Decisions

I sat in his hospital room late this afternoon. There were eight of us in there besides him. Some were reminiscing, chattering about old times when he was a mentor / parent / friend to them. One grandson, tall and devastated, simply sat at his bedside, holding his hand and gazing at him wordlessly, a silent sentry guarding the gates.

Nothing could mask his stentorian breathing, each inhalation an invocation and each exhalation in the nature of a whispered thanksgiving - at least on the part of those of us anxiously monitoring the monitor flickering near his bed.

And just outside the room, merely one glass door away, the doctor talked earnestly to Char and to his daughter and son.

I recognized the posture, the involuntary anguish manifest on the faces immediately followed by a blank look.

When the doctor finished talking to them they came back into the room and the daughter came over to me.  

"It's his lungs," she whispered. The doctor has said we have to make some decisions. But I just can't - he's my Dad! Is it selfish to say pray that I won't have to?"

I drew her into my embrace and whispered back, "It's about the worst decision anyone can be asked to make ..."

And I promised to pray that she won't have to make that decision, to pray that it won't come to that.

Please uphold these three tired, torn people. Pray that the decision is taken out of their hands by the One who knows and loves our Brian far more than we could even imagine, and who loves them too with equal love and fervour.