A Reel of Film: The Things I See

The flashbacks remind me of the quiet clicking that sounds while watching a stream of black and white pictures.  Playing across a reel of film. Snapshots of silent home movies and memories.

I'm flashing back. Standing in the kitchen as they loaded up my grama onto a stretcher. Into an ambulance that beckoned.  That summoned her with its rear doors. They closed loudly. The sound of the diesel rig sitting at the end of OUR driveway.  Not someone eles's.  Not on some TV show.  The rear doors closed in like arms of death.  Standing in the kitchen as the driver explained to the nurse. Ignorantly...rudely, cold...the coming, imminent fate of my grama. 

"The family does know...that with stage 4 stomach cancer, the bleeding and throwing up blood...that's only going to get worse, they know that don't they?"

Many 4-letter words flew threw my mind and none of them were L-O-V-E.  I'll censor it: "Yea, jerk face...we KNOW it's going to get worse. It's gotten worse for the last 3 months. We KNOW. Stupid."

It only got worse for 3 days after that.  Then...it was over.  As shockingly as it came about...it shockingly ended.  It plays over and over.  Differnet parts highlighted.  Different emotions enlightened. 

I'm venturing deep into the pain that i feel.  It's...searing.  My heart hurts.  My tears fill up and spill over my eyes. That are puffy.  And i fashback.
Click.
Click.
Click.

And then the reel ends. And the ligts come on. And im standing in a puddle of raw emotions.  And an altar of grief.  Built pebble upon stone upon cinder block upon boulder. 

Her bedroom...my bedroom.  The breeding grounds of suffering. The door jamb is where dignity was stripped. Bare.  Her clothes...still folded neatly. In my dresser drawers.  Her books.  Still neatly stacked on my bedside table. Her favorite zippy hoody. Draped over my chair.  My soul-wrenching grief...draped over her bedroom. Like a clean white table cloth fits a round table. 

The smell of dead and dying flowers...layering our kitchen. 

Flash. Back. Flash. Back. Flash. Back. End.
Please...stop.

For how weak she was...she climbed over the bed rails to reach the stretcher.  Desperate to get out. 

As I sat here with head in hands.  Feeling the impact of great sadness drape over me, I asked God to speak to me like no other person can. Something real. Not reel.   Something that would begin to heal. 
And in a world of a million voices, His is the only one thst really matters.  He answered, in His faithfulness.

"The way you gave...IS the way I give."
and that was that.

Then i recalled this Scripture:  "No one has greater love [no one has shown stronger affection] than to lay down (give up) his own life for his friends."
John 15:13 (Amplified version)