A Fork In The Road

My 94-year-old mother had been living back and forth between the nursing home and the hospital when I got a call at one in the morning from the nurse on her floor. He said that I needed to get there quickly because her vital signs didn't look good.

My husband and I sped to the hospital, and I spent the next six hours holding her hand, watching her shallow breathing, and trying to cat nap.

My husband had a pre-arranged stress test early that morning, and I encouraged him to go ahead and keep it. He called me at 7:30 a.m., telling me that it was "suggested" that he also be admitted to the hospital. He wasn't sure what he should do -- with my mom being in such fragile condition -- but we decided that the best thing would be for him to follow medical advice.

When he arrived at my mother's room, I told him that I was going with him, and that I would stay with him throughout the day.

As we left her room, we didn't know if we would see her alive again. We got in our car, then silently drove to another facility across town.

The staff prepped him, and then explained to me that the procedure might be of short duration, or it could be of medium length, or it could turn into something long and complicated. No one knew anything.

I kissed him, they wheeled him down the corridor, and then the waiting began.

A dying parent in one hospital. A beloved husband somewhere else.

My precious sister-in-law sat with me, and we talked about all things, and nothing.

Then the nurse arrived to announce that -- thankfully, blessedly -- the procedure was complete, and it was of the shortest duration.

As my husband was wheeled back into his room, he asked, "Did your mother pass?" In a small voice, I answered, "I don't know."

A little later, I was able to call the nurses' station at her hospital – and I heard the news that she had rallied.

What a day.

As we talked about it a few days later, my husband said that he felt as if I had a rod of steel implanted in my spine that day.

I believe I was covered in prayer, and that's how I got through it.

Have you ever told someone that you will pray for them and for their loved ones? I have. But with what intensity? Sometimes, not much.

I have friends who are prayer warriors, and sometimes on dark days, I can feel their prayers.

I have been told that when we are in great difficulties, the Holy Spirit will pray for us. Romans 8:26 reminds us that the "Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words."

I felt that last Monday.

As I sat at my mother's bedside and held her hand, when I made the decision to leave her and to accompany my husband -- in fact, throughout the day -- I knew that I was being carried with strength and filled with grace because of prayer. Prayers said by my friends and prayers uttered by the Holy Spirit.