For Him

Ring ring ring. No answer. Ring ring. I guess I'll wait one more ring, I thought to myself. Ring. Nata.
"Do you think I should just go up there?" I called to my mother, "Or wait?"
"Um, you can go up if you want to, if it's a good time for them." came her reply.
"Kay, I'll go!" I slipped on a pair of shoes, swung open the door, flew down the steps, and into the fresh spring air until I could tell myself otherwise.

Though I was scared, my legs a bit shaky, I prayed to the Lord that He would give me strength to do what I knew I needed to do. So many times I had shoved it aside, excuses swirling in my mind, "I'm too busy. Maybe tomorrow. I have too much homework." There was no excuse to avoid this anymore.

I looked down at the pebble-filled driveway, remembering so many games of tag and laughter and fun. What hung here now was silence, and the faint trace of remembrance, hanging by a single thread. A little slower, as if my legs had been weighed down, I climbed the three small steps and wrung the door bell.

After waiting about a minute, and debating whether to stay or leave, someone opened the door, beckoned me in, and had me wait until he was off the phone. Blind to what I was going to see, I walked into the carpeted room, where a hospital bed seemed so out of place in the beautiful sun-lit place.

A monitor flashed green and red, an IV plugged into his fading white skin. Drowsy from the pain medication, mostly from the pain itself, waiting, eagerly longing for eternal life. All the words I thought I was going to say slipped out of my mind and vanished right before my very eyes.

Words stuck in my throat, I felt like a kindergartner, trying to form the right kind of words to say after I fell and scraped my knee. I could have said thank you. Thank you for all of your words, thank you for all of your insight, your wisdom, your faith. Thank you for changing my life.

Instead, tiny tears swam around in my eyes, and all I could say was, "I'm praying for you." In reply he told my that he loved me and that I should just continue to honor God and that he was glad I was in his life. As one final word he said, unafraid and heartfelt, "Goodbye."

As his wife apologized that he couldn't talk more and walked me downstairs, she handed me a homemade cookie. A cookie. In all of her distress, she gave me a cookie. I walked home, happy and sad, threw away the cookie, for it was too much to eat.

Then I cried. I cried for all the words he'd said to me. I cried for all the cancer patients who had nothing to hold onto. I cried for all of the world, that it would know Jesus. I cried for him.