Hospice Came Today

Hospice came today.

And they came yesterday.


Today we met our nurse who will be walking with us. She left with a bag of homemade cookies and a couple of big hugs after 75 minutes of getting acquainted that caused us to draw in close. We’re so glad to have medical resources for evaluating and understanding heretofore unfamiliar things.

On Monday a hospital bed will be brought from the Salem warehouse as ordered via the corporate offices in Arizona that handle such things in the western part of the country.

Two months ago today we knew there were awesome and fearful things we did not understand because two days earlier we had gotten a cold call from a regional cancer research center, the caller clearly believing we were expecting the contact, “Hi! I’m calling to set up your appointment at the cancer center.” Oh.

And right then the disconcerting silence we had endured for two frustrating weeks after the routine hernia repair fell off its great lofty table and shattered into a million pieces with a ROAARRRR that no one but us heard.

On November 9, I wrote,

I fully realize that I am being prepared for what’s coming, and that the heart-rending I may allow in these days when it could be sidestepped by simply refusing to “go there” – will make what’s coming go better –

I don’t want to do this. But I will.

Deep waters require His grace and the wisdom I desperately need within my own thoughts must be drenched in His grace. I’m a frail, frail vessel.

Our first appointment with the cancer specialist was on November 15. That is when we were told what has been confirmed by a variety of procedures and tests since then – the cancer was advanced and metastasized and untreatable.

The day before that appointment,

I woke up from a sharp dream where I was out on a huge lake. The water was perfectly still. I was supposed to be paddling across the lake.

I was on a flat wood square raft of some kind and didn’t have a paddle.

I got across somehow and went into the stores along the shore trying to see if there was a paddle somewhere I could buy. The only one I eventually found was the remainder of a broken one – with jagged edges about ten inches above the paddle area. So I was carrying it around the store with me while I kept looking for a whole one.

So here we are two months later.

Today was busy and so was yesterday.

Yesterday the Admit Nurse and the Social Worker were here. It upsets me that the social worker has to be involved because I still equate the presence of social workers with either being on welfare or having been caught abusing children or something equally awful.

We ate peanut butter cookies with them and signed a cardboard-weight, hot pink piece of paper that documented the Do Not Resuscitate orders that they emphasized could be changed in a second if we change our minds. We gave them copies of the durable POA and the Advance Directive.

When they left after three hours we had crossed another one of those invisible lines that we’ve been crossing since November 7 when the young lady who later became our friend had to deal with shattered and shocked people when she was just doing what her job required – calling to set up an appointment.

We keep crossing those invisible lines. Deep, deep lines carved in the sands of time. We have no choice about crossing them – because our journey lies ===> that way. He is on one journey and I am on quite another but we still travel together.

Before November 7, we would have had no answer to this question,

How on earth will you two function if you are facing a shock-of- your-life diagnosis with limited life expectancy and zero advance warning?

Now we have the beginning of an answer.

      • We will weep with one another and with trusted friends.
      • We will share laughter and good humor with close family on New Year’s Day around a roaring bonfire.
      • We will fill binders with tab dividers and forms. Blank forms and completed forms. Forms to be mailed and forms received in the mail. To-do lists and daily logs where every contact is noted so we don’t lose track. Lists of questions that are crossed off as they are answered. Copies of reports and tests received after every appointment and procedure.
      • We will speak plainly when we have a thought and when we are confused and overwhelmed, we will be comfortable with silence.
      • Sometimes we will sing a family song softly to one another.
      • We will understand that tears don’t need to be fixed or wiped away and sometimes we’ll just let them run down our cheeks and drip off our chins.
      • We will dance like nobody’s watching.
      • We will make spreading mulch in the perennial flower garden a team job when it was a given that he had enjoyed that as a solo job.
      • He’ll go crabbing with our son and grandson whenever the tide’s right.
      • He will make lists of items in the garage and yard that he wants to take care of so that I won’t have to deal with them alone.
      • Eventually we will put away the first two binders that filled with all of those papers because reality overtook us and rendered both the tabs and the forms irrelevant – first one binder and then the other.
      • We will plan a very special trip for our wedding anniversary later this month.
      • I will recognize that no matter how close I get to his heart, he walks his journey alone except for the presence of Sovereign God Who Loves Him. And he will recognize that no matter how many times a day he just quietly holds me in his arms as we stand together in the kitchen – or the living room – or the garage – I walk my journey alone except for the presence of Sovereign God Who Loves Me.

