Corrective note

I must make clear that my Easter gratitude (last post) is genuine and the risen Jesus holds fast my faith. However, I realize how it may have sounded almost facile to skeptical friends. Is accepting a loved one's death that easy?  I need to add some reality, not to dramatize the sadness, but to safeguard against any impression that these last months have been coasting in comfort. Times of desolation have been acute. And were Carol's prayers answered in ways that she wanted? No. Our Christian faith faced struggles these last few months. Do I need to mention this? Well, only to underline how faith in God does not protect you from distress, but grants a way through. 

Carol was in bed for much of the time since mid-July 2025. Being at home meant comfort was always near. She never mentioned feeling alone or scared! However, her seven weeks in hospital was a different matter  During each day I stayed 8 to 10 hours. Her neurological disease (still undiagnosed as we await further brain post-mortem results) gave her times of lucidity in the midst of complete unreality. This was a frightening combination of knowing everything was strange around her with constant pain while not understanding what was actually happening to her. Even though her brain disease removed her ability to walk and use her hands, she still wanted to get out of bed and talked longingly of returning home soon. In the last few weeks her loss of swallowing was clearly terminal. Eating became impossible and even with careful sipping, her occasional choking racked her with panicked pain. Much of my time (really hours) was spent holding a drink with a straw to her chapped lips, encouraging the smallest of sips. 

There were particular moments of desolation. One came most nights at the painful moment of my leaving. I would say a prayer, leaning close with a kiss. Often she pleaded for me to stay. I can still hear the cry: ' Please don't leave me! I would stay a little longer until visiting hours were over.  But in the morning I heard from patients in adjoining beds how in the night she was crying out for help and sometimes sobbing. Nobody would give her a drink. I am sure some nurses did help, but her loneliness and desperation was heartbreaking. 

Another grave day, Carol shared her grief openly. She told me how much she had been praying to God to help her. 'I'm praying, and praying. I'm in such a mess but He won't help me. Why won't he help me?'  I had told her several times how serious her illness was and, by prayer, had hoped to prepare her for dying.  But the dementia aspect of her neurological disease was unable to comprehend.  I reassured her of God's love and of his promise to hold her fast in the valley of shadow, but until towards the very end it seemed to be incomprehensible to her anguished mind. As I mentioned in some past posts I do believe she came to a place of deeper peace at the end of her journey. When she slipped to glory I saw she was serenely at rest. I rejoice her cruel suffering is over. How I wish she had never had to go through it, yet Christian believers are not guaranteed freedom from suffering, are they?  Carol's Easter faith - the hymns we shall sing at her thanksgiving - holds fast through desolation.