my friend helen died yesterday. she had been battling colon and liver cancer for 6 short, but gruelling weeks.
helen came into my life through my parents. she was a massage therapist at a chiropractor where they were being treated, and, looking for relief for my dad's joint pain, they asked if helen ever made house calls. she did, for them. she began coming regularly, and soon a deep friendship formed. when my mom asked if i wanted to join them, i jumped at it.
we called it "helen day"--because it was about so much more than a massage. it was about being together, me with my mom and dad, and the three of us being with helen and all that she was. she was trusting, kind, grateful, openhearted. everything about helen was soothing. her voice, her touch, her physique, large enough that when she hugged you, you got fully engulfed.
helen loved us, and we loved her. she said that her time with us was a gift to her. but we felt that she was a gift to us. in a strange way, i felt that helen delighted in me, no matter what. that is a gift that few people can give you. and when you have it, it is priceless--a sneak peak at the unconditional love of Christ, in human form.
helen loved Jesus. she spoke of Him often. she had met Him as young adult in a miraculous way. she had had a rough life. and one day God called her name, plucked her up out of life as she had always known it and set her feet on the solid, hopeful rock of Christ. in and around all the wonderful massaging going on, (it was almost as if the massage part was incidental. yes, almost.) we spent our time talking, laughing, sharing the stories of our lives.
helen was safe. helen was real. helen was open. helen soothed me, body, mind and soul.
we got a phone call four days ago from helen's sister, saying that she was asking to see us. we didn't know what to expect when we saw her, but as soon as we walked into the small, sterile room, i could tell by how she looked that it wouldn't be long before she died. there is a look people get when life is being drained from their bodies. it is hard to describe, but undeniable when you see it.
my mom had brought some massage oil with her so we could massage helen's feet. they were cracked and wrinkled from severe edema; we had to be careful not to touch the sores on her ankles from the chemotherapy. inside, i was angry at the depth of suffering i was seeing; i felt like i was literally looking through a window into hell. outside, i stood with my mom around her bed, holding her hands, rubbing her feet, telling her we love her, reminding her in her slow, sedated thrashing how much better it will be to be with Jesus.
that was the last conversation i will ever have with helen. it was the last time i will ever touch her or be touched by her. i will miss her greatly. but it's okay; the gift of who she is will never leave me. since the last time i saw her, helen's diseased body and weary heart have been touched by the Healer--and with Him face to face, she is now whole.
helen came into my life through my parents. she was a massage therapist at a chiropractor where they were being treated, and, looking for relief for my dad's joint pain, they asked if helen ever made house calls. she did, for them. she began coming regularly, and soon a deep friendship formed. when my mom asked if i wanted to join them, i jumped at it.
we called it "helen day"--because it was about so much more than a massage. it was about being together, me with my mom and dad, and the three of us being with helen and all that she was. she was trusting, kind, grateful, openhearted. everything about helen was soothing. her voice, her touch, her physique, large enough that when she hugged you, you got fully engulfed.
helen loved us, and we loved her. she said that her time with us was a gift to her. but we felt that she was a gift to us. in a strange way, i felt that helen delighted in me, no matter what. that is a gift that few people can give you. and when you have it, it is priceless--a sneak peak at the unconditional love of Christ, in human form.
helen loved Jesus. she spoke of Him often. she had met Him as young adult in a miraculous way. she had had a rough life. and one day God called her name, plucked her up out of life as she had always known it and set her feet on the solid, hopeful rock of Christ. in and around all the wonderful massaging going on, (it was almost as if the massage part was incidental. yes, almost.) we spent our time talking, laughing, sharing the stories of our lives.
helen was safe. helen was real. helen was open. helen soothed me, body, mind and soul.
we got a phone call four days ago from helen's sister, saying that she was asking to see us. we didn't know what to expect when we saw her, but as soon as we walked into the small, sterile room, i could tell by how she looked that it wouldn't be long before she died. there is a look people get when life is being drained from their bodies. it is hard to describe, but undeniable when you see it.
my mom had brought some massage oil with her so we could massage helen's feet. they were cracked and wrinkled from severe edema; we had to be careful not to touch the sores on her ankles from the chemotherapy. inside, i was angry at the depth of suffering i was seeing; i felt like i was literally looking through a window into hell. outside, i stood with my mom around her bed, holding her hands, rubbing her feet, telling her we love her, reminding her in her slow, sedated thrashing how much better it will be to be with Jesus.
that was the last conversation i will ever have with helen. it was the last time i will ever touch her or be touched by her. i will miss her greatly. but it's okay; the gift of who she is will never leave me. since the last time i saw her, helen's diseased body and weary heart have been touched by the Healer--and with Him face to face, she is now whole.
1 comment:
your words are a gift to helen and to us. i'm so happy that she's out of pain and with Jesus.
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