We both understand where this journey ends and because of that, we have a new greeting we sometimes use during the morning hours, “Not today.” We know there is a day coming when we could properly say, “Perhaps today.” But not yet.

Not today. Some day. But not today.

Our best pastor of many years ago was known to say, “You know, none of us are going to get out of here alive.” The man was right.

Before my father died of cancer in 1962 he slipped into some moments of semi-consciousness from time to time. He had been fearful that he would perhaps display unpleasant language or behavior if that should happen. Not to worry. When it happened, Mom was there and said that he kept quoting Psalm 27:1 ~ “The Lord is my light and my salvation.” Dad was right.

This morning I told him that I’m thinking about changing my mind – that I’m not going to let him leave. He chuckled and said, “I know you like to control things, but I don’t think it will work this time.” He’s probably right about that.

We shed a lot of tears today.

The choice we repeatedly make to talk about painful things  (like moving furniture to make room for the hospital bed)  right in front of his face is piercing and sometimes just feels flat rude….but the intimacy and strength that is the harvest of that painful choice?  I’m here to tell you we will not trade that away for temporary comfort.  It’s been a hard day.

I watched M.A.S.H. reruns last night with my head on his shoulder, his arm circled around and holding me close. It’s been a good day.

Tomorrow our son and his family are coming down to watch the Seahawks-Saints game. It will be a good day.

On Monday when the hospital bed comes, it will be a good day and a hard day. It will be good to know that he won’t have more uncomfortable nights when it’s difficult to breathe because of fluid buildup, because he can sleep with his head raised. It will be hard because we will cross another deep and invisible line in the sand of reality over which we can never return – we can’t go back to where we used to live.


Obviously a case can be made either for sharing a bit of such a journey – or not. We know the friendship and encouragement of many of you, so we choose to break the silence from our corner of the woods a bit.

When I talked with him about the idea of sharing  some of this walk with you he thought about it for a moment and then said – quiet-like, “I don’t see why not. Go for it.”

We do want you to know that while we are definitely not all right the fact is, we’re all right: deep waters and the grace of God really do go together.


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119 Responses to Hospice Came Today

  1. liloldlady says:

    I just asked the Mother of God to be with you and your DH, and that the Holy Trinity encompasses you both during this time.


  2. tessa50 says:

    Sharon, you are an inspiration to all whose life you touch. Your faith is something to behold. My prayers remain with you and your husband.


  3. Joe says:

    As St. Ambrose said so many years ago–As we have loved him in this life let us not abandon him until we have through our prayers ushered him into the house of the Lord.


    • Sharon says:

      Someone wiser than I has said that the greatest gift we can give one another, particularly in times of sorrow, is our presence. Yes. This is what we will give him. We lose one person. He “loses” all of us. The fact that we are able to grieve together (he and I, he and our family, he and I with our family) is grace-borne privilege. We will escort him and love him and speak to him until he lays his earth suit aside.

      Perhaps one of the struggles of grief and pending separation is that we can get caught up in trying to do the stuff we actually can’t do and thus miss out on doing the doable. Presence. Speaking. Saying what is so. Accompanying. Grieving together.

      Choosing to be there. Choosing to speak. Choosing to say what is so. Choosing to accompany. Choosing to grieve.

      Avoidance is set aside in the act of choosing. Painful. Difficult. Worth it.


