Breath

Enola's last breath was perhaps the most peaceful sound I have ever heard.  Certainly it was not what I had expected.  In my mind, a last breath would be issued in defiance, violent, desperate, delivered with fear, a struggle against the inevitable.  Enola had already fought her fight the prior two days, mighty yet accepting what was about to happen to her as the end to God's satisfying gift of a long life lived in His love.  Moments before, she had opened her eyes for one last time, spoken her last words of love to her daughter and family gathered around her bed, then asked me to pray with her in a whisper so faint I had to lean in to hear her words.  I asked Enola's daughter to hold her hand and kneel with me next to her bed.  Enola smiled, her eyes slowly closing as she retreated in peace, the prayer sending her to a place I am certain she could see as her eyes closed.  A long slow sigh escaped from lips barely parted, as if her soul was leaving her body to join those gathered for one last goodbye before ascending to her place beside her Maker.

I suppose my being there was one of those times when a person is in the right place at the right time.  You see, Enola's daughter is one of those kind souls who several times had approached me after one of the rare times I was allowed to preach from the pulpit of our small town church.  "You will be a fine preacher some day", she told me as she took my hand in hers and patted it reassuringly.  Most of the adult church members don't look at me as a real preacher yet, my being fresh out of college and the youth minister their church.  I understood that.  I was young.  Every time I spoke from the pulpit was a challenge to put myself in the shoes of people decades older than I.

That afternoon I had taken several of my high school kids to the nursing home for a time of devotion and hymns with the residents.  Most days one of the boys in the youth group would give the devotion and lead the hymns while the rest of the kids would sit with the residents.  Today, Enola's daughter had seen me as I came by her mother's room with the one boy who had shown up for our nursing home visitation.  Her family was gathered around Enola's bed.  They all looked at me, asking me to come in and uttering a title I had not heard from most adults at our small church.

"Pastor...please come in."  Enola's daughter must have seen the questioning look on my face.  I was the youth minister, after all.  No one expected me to be there when a loved one was sick or dying.  That was Calvin's job, our senior minister, not mine.  Her need was genuine.  My questioning look was greeted with a smile, but I could see the comfort in her eyes that comes with seeing a pastor.  In her eyes, I had just graduated.  With a sudden recognition of the role I needed to play, I walked to the bedside.  I was a pastor.

God gave me an easy one with Enola and her family.  Enola was a woman who had walked with God her entire life.  Her children were taught to fear God.  I surveyed the faces in that room, finding tears mingled with smiles.  Looking around the room, I did the only thing I could think of doing.

"Can everyone gather in a circle around Enola's bed?"  Everyone looked at each other, stood up and circled the bed.  "Hold hands, please."  Silence as hands came together in a tight embrace.  "Would anyone like to tell Enola anything?"

And they did.  Words of love, memories, joy and sadness joining to celebrate a life as Enola gave hers up.  Minutes passed, maybe an hour, as her family shared.  This was a family coming together, dealing with their sadness in a way I had never seen.

I forgot about the high school boy who was with me..until a sweet voice began to softly sing the words of Amazing Grace.  It was that boy.  He had joined the circle around the bed, tears streaming down his face as he sang those comforting words.  How sweet the sound, indeed.  Enola's family listened as he sang, then quietly joined in.

Have you ever heard angels sing?  We did.  And as that final breath escaped Enola's parted lips, I sensed them as they took her up and away from that stark room.

Enola's funeral was the first I officiated.  The sweetness of her passing continued on.  It was a celebration, capped by a potluck dinner in the church's fellowship hall, the aroma of hot casseroles and the warm vanilla scent of fresh dessert adding to the comfort of the friends joined there.