Suddenly my best friend Carol is losing her mother-in-law. Just like that, to cancer. Veda has never smoked; she outlived tuberculosis back in the day; she's forever been a stick of crocheting dynamite. But she got sick in September, and lost her voice, and last week the doctor found cancer everywhere in her lungs.
So beautiful to see her grown children move in, on and around her, in her modest trailer, with the photos of her kids and grandkids and greatgrandkids taped to the walls. The couch and recliner are always full of ladies crocheting, of young moms tending babies. And huge Stephen, her biggest grandson, crocheting too.
One Sunday this summer she came twinkling up to the Composer after church. "Thank you for playing those songs. I want those hymns at my funeral. The happy ones." He pulled out his ever-present Note to Self card and wrote them down, and labelled it Veda. I saw it out on his desk yesterday.
Hospice starts tomorrow. Her daughter tells me over and over, "It is well with her soul." It is.