the past, show love in the present, and hold hands as we wait for the bus headed to her eternal home.