God, would it be too difficult for you to dust off Elijah's flaming chariot and have it swing by to pick me up when I'm ready? I will call a few hours before I need it. I promise.
According to the Bible, Elijah was able to pick his time, conjure a whirlwind and, thanks to his sweet ride, he didn't have to deal with the messy business of having his mind and body shut down a piece at a time.
For most people who are not Elijah, death is terribly inconsiderate. My father responded to the news that he would die within a couple of weeks by saying, "But I'm not finished yet." He, like I, have the vague notion that people can attain immorality by never getting to the bottom of their to-do list.
When Dad finally made his peace with the idea that death was imminent, he composed a message to his family and gathered us around the hospital bed that the angels from hospice had installed in the family room. He delivered an inspiring message, which started with, "It has been a great ride . . ." and ended with, "but now my time has come to an end." Incredible as it may seem, as those final words left his lips, his breathing became shallow, his eyes slowly closed, and his head fell forward onto his chest. We were transfixed.
A few seconds later, he opened one eye and glanced around. No heavenly host, just the same rag-tag group of kids and giggling grandchildren checking him out. Even my dad, the old professor, couldn't engineer the perfect exit.
Last week my mother followed him Home. Most of her mind and her ability to communicate had left us over the past couple of years and finally her body felt it was time to follow. Hospice helped bring her to my sister's home for the last few days of her life, and family members flew in from all over. Sis put up a table holding old pictures and some of Mom's treasured possessions next to her bed.
Twice over the next few days we gathered around Mom's bed and held hands as she tried to leave us. Her son-in-law, a gifted musician, played her favorite hymns - Rock of Ages, The Old Rugged Cross, Amazing Grace - on an acoustic guitar, and her equally gifted granddaughters sang to her softly and beautifully. We read aloud short pieces of poetry, quotations and Bible verses that Mom had transcribed in her elegant longhand. There were dozens of them on note cards and scraps of paper she had stuck in drawers, books and miscellaneous places where she, and we, would happen upon them from time-to-time.
Twice, Mom's labored breathing calmed and became rhythmic again and her body relaxed as the grandchildren sang, as if she was waiting for an encore. The third time, she succeeded in leaving. By then I was on an airplane, flying back across the country to deal with things that, in time, will seem totally unimportant.
I think Edmund Kean had it backwards when he said, "Dying is easy, comedy is hard." From what I've seen, it can be a terrible struggle to pass through that door.
Though we spend a good portion of our lives in denial, we all know that death will arrive at the time of its choosing, whether we welcome it or put up a fight. Death took my son-in-law's father in an instant as he walked out a store carrying a bottle of wine to have with dinner. His soul was gone before his loved ones could say goodbye. Perhaps the chariot that came for him was running a little ahead of schedule.
If I ever do finish that endless to-do list, it would be nice if God would grant me a graceful, well-timed exit. Though I'm pretty sure I used up my last favor a long time ago.
For all she did for her family and the community, Mom deserved to go like Elijah much more than I ever will. But even if her loved ones couldn't provide a chariot, we are grateful that we had the opportunity to send her on her way with love ... and damn-good traveling music.
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