I am in mourning for her though. I am terrified for her 15 year old son, Jerry who already has quite a bit of difficulty in this life. Her husband, Mike is falling apart at the seams. He can't give himself his insulin shots (something Shirley did for him) and doesn't have any qualms about forgetting them.
Although it might seem like a completly different subject, I'm reading 'Salem's Lot. It's #3 on my "read all things Stephen King" kick. It's not really a different subject, because that book is about facing fear and facing death. Not hiding behind religion, and what true faith is (that's a whole different blog that I'm working on). In the book there is a poem:
The Emperor of Ice-Cream
by Wallace Stevens:
Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchens cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
Take from the dresser of deal,
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.
Not a terribly cheery little number. A tad surreal.
I think it says something about how we mourn and how we try to ignore death...
we need not ignore it. Rather, face it down. We are the victors because we are children of God. That stinging death has fallen and we've stood on top, not swayed by fear or the devil. We are saved by grace.
Perhaps it was in this thought that I prayed over Shirley last night. I'm not one to pray out loud for people. I'm not one to lead prayer groups. I once was and found it to be narcissistic of me to a certain extent. Last night with my husband in the room and my son in my lap, I prayed. I didn't know where to begin, what do you pray for the terminal? I don't really remember, it was hard to do. Leaving the room I was crying, still holding Josiah and I was met by her brother and sister. I know that it was the Holy Spirit, and I prayed with them. In a very unlike me moment, I said: Let me pray for you. Again, who knows what I said. It wasn't me.
No matter what accouterments we place at a deathbed, there is nothing more beautiful than the victory of salvation and heaven.
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