My Dear Brother,
If you have a minute today, pop-in on Heidi. She is attending a performance of “Wicked”--one of her favorite musicals. I'd like you to hear the song “For Good.” You are one of the people I think of when I hear the line, “Because I knew you, I have been changed for good....” and to me "for good" means in wonderful, holy ways.
I can’t begin to tell you how much my weekend with you a month ago changed me spiritually. Thank you for the amazing moments we shared. What a gift God gave us! (And thank you Mia, for giving me this time with your husband.) I’ve never spent much time in a hospital, let alone visiting someone in intensive care; but I hardly noticed the machines and tubes. What amazed me was your grace and dominion. You weren’t letting the frailness of your body govern your mind.
We talked about cell phone plans and computers; you remembered how old our Mac is. We looked up the definitions of “opinions” and “convictions.” We had fun discussing the Democratic presidential candidates, wondering which one Daddy would vote for if he were still here and surmising whether or not each candidate would perform on late night TV if given the chance--like Bill Clinton did on “Arsenio Hall.” Have you heard the Iowa Caucus results? Obama, Edwards, and Clinton—your preferences and ranking exactly.
You had spent a lot of your time alone in the hospital thinking deeply about spiritual things. While you hoped and expected to live, you had also realistically faced the possibility of death. You’d thought about father figures for Lauren and the possibility of Mia’s remarrying someday. You selflessly wanted love and happiness for your girls.
You weren’t afraid of death. I loved sitting at your bedside on Saturday sharing our reassurances that this “plane of existence” is just one chapter in a life that continues when the curtain has closed on the human scene. You laughed and decided that perhaps we are both “Christian Buddists.” While there were things you still wanted to do while here, I liked considering the possibility that someday (but perhaps not on Earth) we all get to be and experience all that our hearts purely and truly desire.
Thank you for letting me nurse you on Sunday afternoon--you were understandably ready to rest after such a full Saturday of talking. It’s not often that a little sister gets to feed orange jello to her big brother or massage his feet. Heidi recently took a “Frontiers of Faith” class where students had the opportunity to wash each other’s feet as Jesus did for his disciples. As you let me rub your toes and heels, I felt the Christ’s presence in our silent exchange of humility. You said you felt so much peace. Later while you slept, I hugged my laptop like a teddy bear and prayed to better understand and feel that immortality we’d talked about the day before; and in my prayers, I found the assurance that the beeping monitors really told only one side of the story. God was taking care of you. I could trust His eternal, day by day, care for all of us. I do think God strengthened your mind and body until all the human details were in place to make sure Mia and Lauren would be taken care of; and then, you were willing to let go of your physical body and take your wings--your spirit and mind no longer encumbered.
I wish you could send us some photos of heaven. So, start working on your web page, we’ll all want to see your pictures when we arrive.
I love you,
Maria
