A Thread of Hope

             Lights flicker like lightning bugs across the arena as the crowd clamors for pictures.  The soft notes of a baby grand play in the semi-darkness of the stage, leaving me breathless. 

            “No more sorrow, no more pain.  I will rise on eagle’s wings…”

            Suddenly, I’m no longer in the middle of a crowd enjoying a concert, but in a silent hospital room, watching my grandfather as he sleeps.  His hands rest at his sides, finally still after hours of fidgeting, and his dark grey hair stands in all directions.  His pale face seems tense even in sleep, and I wonder if he feels pain.

            The doctors said he wouldn’t last the night.

            Sitting in the chair at his beside, I stroke his hand, feel the slow, weak pulse at his wrist.  I don’t know it now, but when he’s no longer near, that’s what I’ll miss.  Just holding his large, soft hand. 

            Music gently enters from the room across the hall.  Soft piano notes, a sweet mellow voice.  I can’t hear the words, but the music itself eases the tension in my neck.  It gets louder, as if someone has turned up the volume.

            “I will rise when He calls my name.  No more sorrow, no more pain.  I will rise, on eagle’s wings…”

            I cry, unable to block out the image.  That’s what he’ll be doing by morning if the doctors are right.  He’ll be dancing - despite several years of immobility, reading – no longer troubled by double vision.  He’ll be whole.  Complete.  New.  Alive. 

            How can I begrudge him that?  My constant prayer shifts.  I don’t ask for just physical healing, but that his broken body be lifted and renewed. 

And that I accept the pain of his absence.

When morning comes, he hasn’t changed, he’s still in that bed, and I’m still clinging to a thread of hope. 

Years later, I hear the same voice ringing out in the arena, the same notes float across the stage that drifted into his hospital room, the same peace that stilled my frenzied spirit.  With a wish that I could visit him and cling to his hand, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and sing.