Eulogies over a still-breathing body.
Ruach, the breath of God, of life, replaced with a hum and a hiss.
Deus ex machina taken literally.
Death stalled by a machine, not the spirit of life.
An interruption of the drama that was unfolding.
“No heroics,” she once said.
But it wasn’t on a piece of paper, so heroics were performed.
Now, the family must be courageous enough to stop the machine.
Not to kill, but to let-die.
She had years ago made the same decision for her mother.
The cycle continues.
Eulogies.
They were letting a great woman die.
Could it be that they thought they were killing the greatest woman
Who ever lived?
Who gave them life; a reason to live; an example to follow?
"She fought so hard."
Still, it was the “easy decision” with profound consequences
And mourning already begun.
“I’m hollow,” her daughter said.
“I’m guilty,” her sister said.
Pain floods from fresh wounds that will eventually turn into scars.
Scars that won’t hurt any more, but will bring pain back to remembrance.
Every time they see the scar.
The grief weighed too much.
I felt it before I entered the room.
I absorbed it while I was there.
But grief mixed with love makes for some buoyancy.
I prayed for them and with them.
In between their sobbing and my own.
Other family members were coming into town.
To gather around later.
And all together
Remove the machine.
And wait.
“All of us go down to dust,”
The hymn says, “yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia.”
May it be so.
Even as our honest tears overflow.
