Finding Comfort

Just a year ago, VST and I were trying to find comfort for his unusually swollen ankles and feet. In the blink of an eye, it seemed my normally healthy, although disabled, husband had become ill. On our first doctor’s visit, the focus was on possible heart issues that could cause swelling. The first line of defense was a heavy dose of diuretics, which did nothing to correct the issue. Many tests later, the doc found VST’s heart to be in perfect health. From there, we started our downward spiral into the world of Cancer.

VST found strength through spiritual comfort. Covid hadn’t become center stage yet. Congregations still met, but because of our remote location and his illness, VST chose to watch a tele-preacher that aired daily. I would find him deep in prayer one minute, and sleeping quietly the next. His naps were a daily ritual, but then, it was winter, with not much else to do. Napping was the one activity in which his ankles and feet would be elevated. This minor set back allowed VST to enjoy the rest and relaxation that retirement brought. Each morning, he would present his ankles and feet to show me they were less swollen. And in the mornings, they were.

We’d both put on weight during the Christmas season, and made a pact to return to healthy eating. We’d resume our low carb diet, knowing it worked wonderfully for us. I lost weight, but, being competitive, VST lost more. VST lost seven pounds in less than a week. Then, he started to worry. Unknown to us, VST was losing muscle tissue with the fat, while retaining fluid. For a time, outward appearances hid the truth that VST was wasting away.

Comfort from fear about the weight loss was found in foods with the highest amount of calories possible. Double Western Bacon Cheese Burgers with an extra side of fries. Kentucky Fried Chicken with all the sides. Three meals a day, with snacks in between. Slowly, he started to gain a little weight back. Little did we know it was the weight of fluids he now carried.

Confusion bothered him as he became a little quieter and his naps a little more frequent. VST wasn’t as sharp as usual. He measured wood for his projects two or three times, and still made errors. Frustrations growing, VST repeatedly searched for spiritual comfort. Haunting signs, all, that we ignored then, and I remember now. We were entering a very dark and scary tunnel, not noticing the light growing more dim as we inched our way further and further along.

One day, I startled VST in his office as he labored over a quiet project. When asked what he was doing, he told me he was writing down a prayer. Correcting his work, he became more frustrated by the moment. Heartbreaking to watch, VST struggled with the transcription from computer screen to hand writing on paper. His doctoral dissertation had not given him this much grief. He asked me to leave, saying I was a distraction to his work. In reality, he wanted no witness to his grief and despair. Respecting his request for privacy, I left him alone to work with God.

It was a few days after his passing that I found the paper he’d been transcribing. It was a prayer that the tele-preacher repeated often on his daily program. VST had labored to write it down as best he could, and the effort it took to do that was obvious on the page. Clutching it to my chest, I wept, while reciting the prayer myself.

During my move, I showed the paper to K, telling her the story and how much comfort it brought me. A reflection of his ultimate struggle with cancer, it showed me things VST couldn’t say. It gave me comfort to know these words were in his heart when he left.

Unbeknownst to me, sweet K had a mission in mind. On simple white cloth, similar to a man’s handkerchief, she had embroidered the prayer, taken from a photocopy of VST’s precious prayer. A most beautiful thread color was chosen, a grey that matched the skies on the morning he went away. She framed this piece in a rustic gray frame, which looked like it came off a wall from a shop in VC. She purposefully left the glass off, so I could stroke the stitches and the words. Only an extraordinary teacher would know the importance of tactile reading. K is that excellent teacher. I stroke the picture often, feeling the strength and comfort from the prayer.

Comfort. We all need it. Some days, it is a plate of lasagna that took hours to prepare. Some days, it is just the right music played during sunrise. And sometimes, it’s holding a moment in your hands, and stroking the words as you read them. Today, find comfort and peace all your own.