More than 15 years ago now, I spent many days in a hospital room taking care of my mother when her time on earth was coming to an end.  I slept in the bed beside her, fed her, bathed her, washed her hair, helped her brush her teeth, massaged her neck, talked to her, watched over her, and tried to comfort her during her pain and confusion.  The emotions we all experienced during this time ran the gamut.  My mother had not gone into this hospital to die.  It was just another step in the process of getting her better, or so we thought.  None of us, me or my three siblings, misunderstood the severity of the cancer that ravaged her body.  Yet we were slow to accept the truth about how little time she had left.  The reality of that fact would weigh heavier on me than anything I had ever faced before.  So heavy, I all but crumbled beneath it. Continue reading “41 Hours to the Cross” →