Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: FINISH (05/26/16)
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TITLE: Shedding the Somatic Coil | Previous Challenge Entry
By Don Buschert
06/02/16 -
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She stares blankly out the window, never says a word. The nurses come in and go out, performing their essential attending duties. Barbara is oblivious of the activity around her. She eats very little. Today the nurses talk surreptitiously about putting her on an IV, but decide to let matters run their course.
Barbara doesn't see me, yet she knows I'm here. Her thin face is expressionless, the page-boy style of her hair hangs around her head like a wiry, gangling helmet. Yet her spirit inside has come alive; as if awakening from a deep, heavy sleep.
Someone else arrives. An old friend.
“What happened to Barbara’s hair?” the friend exclaims. "She used to have that stunning black hair tied up perfectly in a long braid."
"The nurses chopped it off and cut her hair down into the page-boy style you see,” I explained. “The nurses can’t be bothered to look after her properly, with dignity, as if she were their own mother. Yes, they are overworked; yet it’s so sad. Her oldest daughter came from out west last month, and cried when she discovered her mother’s situation. Barbara, of course wouldn’t respond to any of her questions. The daughter took Barbara’s old photo album and managed to get her mother pointing at each photo and correctly identifying each face. When that was done, Barbara turned away and just looked out the window."
“So sad,” agreed my friend with a forlorn sigh.
Others start to arrive. The walls of the room begin to glow.
"I was there at her birth," says one. "Such a beautiful, wondrous child! Such joy at that time!"
"And I watched over her when she lost both parents," said another proudly. "She was too young to remember those painful times, but oh how her older brothers suffered!"
"Yes, wasn’t that amazing how the Father had the three of them taken in by the Holly's," I said. "Such big hearts, opening up their home to orphans. So blessed."
"I was there when she met Lewis," said one. "A small wedding followed months later. Such a wonderful couple. A delight to be around."
"And yet such hard times! So little work."
"He was a painter, Lewis was. And a minister too."
“First came the two boys, then three miscarriages, then the two girls,” recounted one.
“Then Lewis’ stroke on the left side, paralyzing him. Then another stroke on the right side, taking him. So hard to bear!”
“And yet she did bear,” I said. “A wonderful woman of faith was she, steadily trusting, believing, hoping – showing kindness and gentleness to everyone around her. Later she married Howard, Lewis’ painter friend. Much to the surprise of all, a wonderful story that one.” I quickly stopped talking, sensing the change.
The room began to grow brighter and brighter, with a white heavenly light. Our angelic excitement equally grew, each one anticipating this moment, hardly containing ourselves, for we are in awe of - no we esteem these frail, iniquitous human creatures; so comparable to the Father in likeness, yet capable of such evil. And we marvel how some, in spite of the odds against them, lay hold of the Father’s plan.
Suddenly Barbara's heart stopped beating. I hear angelic gasps. That amazing, salient muscle-valve; after almost ninety years of labouring faithfully in her chest has finally shut down - like an old dilapidated engine.
It is time.
I reach for both her hands, gently but firmly pulling her vibrant spirit out of the archaic shell; that even now is quickly crumbling to dust.
All eyes are watching. No one speaks, we each hold our breath.
Barbara emerges as a beautiful young woman, with stunning violet-blue eyes sparkling like crystals. We angels both envy, and yet are awestruck at the transformation humans experience. What is it like to die, and live again?
She beams, her gracious smile revealing strong, perfectly aligned white teeth. She carefully and slowly looks around as we all crowd in. “Thank you,” she says, with the poise and regality of a queen. “You’ve been such dear angels to me!”
We laugh. Barbara always used ‘dear angel’ as a term of endearment.
Barbara flashes one last grin as she is slowly pulled up and away, dissolving from this realm into the next.
“She ran the race very well,” says my old friend. “She fought the good fight, stayed true and finished.”
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