"Say Hi to Jesus For Me": Chapter 15

"Mom, let me walk out into the living room and sit for a while."

"I can’t promise that it won’t smell out there."

"That’s OK. Just bring my M&Ms."

"Where can I hold you so it doesn’t hurt you?"

"I’m not hurting."

It took all his strength to wobble out and sit on the couch in the living room, but soon he was uncomfortable and tired and he wanted back in his bed.

"Mom, wheel me around." At the hospital I would get a wheelchair and we would walk the halls by the hour, but here there was no wheelchair. So I threw a rug upside down on the hardwood floor of his room and set the rocking chair on it. Supported by pillows on all sides, he tried to get comfortable while I pushed him back and forth. But it wasn’t like riding in a wheelchair, and soon he was tired of it.

"Ice!"

In the hospital he was used to having me around to wait on his every need, but now, as he grew weaker, he preferred to have his dad close to him, to hold his hand.

Many times Dutch and Todd exchanges little affirmations of their love for each other.

"Loves you, Son."

"Loves you, Dad."

Dutch and I would take turns sleeping in the other room- if Todd would let Dutch get away. Many times Dutch slept in Niqua’s bed, pushed up close to Todd’s, holding his hand as he slept. Dutch was so exhausted that it never took long before he started snoring. Then Todd would tickle him and say: "Stop that!" Finally he requested his pen with the long feather on the end of it, and every time Dutch snored, Todd would reach over with his feather and tickle his dad to get him to quit snoring.

Todd’s breathing could easily be heard in the other bedroom where we went to sleep. Each time I took a nap I hoped I wouldn’t hear that breathing when I woke up- yet at the same time I frantically prayed that I would.

As we hovered over Todd day after day, we would have done anything to relieve his suffering. But we were helpless. There was nothing we could do. I thought I now understood what it must have been like for God the Father during the crucifixion. He stood by and did nothing while Jesus, the Son, was crucified for our sin.

Every time Todd exhaled, I waited anxiously for him to inhale again. Once, in desperation, I wished I could put a pillow over his face and end it all. I felt guilty for a long time for even thinking such a thing. Dutch later admitted that he’d had similar thoughts. But the Lord knows our hearts and he has forgiven us.

Finally I admitted to Dutch that I was frightened of being alone in the room when death came. He announced that I was not to be left alone under any circumstances. Someone was to sit with me so I would not be so scared. Grandpa came and sat quietly. I was glad he didn’t talk. He was just there lending his support. My fear lessened.

Pastor Roufs called to say he and Mrs. Roufs would be out of town for a day, but he wanted us to know where they could be reached.

"Do you think it will be much longer?" He asked.

"I don’t see how he can get much worse and still be alive," I replied.

"Don’t be ashamed of your tears. When death comes, you will cry. That’s normal. I want you to know that," he explained.

"I feel fine. I won’t cry."

"You’ll see. When death comes, there will be tears."

Monday night we were all gathered around Todd’s bed to watch Billy Graham on TV. His sermon topic was angels. He spoke of how angels would come to pick us up and take us to heaven when our time came.

Then Dutch read to Todd from Todd’s Bible storybook and talked with him about the story.

"Son, I have to ask you one more time, just to be sure: Did you ask Jesus to come into your heart?"

"Oh, Dad, you know I did. I love Jesus."

By midnight Todd had quieted down considerably. His breathing was much shallower and slower. He was dozing frequently. We had increased his dose of medication to two capsules every half hour, but suddenly he did not seem to need them anymore.

I still had not told him in so many words that he was dying. We had always tried to prepare him and explain the things that would happen to him. It bothered me that we had not been open with him about this. So I took his hands in mine and said:

"Son, before, whenever you were sick, you would feel real bad, but then each day you would begin to feel a little bit better. Well, now you are going to get all the way better. You are going to be with Jesus in heaven."

He never answered, and I don’t know for sure that he heard me. He dozed off and I must have also. At 3:00 AM he awoke with a start:

"Ice! Get my ice. Dad! Where is my dad? Daddy!"

We scrambled for fresh ice. Dutch came running from the other room.

"Why don’t you give him the ice?" he snapped. Tempers flared, confusion set in. I had placed Todd’s hands in the bowl of ice so he would know it was there, but he couldn’t feel it anymore.

My sister called to say Niqua had awakened screaming- could Mother come?

I fled from the room. In the other room I pounded my fists on the window frame:

God! I can’t take it anymore! I can’t stand the thought of his dying, but I can’t take this anymore. You promised! Lord, you promised not to allow us to be tempted beyond what we are able to endure. Well, I can’t endure anymore."

I sobbed. For a moment I thought I was going crazy. In that split second, it seemed that I had the choice to give in to despair and loose my mind, or take the hand of Jesus so he could pull me out of the storm-tossed waves. I trusted Jesus.

I heard Todd call me, but I couldn’t go in that room anymore. Dutch came and put me to bed. It was his turn to sleep, and he was as tired as I was, but he knew I’d reached my limit.

While I slept, he and Grandpa sat with Todd, holding his hands.