Kissed by God

I have been well acquainted with death this year. I have had two friends pass away in the span of a couple months, and am currently watching the dying process occur with my aunt.

I remember wondering if it would be better to have someone die all of the sudden without any sense of closure, or whether to have someone die slowly so that moments could be had with them.

I’ve experienced both this year. Neither is better. They both end the same way.

My aunt is currently paralyzed except for her left arm, and has Stage Four cancer lingering within. She is trapped in a body. She has had two strokes in a short amount of time and is not able to talk. The only word that she can muster is “wants”. What an interesting last word to utter from dying lips.

She was sent home to die with hospice care. She is 47. Sometimes life doesn’t seem fair.

I rushed home to be with her during her last days. When I first walked in, the family was all gathered around her bed. Just waiting. They took turns gazing into her eyes and kissing her head.  

I approached her bed, but grief met gravity and my legs could no longer hold me. She took my hand and pulled me to her bed.

All I could muster was, “I’m here”.

And she brought my hand to her lips and kissed them ever so gently. Sometimes a kiss is better than words.

Immediately, gravity began taking hold of my tears as well. Not wanting her to see, I looked away, placing my head on her knee. I don’t think I was fooling her because she squeezed my hand as if saying “it’s alright, me too”.

I got up from her bed and made my way to the couch to join the rest of the family. To join the rest of the grieved. I thought that it was good that she couldn’t talk because in these moments words are useless anyway.  What can one possibly say with their mouth that they couldn’t say with their eyes?

I remember thinking that I only had moments. And how though this was the most difficult place for me to be, there was nowhere else I’d rather be. Though my heart could barely stand the touch of her now death ridden fingers, I found myself not being able to let them go. They had the appearance of death, but were alive, had a pulse, communicated a heart, a person, my aunt. Therefore, in some ways, they felt like they belonged to me. Flesh of my flesh. Bone of my bone. Heart of my heart.

Later that night, there were moments again. She had fallen asleep. Hopefully, dreaming of heaven. I had rested my head on her bed, and held her hand until she woke up. That’s what God does with us. He holds and waits.

When she awoke she looked at me and her face spoke. It was moved that I hadn’t moved since she had fallen.

Asleep.

I returned to her bed, as I had sat moments before. When facing death, time is based solely on moments.

With her one left arm, she cupped my face. Looking back, I think it was so that I couldn’t look back. The longer I stared into her, the more weight my heart began to hold. Through the blurring of my water-stained eyes, I took her in. I realized that I have seen many people in my lifetime, but never really saw. With her hand pressed up against my face, my heart became vulnerable to her. Her one limb of free will was soaked with my tears. I used my hair to dry them. I wondered if this was how the woman at Jesus’ feet felt when she wiped them with her hair, grateful to see and be seen.

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

And I saw.

I saw the Beauty of her. The heart. The soul. The piece of her with Eternal value that was residing within a mortal body. I saw the piece of her that had been kissed by God, and was meant to bless others. I saw a glimpse of the Divine in her eyes because eyes are the window to the Soul. This is Holy.

I was standing on Holy ground.

We were meant for holy moments. I was meant for this one. Kissed by God.

Sometimes a kiss is better than words.