These were the words from the Hospice nurse yesterday. You don’t have to be a genious to understand what this euphemism means.
She has stopped eating. She pretty much only takes in water, and on rare occasions, the liquid nutrition of Ensure. She sleeps a lot. Hospice has told us that this is part of the “separation” process of leaving this world, and preparing for the next.
Another thing we’ve been told to expect was that her conversation would be a little confusing. She would be talking about places and people who are unknown to us. Just yesterday, she asked me if “Jim and Lisa” were an item. Neither Dad or I know to whom she was referring. She also said to the two of us that I had also seen the kitten that had come into the house. Dad looked at me, and I returned the look with, “what kitten?”
We’re pretty sure that’s the medication talking, but it is also part of the “transition”.
While Dad was out getting his hair cut, I overheard her talking to someone. She was carrying on a conversation. It seemed to be a very pleasant one, judging by the tone of her voice. It was actually quite sweet in its own way. I silently thanked God that whatever was happening in her heart and mind was peaceful and familiar, and not of torment.
We’re also told that the end may be nearing when she would ask for some favorite foods. Today, she wanted a croissant. She hasn’t had one in years, if ever that we can remember. And even if there were some in the house, she couldn’t eat it.
She is not the only one currently undergoing “transition”. My dad and I are facing a future which doesn’t include this magnificent woman. I had a dream the other night in which she appeared to me as she looked in her prime. Her beautiful hair, her gleaming eyes, and her sparkling smile. I’m not sure what that dream meant. I suppose it meant a lot of things, and things that I’ll understand more and more in the days, months and years to come.
What I do know is that her eternal home is ready for her. Her homecoming is in the final stages of preparation. While I won’t be there for hers, I know she’ll be right there, with gleaming eyes and that sparkling smile, when my day comes. She’ll be the one, as she was throughout my life, cheering me on in everything I did.
Lord, give her peace. In her mind and heart, in her dreams and as she’s awake, fill her with images and words from You. She’s eager to be at your feet. She’s loved you more than anything and anyone, and I simply pray that her homecoming will be as special as she is. But I know she’ll be in good hands, so I’m not worried.
**UPDATE: Within 45 minutes of this being posted, Sarah Jane Matelli slipped into eternity to be with Jesus.