"The grave wrapped its ropes around me; death itself stared me in the face." — 2 Samuel 22:6 (NLT) She lay quietly on her bed ..
. pale ..
. yellow ..
. a picture of death. Though uncommon in their historical time, my parents came from families with only two children.
Mom once received word that doctors had detected cancer in several of her sister's major organs. The prognosis wasn't good. Six months at best.
Her daughter called to say we should come if we wanted to see her. A number of family members gathered on a cool Friday morning to make the three-hour drive. She greeted us with a smile, especially when she saw two of my grandchildren she had only heard about.
One, too young to know what was happening, sat on her stomach and cooed. The other, perceiving something was amiss since she was lying in a hospital bed, shyly gave her a kiss and said he loved her. After a short visit, most of us said our goodbyes.
While Mom hung around a little longer, my brother and I took a stroll. Since my aunt lived next door to what was once my grandparents' farmhouse, we had a chance to gander over the property. As I took the short stroll, I was struck by a thousand resurrected childhood memories—hunting, playing in the hog pens, picking weeds from cotton fields, and sitting on my grandmother's front porch.
I knew I'd probably set foot on this property only one more time. Suddenly, it wasn't my aunt's impending doom staring me in the face anymore. My mortality gazed into my eyes—intensel.