      • jello333 says:

        You know I don’t “believe” in exactly the same way many others here do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in an afterlife… I absolutely DO. What exactly that involves, obviously I don’t yet know. But I know, with all my heart, that eventually we WILL be back together with our family and friends. Hmm… so maybe my beliefs aren’t so different after all.


        • justfactsplz says:

          Jello, you are so very precious to us here. I pray you open up that big heart of yours to the one knocking at the door of your heart. Then you will absolutely know for certain what the afterlife involves and how to get there. Love and hugs.


  4. elvischupacabra says:

    Words do not suffice, nor should they. Instead, I offer your my prayers and my deepest affection and admiration.


  5. Auntie Lib says:

    Again I am late to the gathering and the words of others are so much more eloquent. Like the others, my heart hurts – and yet, because the strength of your faith is so strong – my soul is not troubled. God bless you both. Know that my prayers are with you too.


  6. Cupcake says:

    Praying for you and your family, Sharon.


  7. kkdgrace says:

    I am trembling. Thank you for bearing Witness….especially at a time when it would be so much easier to “close in” and shut the rest of the world out of your experience. It can’t be easy- AT ALL- to share your experience and what you are both facing, with the world at large. You and your husband are unselfishly blessing others, especially those in the Faith. My prayers for you all.


  8. labrat says:

    “not today”

    Sums it up doesn’t it? When you enter hospice you enter a time of limbo. Life seems suspended. You can’t really move on until “it” happens. I’m glad you know that all you can do is live each day with joy and love and faith and cherish each moment. Knowing your time is near is both a blessing and a curse. It’s a time for reflection and a time to draw on our faith. Our faith in the promise that while mortal life has an end date, our spiritual life is eternal. I’m so glad you have that deep abiding faith and hope it offers you comfort and peace. I will keep you and your husband in my thoughts and prayers. Thank you for sharing your journey. There are lessons for us all here. Hugs.


  9. Lulu says:

    Sharon, dear, you give so many gifts to your friends and neighbors in the Treehouse. This writing, which had to be so difficult, is yet another gift – to those of us who have been there and, whether they know it or now, those who will be there in future days or years. Thank you. And may God give you and your dear husband and your family peace …


  10. Chip Bennett says:

    “Now we are free. I will see you again. But not yet – not yet.”


  11. Lulu says:

    Something that has comforted me and many family members and friends:

    I often feel that death is not the enemy of life, but its friend; for it is the knowledge that our years are limited which makes them so precious. It is the truth that time is but lent to us which makes us, at our best, look upon our years as a trust handed into our temporary keeping.

    We are like children privileged to spend a day in a great park, a park filled with many gardens and playgrounds and azure-tinted lakes with white boats sailing on the tranquil waves.

    True, the day allotted to each of us is not the same in length, in light, in beauty. Some children of earth are privileged to spend a long and sunlit day in the garden of the earth. For others the day is shorter, cloudier, and dusk descends more quickly as in a winter’s tale.

    But whether our life is a long summery day or a shorter wintry afternoon, we know that inevitably there are storms and squalls which overcast even the bluest heaven and there are sunlit rays which pierce the darkest autumn sky. The day that we are privileged to spend in the great park of life is not the same for all human beings, but there is enough beauty and joy and gaiety in the hours, if we will but treasure them.

    Then, for each of us the moment comes when the great nurse, death, takes us by the hand and quietly says: “It is time to go home. Night is coming. It is your bedtime, child of earth. Come; you’re tired. Lie down at last in the quiet nursery of nature and sleep. Sleep well. The day is gone. Stars shine in the canopy of eternity.”

    — RabbiJoshua Loth Liebman (Peace of Mind, p. 135)


  12. angel says:

    This was an amazingly beautiful post on the affirmation and celebration of life even when we have to accept the ending of a journey with our loved ones and the sorrows that come with it. I have to go get a tissue.

