Five o'clock, and we walk quietly to her bedside. Lilli's
eyes are closed, her face motionless, her chest rising and falling with the
prescribed rhythm of the respirator. Hsar Paw speaks her name. No response. I
tell her that sometimes people who are otherwise unconscious are still able to
hear. I begin to sing.
Come to me if you are
weary
Six forty five, and my phone rings just as I pull up to the
hospital. Hsar Paw's voice cracks as she tells me. I say I will go. The
curtains around Lilli's bed are drawn. Her body is surrounded by the remnants
of a failed code attempt. I feel her hand. Still warm. I carefully cover her
legs, turn off the blaring oxygen, clamp the IV line, and close her eyes. The
words of the 23rd Psalm come in whispers.
And I will hold you
and softly speak
I know this day seems
unending
I begin to gently free Lilli from the monitors and tubes.
The nurses rush in to take over. They close the curtains and we wait outside. Drum
and Sunshine come for support. At last, the nurses emerge from the ICU. The
staff bow respectfully to the green metal box on the gurney, then escort it
across the hospital grounds to the morgue. Dr. E and I follow, arm in arm. I
drive the truck up to the doors. Lilli's body, wrapped in sheets, is placed
carefully in the truck bed. Dr. E and Drum sit with her. I drive to the school
hall where Lilli used to go. Thirty people are outside the dormitory waiting
for us. They are already setting up for a prayer service that will last the
rest of the night.
So I'm sending a
little peace
Ten o'clock, and Lilli's body is laid on a bench at the
front of the hall. I help to dress her in a beautiful, long, white Karen shirt.
I arrange the red tassles around her arms, her chest, her waist. I cover her
legs with a blanket. I untangle her damp hair and style it with my fingers. Her
head is so heavy.
And I will cradle you
close to my chest
Two afternoons later, 300 of us stand outside in a wide circle
near a temple in the countryside. Lilli's coffin is in the middle. Sticks of
incense frame her pale face. Orange-clad monks preside as prayers are chanted
and bells are rung. They place her coffin on a cement bier above a pile of
diesel-soaked wood. The fire is lit. There was debate about whether she ought
to have a Christian service with burial, or a Buddhist service with cremation. She
was a follower of Jesus, so the Christian service seemed to me the best choice,
but that is not what was done. I stand at a distance and sing softly as the
blaze consumes Lilli's broken shell.
And I will take up
your burdens and give you rest
Lilli's mother stares at the dwindling flames. On her cheeks
are dry tears. In her hand is a single cooled coal. I tell her about Lilli's two
friends who had miraculous assurance that she is now at peace. I explain to her
that Lilli is home in heaven with Jesus. I tell her that she can also live
forever with this God who loves her, if she will give her life to him - that
then she will also see Lilli again someday. She says she agrees, and her eyes
are full of hope.
You who are weary, if
you can hear me
Wisps of ash blow past on the wind. I am sobered by the
fragility of our flesh, arrested by the nearness of eternity. I think of my
five o'clock song, and wonder whether Lilli heard. Perhaps Jesus used those
words of his to call her home.
Come to me
"Come to Me" - by Alli LaPointe
Come to me if you are weary
And I will hold you, and softly speak
I know this day seems unending
So I'm sending a little peace
And I will cradle you close to my chest
And I will take up your burdens and give you rest
You who are weary, if you can hear me
Come to me
Come to me if you are weary
And I will hold you, and softly speak
I know this day seems unending
So I'm sending a little peace
And I will cradle you close to my chest
And I will take up your burdens and give you rest
You who are weary, if you can hear me
Come to me
