The last Sunday of September, I had one of those days where I woke up weepy for no reason, a commonplace occurrence when we are grieving. Our Sunday School teacher asked, “How are you doing?” in a way that told me she really wanted to know. I wept as I told her some of the challenges we were facing in the aftermath of Robb’s death.

On our way home, K-Love played a song that Mark Hall of Casting Crowns wrote after his mother’s death. Donn turned up the radio and said, “Every time I woke up last night, I thought of this song.” I can barely listen to No Scars in Heaven without weeping even on a good day, and the first line pursued me the rest of that day, If I had only known the last time would be the last time…

I kept going back to the last night we spent with Robb at their house in Hubbard before Home Health took him to Hospice House. We had no idea he would be going the next day but had come late Sunday evening to spend the night and provide support for Leslie. Things were becoming difficult, and we didn’t want her to be there alone. She had been getting very little sleep, so Donn and I took turns staying by Robb’s hospital bed while Leslie at least rested in the other bed in the room.

Robb hadn’t slept much either for some time because, although they were giving him medicine, most of it was coming back up. He was edgy and restless. A number of times as I stood by his bed that night, he said, “I don’t know what to do, Mom. Do you know what to do?”

I answered on one occasion, “Well, you need to rest, Honey. And it would be good if you could sleep.” He responded with typical Robb sarcasm, “THAT would be fantastic!”  I had to laugh and said, “I know you would if you could.”

Once as I held his hand, he said, “Will you stay with me, Mom?”

“I will, Sweetie.”

If I had known it would be the last time, I would have stood by his bed and held his hand all night, but eventually, thinking I needed to conserve my strength for many more nights to come, I went to sit at the foot of the bed. Later, I woke Donn and asked if he would take a turn so I could sleep a bit. Little did I know what the next day would bring.  

When Leslie checked in with Home Health in the morning, they told her they could take Robb to Hospice House to put him on IVs so that he wouldn’t vomit up his medicine. They would then monitor him for 24 hours before bringing him home. We hadn’t known that was an option and would have done it sooner had we known.

All of us, including Robb, were in favor of choosing this option. He was alert and awake, still vomiting, when Home Health Transport arrived and wheeled him out to the van. Before they closed the doors, he waved good bye to Sarah, Leslie, her mom, and us.

On Monday evening, we received word from Leslie that anyone who wanted to see Robb needed to come to Hospice House as soon as possible because they didn’t think he had much time left. He wouldn’t be coming home. Even with those words of warning, I was unprepared for Robb’s unresponsive condition when we arrived at his bedside. He did rouse enough to mouth I love you to Sarah and Connor when they each told him they loved him. Those were his last words.

Leslie, Donn and I were with Robb when he died around 5:30 on Wednesday morning, July 7, but because of his unresponsiveness in the hours before his death, in my mind the wee hours of the previous Sunday morning were “the last time.” How I wish I had known.

Although I wish I could have a do-over for “the last time,” I’m so thankful that Donn and I made countless trips to St. Elizabeth’s Hospital and Cleveland Clinic and spent countless hours sitting beside Robb’s bed at home and in hospitals during the three months we had. We have no regrets about the time, money, energy and prayers we invested. 

I’m sure there are many things we can learn from these experiences, but without a doubt one of the first is the suddenness with which our lives can change. One minute we can be breezing along in life believing we have many years ahead of us, perhaps even feeling invincible, as Robb acknowledged he did. Then suddenly, like hitting an unexpected speed bump, we are catapulted into an alternative reality faster than the speed of light. End of life issues to which we’d never given a thought are staring us in the face. From Robb’s first endoscopy to his death was exactly three months. Others may have even less time or none at all, such as dying in a head-on collision.

Rapturous Forum says of the song No Scars in Heaven, This song is a reminder to value our relationships while we’re here, as they can be over in the blink of an eye. But for believers, that parting is not permanent, and we look forward to the day when the ‘nail-scared hands’ hold us all.

Inevitably each of us will face the end of our lives. Whether it comes sooner or later than we expect, we will walk through the valley of the shadow of death as we face our own death or the death of a loved one. The critical question is: will we be ready? Will we have wrestled with any doubts we might have and asked God to reveal the Truth to us about life after death, heaven and hell? Will we have we repented of our sins and received the sacrifice Jesus made to purify our hearts and make us ready for heaven?

As I’ve pondered all this, bits and pieces of the song Loving My Jesus, written by Mark Hall, prompted me to listen to it again. The cry of my heart, as I’m coming to grips with the speed with which one’s life may end, is the same as the ones Mark penned at the end of this song:

The cry of my heart

Is to see all the ones I love,

All the ones I love,

Loving my Jesus

The One who gets us through the valley of the shadow of death when we lose loved ones is also the One who can prepare us to face the end of our own lives when it comes. He is the only One who can ensure that we’ll spend eternity in His presence with others who believed, loved, and trusted in Him.