The eerie shadow stood in front of me after taking her life. As I gazed into the utter darkness of its eyes, it grabbed me and dug its fingers through the skin of my chest just below my collarbones. In a swift motion, Death began yanking and tearing my flesh downward, far enough to lay bare my heart and lungs. I had a pulse, but my heart lay silent— stunned by the news, encased by a scream yet to be heard.

On that particular day, Death had no authority to take my life— so it made certain the electrical connections to my heart remained intact. Releasing the grip on my flesh, Death scoffed as I fell to the floor, flailing, gasping for breath while trying to close my wound with trembling hands.

My best friend for forty-five years was gone.

The mother of my children and the most loyal of souls.

Her beautiful brown eyes closed for the final time.

This was a fiction, certainly. Right? A woman whom I had spent the last few days in the hospital with praying, crying, laughing, hugging, and planning how to beat a malfunctioning heart valve was left a shell.

Flesh but no soul.

A body lay on the bed, emptied of her essence.

I had my chest ripped open, and no way to stitch it up.

The last week has been surreal, and this is what it has felt like in the shadow of two stunned nurses meeting me at the elevator on the sixth floor at three twenty in the morning— informing me that she was gone.

God is tending my wound. He has used loving people as a suture. Knowing that Connie is rejoicing in the presence of the King of Kings has been a healing balm. Understanding that she transferred to eternity without suffering has been a blessing beyond measure.

I don’t fear Death. It has no power over me. Sure, it hurts like hell that it is, but when we know Jesus, it doesn’t get the final word, He does.

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