I didn't sleep well that night. I tossed and turned, dreading the next day. Somehow, I knew that my friend's test results wouldn't be good. I woke up early that morning and took a quick shower. As I turned off the water and heard the telephone ringing, I raced to the phone and so I was given the dreadful news while still soaking wet. I just stood there dripping both water and tears.
"Good morning, Sunshine,"
"I'll be there shortly," I promised.
I had met
While driving to the hospital, my memories took me back to the days right after we met. My father was diagnosed as "terminal."
Because my father resided in a long-term care facility almost seventy miles away, I was exhausted. I worked two jobs, taught a Sunday school class and visited with Daddy several times a week. Many times my cell phone rang while I was driving home on the interstate.
"Good afternoon, Sunshine,"
Once I arrived at the hospital, I tapped on her door and heard a faint, "Come in." As I opened the door, I saw my friend lying there in the bed. She smiled at me.
"Good morning, Sunshine," she whispered. "Thanks for coming." The room was dark. Even the flowers that we had taken to her the day before looked sad. I leaned over her bed and embraced her. We held each other tight and sobbed in each other's arms. Initially, there were no words. What do you say to a dear friend when you know that she will be leaving you soon?
"I love you, Doris," came out quite naturally. "I'm going to be with you through this," I assured her. "You can count on me."
For several hours that day, we talked about how we would break the news to her other family members. We discussed final arrangements, her pain medication toward the end and other important matters. The next few weeks were a blur. Between the many doctor visits, making sure she had plenty of food and fluids in the house, and keeping her prescriptions straight, we spent a great deal of time together.
One Sunday morning, I woke up early and called to check on her. I could tell that she needed medical care immediately. I rushed her to the emergency room. She was admitted that day and never returned home.
During the week preceding her death, I went to the hospital four to six times a day. I read the Bible to her at night until she fell asleep. Some mornings, I arrived even before she awakened. She lost her strength, but she never lost her beautiful smile. Each morning, I was greeted with her typical "Good morning, Sunshine." As I watched her grow even weaker, I wondered how many more mornings I would have the privilege of hearing those special words.
One afternoon, I received a call. "
"Can I speak to her alone for a second?" I begged the doctor as soon as I arrived.
"Sure," he said. Everyone left the room and allowed me to spend a few moments with my friend.
I took
"I love you, too, Sunshine," she whispered.
"There's nothing else we can do," the doctor announced to me after the procedure. I knew I had to break the news to her.
I walked from the hallway where I'd waited for the doctor back into
"I'm sorry, but it didn't," I answered and began to cry.
"Everything is going to be okay,"
The next morning, I went to see her as usual.
That night
The next morning, I stepped outside and the August sun shone down upon my face. Its warmth made me think of
Selasa, 10 Juni 2008
Unconditional Love (Story of the Month)
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