She was wheeled through the long corridors of the county hospital in a chair»Where to?» one nurse asked another. «Should she go to the general ward, or a private room?»
I grew uneasy. «Why the general ward if a private one is available?»
The nurses glanced at her with such genuine pity that I was stunned. Only later did she learn that private rooms were reserved for the dying, so the others wouldnt see.
«The doctor said private,» the nurse repeated.
I relaxed. And when I found myself lying in bed, a strange peace settled over mejust knowing I no longer had to go anywhere, no longer owed anyone anything, no longer carried any burdens. The world felt distant, irrelevant. Nothing and no one interested me. I had earned the right to rest. And it was good. Just me, alone with my soul, my life. Only *I* remained. Problems vanished, along with the rush and the weighty questions. All that chasing after trivial things seemed so small compared to eternity, to life and death, to the unknown awaiting us.
And thenreal life burst into motion around me! How wonderful it was: birds singing at dawn, a sunbeam creeping across the wall above my bed, golden leaves waving at me through the window, the deep blue of an autumn sky, the hum of the waking citycar horns, the click of heels on pavement, the rustle of fallen leaves. Good Lord, how marvelous life was! And only now had I truly understood it.
«So what?» I told myself. «At least Ive understood. And I still have a few days left to savor it, to love it with all my heart.»
This sudden flood of freedom and joy demanded release, so I turned to Godwho had never felt closer.
«Dear Lord!» I rejoiced. «Thank you for letting me see how beautiful life is, for teaching me to love it. Even if its at the very end, Ive learned how glorious it is to be alive!»
A calm, radiant happiness filled mepeace, freedom, and a soaring lightness all at once. The world shimmered with golden light, divine love pulsing through everything. It felt thick yet soft, like an ocean wave, saturating the air until even breathing was slow, deliberate. Everything I saw glowed with that golden energy. I *loved*! And it was like the power of Bachs organ music fused with the flight of a violins melody.
A private room and a diagnosis of «acute leukemia, stage four»along with the doctors grim prognosishad their advantages. The dying were allowed visitors at any hour. Relatives were told to summon loved ones for farewells, and soon a procession of grieving faces filed in.
I understood their discomfort. What do you say to a dying woman, especially one who *knows* shes dying? Their bewildered expressions amused me.
I was glad to see them allwhen else would I get the chance? More than anything, I wanted to share this newfound love for life. Who *wouldnt* be happy about that? I joked, told stories, kept them laughing. By Gods grace, they all left cheerful, their goodbyes wrapped in warmth.
By the third day, I grew restless. I wandered the room, sat by the window. The doctor found me there and nearly had a fit»You cant be up!»
I blinked. «Why not?»
«It wont change anything,» she admitted, flustered. «But you *shouldnt* be walking.»
«Why?»
«Your bloodwork iswell, its incompatible with life. Yet here you are.»
The four days theyd given me passed. I didnt die. Instead, I devoured sausage and bananas with gusto. I felt fine. The doctor, however, did not. My tests hadnt budged; my blood was still barely pinkyet Id started watching telly in the hall.
Poor woman. Love demanded joy, so I took pity.
«Doctor, what *should* my results look like?»
«Well, like *this*,» she scribbled numbers and letters on a slip of paper. I didnt understand a thing but studied it solemnly. She muttered something and left.
At nine the next morning, she burst in. «How are you *doing* this?!»
«Doing what?»
«Your tests! They match what I wrote!»
I shrugged. «How should I know? Does it matter?»
They moved me to the general ward. My relatives had already said their goodbyes and stopped visiting.
Five other women shared the room. They lay facing the walls, dying in grim silence. I lasted three hours before *my* love began suffocating. Something had to be done. I hauled a watermelon from under the bed, sliced it open, and announced, «This helps with chemo nausea.»
The scent of fresh snow filled the air. One by one, they crept to the table.
«Really works?»
«Mm-hmm,» I said, expert-like.
Juicy crunching followed.
«Its true,» murmured the one by the window, who walked with crutches.
«Me too Me too» The others brightened.
«See?» I nodded sagely. «Funny thing happened once Oh! Heard the joke about?»
At 2 a.m., a nurse glared in. «Will you lot *quit* cackling? The whole floors trying to sleep!»
Three days later, the doctor hesitantly asked, «Could you switch wards?»
«Why?»
«Everyone in heres improving. The next ward has critical cases.»
«No!» my roommates cried. «She stays.»
So I stayed. Soon, patients from other rooms drifted in just to chat and laugh. I knew why. Our ward was brimming with *love*it wrapped everyone in golden warmth, soothing their fears. My favorite was a sixteen-year-old girl in a white headscarf tied at the back, its ends sticking out like bunny ears. Lymph node cancer. At first, I thought shed forgotten how to smile. A week later, I saw her shy, radiant grin. When she said her treatment was working, we threw a feast. The on-call doctor gaped at us.
«Thirty years here,» he muttered, «and Ive never seen this.»
We howled at his expression. It was wonderful.
I read books, wrote poems, gazed out the window, chatted with neighbors, strolled the hallsloving *everything*: the books, the juice, the woman in the next bed, the car parked outside, the old tree. They injected me with vitaminshad to inject *something*. The doctor barely spoke to me, just shot odd glances. After three weeks, she murmured, «Your hemoglobins 20 points above a healthy persons. Stop improving.»
She seemed cross. Her diagnosis couldnt *possibly* be wrongyet here I was.
Once, she confessed, «I cant justify your chart. Youre recovering without treatment. Thats *impossible*.»
«So whats my diagnosis now?»
«Havent decided,» she whispered, then left.
At discharge, she sighed. «Ill miss you. Weve so many still suffering.»
Our entire ward was discharged. That month, the death rate in the unit dropped by 30%.
Life went onbut I saw it differently, as if viewing the world from above. The meaning of it all was suddenly simple.
Just learn to love. Then your power becomes boundless, your wishes grantedso long as theyre born of love. No lies, no envy, no grudges, no ill will. So simple. So hard.
Because its true: God *is* love. We just have to remember in time.