    Sharon, my prayers are with you and your family as you all navigate the next leg of this journey but you have the love and the courage that shines through this post to take the next step. And the one after that no matter where it leads because, yes, God is always there.


  13. nameofthepen says:

    Dear Sharon –

    This was NOT what I expected when I popped over this morning for my first-cuppa browse-through. I missed the first posting in November, didn’t know… 😦

    After many false starts, I decided I could speak best by just sharing this:

    Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep —
    He hath awakened from the dream of life —
    ‘Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
    With phantoms an unprofitable strife.
    Percy Bysshe Shelly (1792-1822)
    “Adonis”, 1821, stanza 39


  14. kkdgrace says:

    I pray I’m not being presumptuous or trite posting this video. My husband passed away a year ago and this song by Sovereign Grace provided much comfort. I just wanted to share it with you, Sharon, in hopes that it provides comfort to the hearts of you, your husband, and your loved one’s. I will continue in prayer for the Lord’s grace for you all. Just know that, for me at least, your posts point the reader to the glory of our risen Lord…and I am grateful for the witness.


  15. mcguffin says:

    Sharon, Thank you for sharing your touching story on here. Many prayers and hugs for you and your husband and family. If I could offer any advice to you it would be to take advantage of any counseling or support groups that are offered to you, the spouse of the patient. While taking care of your husband, take care of yourself too. *Speaking from experience.


  16. woohoowee says:

    Prayers for you and yours, Sharon. My better half was just humming this one and I’d like to share it with you:


  17. Fantasia says:

    Dearest Sharon,

    When I posted my prayer request, you were one of the first to respond. You said that you were looking for a video, and that then, you knew why. No, dearest Sharon, now I know why…

    In one moment in your life, you took the time to reach out to me in a time I needed it, and for that alone, you have my deepest respects.

    I have, along with many others, always admired your writings, the memories, the emotions, the realness you bring out. You put into words things I can barely even think at this moment. Picture me as the one about to take that phone call. I don’t know if it’s coming, but I fear it may be. Not for my DH, but for me. I only hope that God grants me the grace to handle it with 1/10 th the grace and humility that you did.

    I pray every day for the strength to be able to lift the phone from it’s cradle, to nod in understanding, and to move forward, because it IS the way I must go. I hope and pray that I can only do so with a small semblance of what I have witnessed in you.

    I wish the video back, 1000 fold, that in your deepest moments of fear, pain, and need, when you feel you must be strong for DH, yourself, and others closeby, that God elevates you, and strengthens you, and eases those things for you.

    While yes, it is true that none of us make it out alive, it’s okay too to not be happy about it. To hope that today is NOT the day, and that many more NOT todays lie ahead. I know that right now, in these moments before my phone may ring as well, that I am living from my heart, and I know you are too. That is real living, without shame nor embarrassment, that it sometimes takes these days to bring that out in us. I think you have had the special heart for a long time, and your DH is so blessed to have you at his side.

    May God bless you both, and hold your hearts gently in His hands as you make this journey together. It is a gift to share, that many do not get the opportunity to do.

    Do not wipe away those tears that fall from your chin, as there is no shame in loving one another, nor mourning their impending passing, nor in celebrating their lives as we cross these bridges together, yet, alone. Alone, all but for Him at our side.

    Much love and prayers to you both, that he is pain free, and your hearts can remain open to the light of love and glory that lies ahead. And, after that day comes, know that many will continue to pray that your load be lightened, and love never leaves your side. He will always be there.



  18. Irish Eyes says:

    God bless you and your family, Sharon. I know He is with you and will comfort and strengthen you with His grace. I will remember you in my prayers.


  19. Sharon – like most of the posters here, I’m praying for you and your DH. Your beautiful description of what you both are going through right now is bringing back waves and waves of memories as I went through a similar experience.

