In The Face Of Death

Well, it's that time of year again. I'm not talking about the flowers bursting out of the ground or the trees budding. I'm not talking about the chirping of the birds outside the window in the mornings. I'm not talking about the excitement in the air as we all smell Spring arriving.

I'm talking about March 10. Tomorrow will mark 26 years since my Dad left this earth. That seems impossible. I'm only 17, how can he have died 26 years ago?

No matter how many years pass, every time March 10 rolls around, I relive the day.
My brother-in-law woke me early in the morning, and I thought he had messed up. I thought he meant to wake my brother up for school. It took me several minutes to realize he was telling me that my Dad was really bad and if I wanted to see him alive again, I needed to get to the hospital.
I remember the family starting to gather at the hospital.
I remember standing outside my Dad's room talking to some pastor named Clyde. He told me he had read some Psalms to my Dad.
I remember my Dad yelling out for my Mom.
I remember him telling me to sit down and be quiet. I don't remember why, it was pretty out of character for him. He seemed angry but I don't know why.
I remember leaving the hospital around 7:00 to go home and get a change of clothes. And I remember on the way back, looking at the clock at 8:05 with a weird feeling in my stomach.
I remember walking through the hospital doors and being greeted by some family friends, along with my brother, and they were all leaving. I don't remember the exact exchange of words, but I remember it feeling weird.
And I remember getting to my Dad's floor, getting off the elevator, starting the walk down the hall, and then my sister appearing. She told me he had died a few minutes ago (around 8:05) and asked if I wanted to see him. "No!", I told her. She figured that would be my answer, but they hadn't taken him away yet just in case.
I remember sitting at my kitchen table that night with my Mom, and then going out to 7-11 to get her some sour cream potato chips.
We tend to remember the weirdest things.

This last Saturday I looked in the face of death. And I knew I was looking at it the whole time. A church member's Mom was dying. She was diagnosed with cancer last year, did a good job fighting it, but couldn't starve it off when it returned in January. She was drawing some of her last breaths on Saturday.
As I stared in the face of death, I couldn't help but feel a bit of joy thinking that in a very short time she would be dancing with Jesus. Actually her salvation isn't a sure thing, but there is good reason to believe she knew Jesus. And this morning when she left this earth, I hope she traded her oxygen tank for some dancing shoes.