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Joy Dillman's avatar

My Dad's last words were, "I love the LORD!"

For many years I prayed that somehow I would be with my mother and father as they passed away. I had no idea how this could happen as we lived in Texas and they lived in Tennessee and my husband and I both had demanding jobs. God graciously answered this prayer with miraculous orchestrations of events with both my mother and father and Ken's mother and father. Not only was I blessed to be with them as they transitioned, but I was together with other family members. Each event was sacred, holy, full of worship, tears, smiles and hugs.

Attending their deaths was very much like attending a birth. Would each labored breath be the last one? As the hours went by, we longed for the end of their hard work. When that end came, we wept in worship and with relief. Indeed, each one was born anew into their blessed eternal state.

I longed for their spirit to say aloud to me, "I made it! I'm here! All is well!" Then the Spirit came to me and reminded me that this has already been said - John 11:25-26 and many other scriptures from the Word. Blessed be Yahweh, our Lord Jesus and the Holy Spirit!

Bethany Welborn's avatar

I was at my friend Bethany's deathbed, but she wasn't able to speak by that point. I'd seen her just three days prior, I was dropping off dinner at her home and didn't realize she was behind me, lying on the couch in her living room until she said, "hey girl," and smiled, though I knew she was in tremendous pain and her breathing was labored. She asked for a hug, and I gave her careful one - her arms were black and blue from IVs. I still didn't know it would be our last one. I tried to ask how she was feeling, but she brushed it off with a small laugh and asked instead how I was. We only talked for a few minutes. I know I told her I loved her, and she said the same.

The week she was told there was nothing more the doctors could do for her, Bethany asked to come by my house. She wanted to tell me in person. We poured peppermint tea but neither of us drank any. She cried, yes, but she seemed so...calm. Resolved. She looked me in the eye and said, "Bethany, my girls are going to need you. Will you help them? I know where I'm going, and I know I'm going to be okay. But I worry about them...they're going to need you to love them." Her girls are the same age as my children, right on the cusp of being teenagers. I wanted to tell her not to talk like that (like Peter scolding Jesus for referencing the cross) but she was making necessary arrangements, staring death down and refusing to wither in fear, loving like a mother does right to the very end.

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