Playing Tug-of-War with Angels
“Right now, we’re just playing tug-of-war with angels.”
The doctor’s voice ushered in reality for us. Our NeeNee–the matriarch in the family–was dying. Doctors resuscitated her numerous times that morning–the day before Thanksgiving.
It was now our decision: To sign or not to sign the DNR form.
My husband, his step-mom Tracy, and I. No one else in the family had made it to the hospital yet.
The three of us looked at each other, tears streaming down our faces.
“We hate to do this to you,” said the doctor, “but we need to know now.”
We knew NeeNee wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. She was ready to go home.
“Do not resuscitate.”
I walked behind the doctor to the room where NeeNee lay, Tracy beside me. My husband left to pick up family members.
Our NeeNee lay motionless in the bed. I held her left hand while Tracy held her right hand. We cried alongside her, prayed over her, but most of all, we loved on her. She was non-responsive, even before the doctors disconnected the machinery. But we knew she could hear us.
Periodically, we watched her vitals, slowing with each passing moment.
Still, she held on.
A chaplain came and prayed with us.
We waited for the others to arrive. Minutes seemed like hours, but Tracy and I treasured every moment with our NeeNee. She took deep breaths every once in awhile, as we reassured her, “It’s okay. Go on home.”
I caressed her hair and rubbed my index finger on her cheek. Every once in awhile, I leaned in to kiss her and tell her I loved her. Her vitals would spike and then slowly decline again.
“It’s okay, NeeNee. Go on home.”
I held her hand and remembered the day I met her–a beautiful smile that welcomed me into her family. She knew no strangers and loved all who came around her. She was the family historian–a storyteller who could take a 5-minute tale and turn it into a 30-minute epic. She remembered everyone’s birthday and anniversary and freely gave out of the little she herself possessed. Her heart was toward her family.
Now her heart was failing her. She was tired and ready–ready to leave this world of physical pain and enter into paradise with her Savior. Her sister, mother, and father would be waiting for her there too.
And yet, the angels tugged at her. We tugged as well.
Pulse.
15-0.
15-0.
15-0.
Outside the room, I heard a noise. Turned around to see some of our family members. “They’re here,” I said.
15.
0.
0.
0.
0.
I bowed my head and cried. She waited. They arrived. She let go of the rope. Quietly, peacefully, she entered eternity. No more pain, no more exhaustion. God, in His mercy, extended her the ultimate gift–not only the freedom from pain and exhaustion, but also the gift of Himself.
But why grant me such a gift? Why would God grant me the gift of ushering a beautiful soul into His presence? To witness the passing of a Godly woman–a daughter, a sister, a wife, an aunt and friend to many? Why would He have me share this life-changing occasion with Tracy? Why?
Love.
The love that took NeeNee home is the same love that shone down on me that day. It’s the same generous love God shines down on me every moment, every day (Psalm 84:11). God’s perfect love transcends suffering and pain–NeeNee’s and mine.
In death and in life, we play tug-of-war with angels. In death and in life, I want to let go of the rope.
We love you, NeeNee, and we’ll see you soon.
Come alongside… In what ways are you playing tug-of-war with God? How can you let go of the rope?
