At Thy Side Tonight

Last night was one of those moments I will never forget. Mother was not breathing easily -and the dispute back and forth was of whether to take her to the hospital immediately or whether to wait until morning. But her labored breathing, as a result of cancer, is not the focus of my writing.

To me, more evident than labored breathing, delirium, and low blood oxygen was an abiding sense of fear about the future. Those family members discussing her health needs in our living room last night were very determined to do all they could, but were carefully avoiding something -the "why" behind their actions. To say it bluntly, we Hoffmans are struggling to admit that the finite nature of life seems prone to prove is existence within the next few weeks.

How frail is mortality! One feels a sense of security in the goals he/she accomplishes and the happy experiences encountered. Yet, last night I could tell that all of us, especially my mother, were vocalizing health needs while internally shaking for fear of the future. But I could not live in such a place. I took mother's hand. I sat on the couch next to her arm chair where her crippled body lay to wait with her as long as she needed. I knew she would get little rest because of her high pulse and struggles to breath. Often, she was only half-conscious from sleep deprivation and I found my self arising to help her shift positions and re-situate her mountain of pillows at least every 15 minutes. But that didn't matter. What did matter was the scattered conversation we held during the dark, difficult hours of night.

I asked if she was afraid -and she tearfully acknowledged in the affirmative. She confessed not wanting to die, not wanting to leave us all, not wanting to miss the many joys a future together here can supply. I held her hand tightly as she spoke -though soon fatigue brought her to silence.

I then told her some of the most sincere feelings of the soul. For 4 1/2 years now she has been relying on a priesthood blessing from the Lord that promised "full recovery" with time. That sounds like a blessing of completely restored physical health. But, all indications seem to point to another kind of recovery; that of perfect emotional, spiritual and relational health. Never has the Hoffman family been so closely knit and so loving. We have set aside our differences, learned how to love and to support not only each other, but ourselves. Inter-family relationships that, 5 years ago, were floundering in personal ego and insecurity are now granite-strong and humbly tender. We call each other often, cry together, laugh together -and always effortlessly. My parent's relationship has never been stronger. My mother has been able to come to terms with all past emotional pains and relational inadequacies. All this has changed within the last few months and years.  You see, and as I discussed last night, God HAS created the full recovery he promised -but it has been emotional, spiritual, and relational.

Such perspective and acknowledged blessings brought us both abundant tears of mixed gratitude and understanding. It may be yet that God's miraculous power brings back my mother's life from the brink of death. He most certainly is able. Nevertheless, in regards to His promises made in priesthood power, "it is enough" seems an appropriate phrase. (see Luke 22:38)

At this point in our delicate nocturnal interaction, I wished to make something clear to my sweet mother. As she has been the glue of our family and the resource we've ever turned to in times of difficulty, I correctly made the assumption that she may feel great fear in leaving us without her aid. And so, with child-like earnesty, I humbly communicated that she need not worry about leaving us behind. She may fear pain and death and struggle at the idea of separation, but should not fear that we would shrink in her absence. I bore testimony to her of the many ways made evident in the lives of me and my siblings that God has prepared us to be a mutually supporting system. I conveyed that we will miss her and desperately want her in our lives -more than words can say- but also that we know that whatever happens, faith will pull us through.

And what of faith? If it be that recovery ensues -what miracle of love and power!  My faith would be overwhelmed -as it has been for the miraculous 4 1/2 years she has lasted fighting cancer. And if it be that God claims her to His own -well, how could my comfort not be more abundant in the love-filled plan of salvation and eternal families? I will see her again, and Him. We can be together forever -even if this world of sorrow and pain pulls us apart for a time.

It seemed evident that some burden was lifted off her shoulders at this point. I hope that she knows that it is okay if she leaves us. She relaxed to the knowledge that Hoffman faith will grow regardless of God's will. I offered her our permission to hand off family responsibility to us; she need not worry anymore. Then, as a last plea, I begged her to not apologize any more for her imperfections as a parent. She took this to heart, despite misgivings unnecessary for all the good she has done and all the good God has added.

These were the last thoughts we exchanged in hope and comfort, between mother and son, before she drifted into a limbo-like state somewhere in between sleep and consciousness for the duration of the night. Yet I lay awake, wondering of the future and mournful for her physical pain.

Racked in my soul was the question; at what point does one stop praying the song of selfish reparation of a loved one's health and instead pray for their quick release from agonizing enfermity?

While contemplating such, words to a song I heard years ago in Spain came to mind:

Tell me friend, I see your pain.
Why when you pray in faith for healing does the crippling thorn remain?
Help me see if you understand.
Why doesn't he who heal the lame man
come with healing in his wings?
It would be so easy for him.
I watch you and in sorrow question why
Then you my friend in perfect faith reply

Didn't he say he sent us to be tested?
Didn't he say the way would not be sure?
But didn't he say that we could live with him
Forever more, well and whole,
If we but patiently endure?
After the trial
We will be blessed.
But this life is the test.

Tell me love why must you die?
Why must your loved ones stand with empty arms and ask the question why?
Help me know so I can go on.
How when your love in faith sustain me,
Can the precious gift be gone?
From the depths of sorrow I cry.
Though pangs of grief within my soul arise,
The whisperings of the spirit still my cries.

Didn't he say he sent us to be tested?
Didn't he say the way would not be sure?
But didn't he say we could live with him
Forever more, well and whole,
If we but patiently endure?
After the trial we would be blessed.
But this life is the test.

(Janice Kapp Perry)

I found great comfort in this -reassurance that an all-loving Heavenly Father is still at the helm of this small, Christian home. And He may still yet heal of all infirmity, or graciously reunite with my mother again in the celestial mansions of heaven, where earnestly awaits another father for his only daughter; Wayne Lofgran for my mother.

To friend or family or stranger. To Mormon (as I am), religious, and non-religious. To all who have read this I testify of the reality of eternal families and the solace of redemption from death. Pain of loss is real -but comfort from the Savior of the world is MORE real. My family may soon be broken -but it will not reside in despair. That is because this life IS a test -a moral probatory period- and in it, it is requisite that man should die. But we will not remain in such harbors of sorrow -for Christ has conquered death. If these eternal truths are foreign to you, I invite you to learn more at www.mormon.org. And I invite all to read this talk by a modern-day prophet of God: http://www.lds.org/ensign/2007/05/i-know-that-my-redeemer-lives
In it are the words and truths necessary to begin the healing of a lonesome soul, despairing from loss of kindred dead.