    I know what you mean about the social worker making you feel uncomfortable. I ran around our house looking for dangers like loose lamp cables, wrinkled rugs, or stacks of dishes. Yes, I feared she would say our house wasn’t safe or appropriate for him and that he’d have to go away. We survived the inspection and he did get to stay at home.

    What I want you to know from my experience is that miracles will happen in the most unexpected ways. In my case, two women – one a friend of my who lived 45 minutes’ drive from our house and another a friend of his Kiwanis brother – came in to our lives. One brought tapioca pudding several times – completely out of the blue and stayed to chat with him. The other came and sat with him and massaged his hands and wrists bringing amazing comfort while allowing me to get out of the house to run errands and work out at the gym. I rarely see the first now and never see the second. I can only conclude that his or my guardian angels flew down and inhabited their bodies for the time we needed extra help.

    My DH was able to reconcile with every member of our fractious family. That was a miracle, too. But one of the greatest miracles of all was the moment just a few hours after the funeral director had carried him away. A neighbor I had hardly spoken to in the 15 years we had lived across the street from her, came to the door with a batch of home-made bread and a big pot of home-made chicken soup with large home-made noodles. My daughter, who had been with us at the end, and I were twice-nourished by that wonderful gesture.

    May you and yours be blessed by the miracles God awards to us when we least expect them!


  20. LadyRavenSDC says:

    How overflowing is this tree house. Every nook and cranny brimming with caring and compassion. I read carefully each note having traveled a parallel path as have most here, and I, mostly a stranger, have been comforted too. This poem comes to mind of the inhabitants of the tree house you helped build Sharon, and it is beautifully clear, DH need not worry, you will never be alone. And this I know from experience, the two of you will never really be apart.

    “The fully human person is in deep and meaningful contact with the world outside of him.
    He not only listens to himself, but to the voices of his world.
    The breadth of his own individual experience is infinitely multiplied through a sensitive empathy with others.
    He suffers with the suffering, rejoices with the joyful.
    He is born again in every Springtime, feels the impact of the great mysteries of life: birth, growth, love, suffering, death.
    His heart skips along with the “young lovers,” and he knows something of the exhilaration that is in them.
    He also knows the ghetto’s philosophy of despair, the loneliness of suffering without relief, and the bell never tolls without tolling in some strange way for him.“
    John Powell, 1999

    You are in my prayers. Andrea


  21. rmnewt says:

    Words seem so inadequate at times like this, but I must say that your words before this revelation have often brought balance to our world at this site. Your posts have this air of the positive and a perspective clearly touched by those around you and God.
    Rest assured we will walk with you in his glory one day.


  22. Sharon: I’ve been offline for a couple of days and I just read this post. Tears are streaming right now. You and your husband and family are in my constant thoughts and prayers. Hospice is an wonderful, wonderful organization. We had them but, unfortunately, for only about 10 days. My Dad did not cooperate with his time-frame diagnosis. From the day they walked into our home and agreed to walk the end journey with us, we felt less alone and scared of what lie ahead.

    There is no way to prepare for what you are facing but it sounds like y’all are doing just right. I know you’re not okay but on the other hand you are – I understand that sentiment completely. I do.

    The “Not Today” dialogue is wonderful, too. When my father was dying I was trying to explain, the best I could to an almost 5 year old little girl who mutually adored the ground her grandfather walked on, that he was going to be going to live with Jesus in Heaven soon. I prepped her for the entire 2 day drive to Louisiana to see him for the 1st time after his terminal cancer diagnosis. I told her repeatedly NOT to say anything to him, to act as though everything were as it always were. To enjoy seeing him, playing with him, etc. She promised. We arrived. She hopped out of the car and ran straight to him arms and said, “Papa, are you going to die?” He smiled at her and said, “Not today, sweetheart!”

