James Stuart Bell - Angels, Miracles, and Heavenly Encounters: Real-Life Stories of Supernatural Events

Tamara L. Stagg

T hats good, Pawpaw. Youre eating mashed potatoes! Derek said as he moved his grandfathers chin up and down, up and down.

Pawpaw might have smiled, if hed had more control of his muscles. Instead, he let his jaw fall open for another bite, his jaundiced gaze fixed intently on my eleven-year-old son.

They were twins, Derek and Pawpaw, different only in age and experience. As Derek raised another spoonful of potatoes to Pawpaws lips, their profiles mirrored each others perky ears, rounded cheeks, slender necks, and curved shoulders.

I looked out the window at the Mayo Clinic grounds. A mature display of green oak leaves mimicked my stillness. Even creation seemed to know that Derek and Pawpaw would soon be separated. They would no longer fidget with electronic gadgets together, join hands on the steering wheel of Pawpaws boat, or walk side-by-side with the same gait to check the mail or walk the dogs or visit the neighbors.

Derek, I said, several weeks after Pawpaw stopped eating, do you understand that medicine cannot help Pawpaw anymore?

A shrug of acceptance. Yeah, I understand that.

Blinking tears away, I steered my sons slender shoulders closer to Pawpaws bedside. You should say good-bye to him now, honey. He might not live through the night.

Derek stared at the dangling tubes that had recently been disconnected. Then he eyed the severely bruised and punctured skin of his grandfather. Heavy doses of steroids, antibiotics, and other treatments had only prolonged Pawpaws battle against vasculitis of the brain.

Pawpaw watched Derek with yellow-glazed, half-opened eyes.

After several moments, Derek said, I cant say good-bye now, Mama. It doesnt make sense. Hes not leaving yet.

I wrapped my arms around Dereks shoulders. Yes, hes still here, and I think he hears every word, I said. But he could go any minute, and how will you feel if he dies before you say good-bye?

Derek shook his head adamantly. Ill say good-bye when he leaves.

I cringed. Throughout Pawpaws illness, Id struggled with how to guide my childrens prayers. If its your will was a phrase Id turned to often, knowing that Gods plans sometimes differ from our greatest hopes.

But Derek did not preface his heartfelt request with If its your will. He kept saying boldly to God, Please let me say good-bye to Pawpaw when he leaves.

At least tell Pawpaw you love him before we go for the night, I suggested now.

This, he could do.

I love you, Pawpaw, he said tenderly.

As days passed, Derek and my nine-year-old daughter, Haley, supported Pawpaw by sitting with him and telling him stories. If he heard them, his blank stare showed no sign of it. Each time Derek left Pawpaws side, he said, I love you, but never good-bye.

One afternoon I took my children out of the hospital room for a little break. When we rejoined relatives in Pawpaws room, his breathing had slowed dramatically. I looked at the clock and saw that he was inhaling only about once every twenty to thirty seconds.

Hes going, I warned my husband.

We all huddled around Pawpaws bed. Each time we thought wed seen his last breath he surprised us with one more inhalation. After several minutes of this, his lungs stopped for more than fifty seconds. Sixty seconds. Seventy seconds. Eighty.

Pawpaws favorite nurse, a Christian, entered the room and watched with us.

I felt tears sting my eyes and choke my throat. This was it. Pawpaw was gone.

We all began to grieve more openlyall except Derek, who said cheerfully, Bye, Pawpaw!

I glanced over at him and saw that he was staring at the ceiling with a smile spread wide across his face.