Posted: Sat Nov 14, 2009 6:49 pm
I know Mom wanted an entry from Uncle Steve to be posted here at the top of page 100. But, I think I will post the latest entry of her journal instead. From this past Tuesday, here is Mom...
November 10, 2009: Tuesday, 10:22 am
Russell went home, I sent him there. Our babies need him more than I do right now. Yet, the voices, the angels whisper to me, and they sound urgent, almost pleading. I can’t make out the words. Storms rage outside the room window and I stare as the lightening flashes. What is it trying to tell me? What are the voices trying to tell me?
And then I heard Stephen. His voice just as urgent as the angels’. “Go home, Tracie.” He said. “Go. Nothing here. Nothing good will come. You do not belong in this place.” And I ask…
“Are you sure? They believe they can help me.”
And finally, the angels are heard and understood. “Listen!” They practically shout. “Listen! The way of the path is lost here!”
Song bursts from them, and it is one of ire, of deep pain. My head begins to hurt, worse than it has these last few days. The sickness within me begins to boil anew. Now, I understand, now I know, no one can help me here. No one. Nothing. This cancer is beyond the corporeal world, I can’t be healed here. They can’t heal it. Only at home will the healing come. Only there will my body find rest.
“Tracie! Time is lost. Go home!” Stephen’s voice shakes the walls of my room, and I wonder how it is that no one else can hear him.
“Will I die?”
“What is death? It is nothing. It is only the walking through.”
“I know.” I respond. “And I will walk soon?”
“Who can say?”
And the angels shout again. “Listen!”
Were I strong enough to stand, I would rise up from this bed and go. But the tethers that bind me here, bind my body here, are tightly bound. And my weakness hinders me. My thoughts are of a fevered want for solace. Helplessness washes over me as the voices fade. And I hear my brother once again. “Faith of the Father. Faith of His Hands.”
So, my eyes grow heavier. Something more not right with me begins to have its way. I sense a shift, a burden heavy against the weight I already carry. There is a new sharpness to the pain. My eyes begin to blur and my sight clouds as I write this. My hands shake. Do I call Russell? Do I tell Matthew what Stephen said? And there is a dimness to the light, all sound seems muffled, I feel myself become less of me and more of the burden.
Sweet Jesus Lord, grant me solace these final days. Grant me Your sweet healing and grace. Here now, the truth comes to me. Here now, Your Light begins to glimmer just beyond the dim reality of me. Here now I know I’m in the wrong place. Sweet Saviour, Divine Redeemer show me the Way to go. If I am to leave, please let me go from the Mountain, not from here. The Mountain, where my soul lives most alive, where my heart resides, where the work of Your choosing commences. It is from the Mountain I wish to go, it is on the Mountain I wish to rest. There, all that is holy, all that is You, all that remains of me, is where I wish to walk from.
I pray to You, my Lord to grant solace to my family, they will not grieve lightly for me. They will grieve a grief so crushing that the breaking may be beyond healing. Hold them as You have held me. Lift them to the Grace that You grant me. Grant me the strength to leave them, for I cannot find it within me.
Thy will, as always, be done.
Mom is still here, and Drs may not be able to do anything for her, but miracles happen here every day. And God can do anything. She is still here.
November 10, 2009: Tuesday, 10:22 am
Russell went home, I sent him there. Our babies need him more than I do right now. Yet, the voices, the angels whisper to me, and they sound urgent, almost pleading. I can’t make out the words. Storms rage outside the room window and I stare as the lightening flashes. What is it trying to tell me? What are the voices trying to tell me?
And then I heard Stephen. His voice just as urgent as the angels’. “Go home, Tracie.” He said. “Go. Nothing here. Nothing good will come. You do not belong in this place.” And I ask…
“Are you sure? They believe they can help me.”
And finally, the angels are heard and understood. “Listen!” They practically shout. “Listen! The way of the path is lost here!”
Song bursts from them, and it is one of ire, of deep pain. My head begins to hurt, worse than it has these last few days. The sickness within me begins to boil anew. Now, I understand, now I know, no one can help me here. No one. Nothing. This cancer is beyond the corporeal world, I can’t be healed here. They can’t heal it. Only at home will the healing come. Only there will my body find rest.
“Tracie! Time is lost. Go home!” Stephen’s voice shakes the walls of my room, and I wonder how it is that no one else can hear him.
“Will I die?”
“What is death? It is nothing. It is only the walking through.”
“I know.” I respond. “And I will walk soon?”
“Who can say?”
And the angels shout again. “Listen!”
Were I strong enough to stand, I would rise up from this bed and go. But the tethers that bind me here, bind my body here, are tightly bound. And my weakness hinders me. My thoughts are of a fevered want for solace. Helplessness washes over me as the voices fade. And I hear my brother once again. “Faith of the Father. Faith of His Hands.”
So, my eyes grow heavier. Something more not right with me begins to have its way. I sense a shift, a burden heavy against the weight I already carry. There is a new sharpness to the pain. My eyes begin to blur and my sight clouds as I write this. My hands shake. Do I call Russell? Do I tell Matthew what Stephen said? And there is a dimness to the light, all sound seems muffled, I feel myself become less of me and more of the burden.
Sweet Jesus Lord, grant me solace these final days. Grant me Your sweet healing and grace. Here now, the truth comes to me. Here now, Your Light begins to glimmer just beyond the dim reality of me. Here now I know I’m in the wrong place. Sweet Saviour, Divine Redeemer show me the Way to go. If I am to leave, please let me go from the Mountain, not from here. The Mountain, where my soul lives most alive, where my heart resides, where the work of Your choosing commences. It is from the Mountain I wish to go, it is on the Mountain I wish to rest. There, all that is holy, all that is You, all that remains of me, is where I wish to walk from.
I pray to You, my Lord to grant solace to my family, they will not grieve lightly for me. They will grieve a grief so crushing that the breaking may be beyond healing. Hold them as You have held me. Lift them to the Grace that You grant me. Grant me the strength to leave them, for I cannot find it within me.
Thy will, as always, be done.
Mom is still here, and Drs may not be able to do anything for her, but miracles happen here every day. And God can do anything. She is still here.