    Here’s a little show of God and Faith that carried us through a whole lot of days/nights, too. On the day my father had his biopsy and got his diagnosis (non-small cell lung cancer – non smoker – metastasis to bone, liver and brain – 4 to 6 months to live WITH treatment) his lung collapsed and he was required to stay in the hospital overnight. My mother drove home to pack on overnight bag. She said when she walked into the house she felt like she could not breathe. She walked into the breakfast room. We are Catholic and my mother collects crosses and has an entire wall in her breakfast room full of them. Behind many are palm fronds from Palm Sunday Masses and, behind one, there is an inspirational mini-sign (about the size of a bumper sticker) that reads, “God’s Will – Nothing More, Nothing Less, Nothing Else”. That sign had been wedged behind that particular cross for years prior to this day.

    Anyway, she walked into the breakfast room and stood at the table. She was supporting herself on the back of a chair and her head was hanging. She said she was crying and praying to God to give her the strength to get through this. She opened her eyes and that sign was laying face up at her feet. She has NO idea how it got there. But there it was. “God’s Will – Nothing More, Nothing Less, Nothing Else”

    Our Lord is with us at all times. During these journeys he is particularly close to us.

    Love, hugs, prayers to you and your family, Sharon.

    P.S. I often have dreams of water, also. Many times those have to do with loss of control. Always, in my instance. Obviously in yours, too. Hang in there.


  23. michellc says:

    Sharon, I wrote a long post to this yesterday but then I didn’t hit the post comment. After reading what I wrote, it was just too sad as death leaves a sadness deep inside us that never seems to totally leave.
    So I’m going to write a shortened version of what I wrote. I’ve never lost a husband or a child and know it has to be a pain that is almost unbearable. I didn’t do too well when losing siblings. One sudden, two that we had to watch slowly fade away, one from cancer and her battle was five years filled with lots of hope, lots of ups and downs before she was taken. None of them were easy, the sudden death leaves you with thoughts of all the things you said or didn’t say and the shock leaves you going through the motions not really living but existing before you get out of the fog. The sitting in the hospital with nurses and doctors who talk and act so clinical is an extra burden during a very difficult time. At home is a little easier and we were lucky that we had a very good hospice nurse that new how to balance the clinical and compassion, which we needed both. We needed to know what to expect and what was going on but we needed her to be discussed as a person and not just a patient.
    I wish I had words that take away the pain, the exhaustion, the fear, the heartache, and the anger and yes there were times when we all had anger, most times not knowing who or what we were angry at.
    Family and friends help, but in the end it’s a cross we have to carry on our own just as our loved one has to cross that bridge on their own and that while you’re going through it I think is the hardest for us to deal with.
    Although I know the hospital bed and strangers in your home is hard to deal with, which we were lucky and didn’t have to deal with a social worker but once during the initial process, hospice and home makes it imo the easiest way to have to go through this for not only yourself and kids but your husband. Although there is no easy way.
    My heart breaks for you and you’re in my thoughts and prayers all the time.


  24. Josh says:

    Sharon, I’ve written and erased and rewrote and erased. There are no adequate words for the sorrow I feel at reading this post.

    I wish my tears would help. I know they won’t but I cannot stop them from forming. I am comforted knowing that you both walk in faith. I know that we, one way or another, will all face the same fate. I’ve often said that it would seem right that the world stand still, for even a moment, at the passing of a loved one. Of course, if that happened the world would stop. I’m glad that you both are able to take this journey together. Your husband is lucky to have you and you, him. THANK YOU for sharing your world with us.


    • Josh says:

      Sharon, I was thinking about you and yours, and others that have posted here, last night. Came back to add this song that gives me great comfort. Hope it will do the same for you.

