Fist Shaking at Death


Saturday, I buried a friend.  She was 41 years old, married with a five year old son.  I’ve know her since she was five.  Her cornered smile and cheeky dimple brightened any room.  I’d never known her to be spiteful or hateful.  On the contrary, my friend was kind hearted and graceful.  She traveled to 29 countries as a nurse for various relief efforts.  After a flood or earthquake, she always tried to go and help.

So why is this young woman gone?  Liver cancer killed her.  Doctors diagnosed her with it this past summer.  How did she get it?  My friend didn’t smoke or drink.  She exercised and ate whole foods.  It didn’t make sense. 

She went in for an operation, but it didn’t work.  So many people were sure she’d be healed.  We all prayed and fasted.  Late into the night, groups groaned calls to Heaven for the eradication of her cancer.  But healing never came.

When I heard she’d passed away, my heart sunk. With a fist I yelled at the ceiling.  “How could you let this happen?” I cried.  “What about her little boy?  Don’t you even care?”  I was mad…mad at cancer and mad at God.  I still believed in spite of the tragedy.  Otherwise, who was I shaking my fist at?  The little boy cries for his mother to come home.  Her husband mourns her loss and feels like he’s lost direction.  Where is the comfort?

As much as we miss her here, our only comfort is that she’s been called home.  She’s not in pain, no longer suffers and has regained her glow.  God healed her with the ultimate healing.  I’m happy for her, but it feels like a hole has been torn in the fabric of our lives.  My tears are not for her.  My anger is not because of her.  It’s for us.  For we are left to carry on now that she’s in paradise.  I understand why we need comfort.  There is no other answer other than this is not the end nor is it our home.  Still, it stretches the boundaries of my faith to see one like her taken from us.  Two words come to mind: Oh help.


2 responses to this post.

  1. So sad to see such a young death, P.J. We all go through those times when we can’t see the reason for things–and might not understand till we get to heaven. So sorry for your loss and her family’s loss.


  2. Thank you, Heather. Sometimes, writing out my feelings is the only way to come to grips with them. Oddly, I’m normally the comforter and was with her husband and parents at the funeral. When I got to the car, the “whys” steamed the windows.


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