Blessing in Disguise

"I hate watching Mom suffer like this!" Jim collapsed on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. My husband had been so brave the past two weeks, since we came to live with his mother, Maude, who was dying of cancer. I put my arm around his shoulder.

I knelt beside the bed, and Jim knelt next to me. "Lord, you have kept Maude strong through all this," I said. "Please keep us strong too. We turn to you for guidance, courage, and ways to make us smile through our tears."

Even as I prayed, I wondered if I was asking for the impossible.

Eighty-five years old, Maude had always enjoyed good health, never having to take anything stronger than an aspirin for the arthritis in her knees. But then Jim's sister, Faye, who shared a home with Maude, had noticed she was staying in bed the better part of each day. When Maude stopped eating, Faye took her to the hospital. They learned that cancer wracked her body, leaving little untouched.

The doctors gave her less than six weeks to live. Faye took Maude home. Jim was retired, and with our kids grown, we were able to go be with Maude the moment we heard the news that fall of 1996.

Maude had lived with dignity, and she intended to die that way too. We'd often found her deep in prayer, thanking the Lord for her family and friends. "Prepare Faye and Jim for the day I'll leave them," she always asked.

With the help of hospice nurses, we managed to keep Maude fairly comfortable. But she was too weak to leave her room, and the house seemed enveloped in a gloomy fog of illness.

As Thanksgiving approached, we started to regret having invited the extended family over. The last thing we felt like doing was celebrating. Still, Thanksgiving dinner at Maude's was a tradition, and it wouldn't have seemed right doing it any other way.

When the scent of turkey and stuffing filled the house on Thanksgiving morning, it seemed almost like old times. Family arrived with hugs and side dishes, while Maude slept soundly in her room, the pain medication making her drowsy day and night. It wasn't going to be the same without her leading us in the grace.

My mother showed up with a large gift bag in tow. "It's from your friend Gail," Mom said. "She hopes this will brighten things up around here."

Peering in the top of the bag, all I could see was white—white hair, white silk dress, white wings. An angel? I lifted the doll from the bag and gasped. Angel or not, it was the ugliest doll I had ever seen! Once I recovered, I began to laugh. Mom joined in. "Gail made it herself," Mom said.

"What's so funny?" Jim asked. He came over and took the doll from me, turning her every which way. "Wow, that's one ugly angel!" By now everyone wanted to see the doll.