The Last Days

This “Year in Africa” has now become merely a Year in Life.  Rather, and more impacting, it has become a Year before Death.


My mom is now on her last days.  Days.  Not months.  Not weeks.  Days.  One visit with her and you won’t need a doctor to tell you that.  She is fragile, weak, helpless, and many times voiceless. The last days... 

People talk of the “last days” often and in many contexts.  I have watched countless movies on humans fighting against their last days due to plague or invasion.  Bucket lists have been made with goals to accomplish before the last days.  Just recently, a man claimed to know the last days of mankind and of this world.  However, all of this is fantasy.  When reality sets in of one’s last days, whether yours or another’s, those fantasies are now valid - each of those depictions, regardless of how dramatized, become eerily familiar.  They can be frightening, provoking of painful memories, ridiculously comedic, or even offensive.  What do you think about when you consider the last days?  If you have had an all too real encounter with the last days, how has your thinking changed?

For her, this could not come soon enough.

My mom is now on her last days.  There is no alien invasion.  There is no viral outbreak.  There is no arrogant prediction.  There is simply a bleak hospital-like room filled with the humming of an air conditioning unit, the rustling of a sleeping ten-year old in a leather recliner, and the occasional gasp for air from a dying child of God.  A survey of the room returns with signs of a life well lived and well loved.  Flowers abound from her own garden and the gardens of others.  Pillows and blankets set out for the family members who just can not bear to leave her.  A basket of snacks from close friends to feed the steady flow of visitors that is heeded only by the limited number of sleeping options in the room.  Empty chairs, too few to match the number of family and friends that day, leave little space for walking.  A DVD in the player from the night before because any night is a good night for a “movie night.”  Random tissues throughout, still damp from the many tears shed.  An iPod docked and on continuous play of her favorite worship songs. Cell phone chargers.  Half-full beverages.  Kids’ homework and backpacks.  Gifts.  Memories.  Prayers.  Love.  The only fantasies here are her dreams.  Dreams of floating down a river with a good book in hand.  Dreams of standing under a cooling, never ending waterfall.  Dreams of dancing.  Dreams of singing.  Dreams of life in the arms of her Father.  However, unlike what is shown in theaters or talked about in social circles, these fantasies, for her, will soon become a reality.