Luminarias and Dying and Friendship

(I wrote this in February 2012, when my daughter's young husband was dying from brain cancer.)

We had just finished eating two good meals: one we had bought from Costco and one the Relief Society sisters brought in. Emily had forgotten that had been arranged—not surprising since she hasn’t slept in two weeks.

She has been caring for her dear Jared who is dying of brain cancer. I guess he’s been dying for nine years, ever since the first diagnosis, but now we think we only have hours left. His parents (John and Jean) and Paul and I are here to help. Jared’s sister and her children came today, which gave Sam and Eden great joy and a welcome distraction from their grief. Jared lies in the bed, unconscious, breathing in short rattley gasps.

There is always someone by his side, usually Emily, and often several others, remembering good times and making plans for the services.  Nine-year-old Sam has dragged his mattress in and often hangs out there, talking to his mom and sometimes his dad. Today he made a hut from cushions and a sheet. Eden, five years old, just plays. She doesn’t talk about her dad.

Anyway, we had just finished our two meals. Sam looked out the front window and said, “Someone is putting out luminarias!”

We all hurried over to watch. Men and women were carrying boxes and helping children to set the bags filled with sand all along the sidewalk and up the walkway. We watched them scurry about to finish the work without our noticing. But we did.

“There’s Zach! There’s John! There’s Sally--and all the Jessops!” Sam and Eden and Emily called out.

Emily began to cry. “I can’t believe it. How did they know? It is just so perfect”

Then someone noticed, “Look! There are hearts cut in all the bags! It’s so beautiful!”

And then Emily said,  “I just wish Jared could see this.” We were all crying now. Or at least Emily, Jean, and I. And clinging to each other.

Jared and Emily have always done luminarias for Christmas. It’s a New Mexico thing and a very important tradition for them. Jared would love this.

As the candle lighters finished up, we went outside to thank them all. I found Emily’s camera and took photos. Emily hugged and hugged her good friends, Sally and Melanie. 

We said, “Come in, come in! Have some hot chocolate and cookies.” We had lots of both.

So in they all came—whole families. 15 or 20 people. The children all sat around the table and sipped hot cocoa with marshmallows. The adults stood around and laughed and talked. Emily was so happy to be surrounded by loving friends.

Jared would have loved it all—the luminarias and the following impromptu party. It was just what he loved.

Jean said, “Maybe he did see it.” Maybe he did. It seems he is in a twilight place now, his spirit wandering out from that worn-out body, finding its way to the heavenly home.

So maybe he hovered over the glowing hearts lining the path home, maybe he joined in the loving conviviality in the kitchen. If he did, he would be comforted. He would know his family will be OK. 

They are well loved.