A Firm Grip that Doesn't Want to Let Go

I stood by the bedside to say my farewell.

Conversation has dwindled over the few months since one of my congregation members was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer which had spread into his brain.  Doctors gave him 2 to 3 months.  That was 4 months ago.

He's lasted longer than expected, but things are catching up...and fast.

In one week, he has lost significant amounts of weight; his appetite has dwindled to almost nothing; he's seeing people and things as the tumor presses against his brain; and he's lost so much strength, he can only whisper.

I brought him Holy Communion, but there was little conversation between us.  Both of us know the end is coming, and there are no words to say.

I bid him farewell until next week.

He reaches up to grasp my hand.  There  is still strength there.

And he doesn't let go.  For what seems like an eternity, he grasps my hand in a firm grip that doesn't want to let go.

He knows.

He knows it could be the last.

He knows his time on earth is ending.

He knows I represent God as one of His messengers on earth.

He grasps my hand for what seems like an eternity.

A few more precious moments for him.  Maybe I represent the presence of God at that moment.

It's a thought I'm not altogether comfortable with, but know is true.

Unfortunately, I have to go.

Fortunately, God is still there.

"Until next time, Buddy," I say, and I walk out the door.