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Watery breathing lapped the silence as I sat in my prayer-chair, the afternoon sun shifting slow-moving angles onto the hardwood floor—A cough, then a second one, evidenced my need for a nebulizer treatment. Such interruptions stamped its impress upon my old body’s malfunctioning like a signet ring upon molten wax, permanent, incapable of being removed.

Yesterday’s visit with my hospice nurse confirmed my hunch that increasing weakness signaled the worsening of my terminal illness, inching along in its progression. That confirmation evoked a major shift in my psyche, nudging me a tad deeper within the prickles of grief. For months, sadness has swamped me like a surfer’s breaking wave, almost drowning me until its release. Oceanic tears, I’ve yet to experience but their presence is mounting.

However, in-breaking moments of acceptance lift the pall of gloom and free me to rejoice in what’s coming—and that for all eternity.

Such fresh Love awaits all of us, even now, in prayer…

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