      There’s a Stirring


  25. raskog says:

    I haven’t commented but I read here. All your insights nourish me, gives me long pauses into never before traversed glimpses of strength gained from circumstances beyond our control. I lost my grandfather to the fiend very rapidly when I was a child, before I had a chance to understand the disease and to say good bye. Later when older, I remembered he had said good bye to me three years earlier but it didn’t register as final. I loved him dearly and to this day, he is still looking after me through things that he did for us. When my grandmother became sick too decades later, my mother would not make the mistake again, and flew immediately to see her. This was the one daughter she had not seen yet since we were the only family to not live in the same town. Right after my mother arrived, my grandmother smiled, which was always against her nature with this daughter of hers, her face turned from sickly pale to pink and rosy, and passed. She was happy to see my mother, the difficult daughter and mother relationship, impossibly unresolved through the years, was her gift. She hung on though suffering to wait for my mother to arrive. She knew my mother was aggrieved not having said a final good bye to my grandfather. I was amazed by this recalcitrant grandmother of mine. I myself could not afford to fly to see her, but that night, while I said a private good bye to her, I felt she suddenly was THERE to reciprocate. It was a surprise and wonderful. SHE came to see me instead. It’s hard to explain. I felt so happy and peaceful. Separation was easier because of the geographical distance. Which is why it did not require great strength. But God liked to meddle in his own kind way to ensure I never felt separate again from them. My father leaving the home city isolated us considerably.

    I hope and trust God will do the same for our own hyper-intelligent Sharon of the Birds and Tree. Having said all the above, I REALLY LIKE *Not today*! My further modest offering is this link to commence exploring possibilities, and a question, have you tried cottage cheese with organic flax seed oil recommended by a German bio-chemist years ago? Your husband will benefit from this even, and especially, if he is undergoing any conventional treatment for his normal cells must remain strong to fight off the aggressive ones. Natural vitamins are good too along with pro-biotic capsules for the digestive system to intake the proper nutrients, none of the synthetically produced ones please, because cancer patients have more trouble digesting nutrition. My most esteemed prayers for you, our Sharon, and may you not have too many of the awful dreams, and ONLY IF it means something.




    • raskog says:

      Most invaluably, Sharon’s beautifully written passages, imbues me with a feeling of life and wonder. Please thank DH a million! for allowing you to share with us these precious times.


  26. Bette says:

    I seldom post on here so you don’t know me, but I have enjoyed and admired your writings both for their literary flair, as they bring back fond reminders of days long past from your memoirs on MBOB and for their wisdom and honor when you so thoughtfully express your views on topics so crucial to our times.

    I did not see your entry in November regarding this most personal matter of all, but in true Sharon style you have addressed it with the utmost grace, fortitude and compassion; demonstrating such strength in your faith at a time when it is definitely a saving grace.

    There are no words that can heal nor change the course which He has set before you and your DH, but may you live in the moment and garner the joy you speak of for today. There will be time enough for sorrow if need be, but as you said, not today.

    Remembering you and lifting you and your dear husband up in daily prayer.

    Hope this link posts…this is a beautiful song by a very talented young lady. If not maybe one of the admins can post it.

    Subject: Dani and Lizzy – Dancing in the sky
    Check out this video on YouTube:


    • Sharon says:

      I am admin also and I see it didn’t post – so I’ll go find it. Thank you for this thoughtful gift.


      • Bette says:

        Thank you Sharon. I see it’s posted and I hope you like it. Keep the faith and God bless you!


      • jello333 says:

        You know I talk to my wife alot about the Treehouse and some of the people here. But I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned that I’ve also told my (87-yr-old) mom about some of my friends here. So today she overheard me telling my wife about what you wrote here in this post, and asked me what I was talking about. When I told her, she just sadly shook her head and said, “Please tell Sharon I’m praying for her and her husband and their whole family.” I know you don’t know her, but this really is NOT the type of thing she does everyday. So just passing that along, Sharon: Lots of prayers from my mom to you guys.


  27. Elisabeth Eyre says:

    Sharon, my prayers are with you and your husband and family.
    Reading your post and the wonderful comments- tears were streaming. My father went home to be with Jesus in September, after the whole family was able to come to visit him.
    I posted a link to this column on my fb page- hope you don’t mind.


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