White Sands - IV
- Creator
- Feb 10
- 17 min read
Updated: 4 days ago
Author's Note
In respect to my wife and her family, their names are unused in this true story.
Wife's Sister’s Name
Means "To become closer to God" and "Give Thanks to God for His Blessings.”
Derived from a Latin word, which refers to a fragrant resin obtained from a certain tree, which exemplifies the sense of awe and wonder that accompanies the act of beholding.
Some speculate that it might be an anagram of Mary, a variant spelling of a Latin word may be derived to mean "wonder"
Mentioned in the Bible in Acts 27:5 and is also the name of a city in the Lycian region of ancient Greece, known for its harbor and association with St. Nichola
I Message in the Sand
“When you beat the cancer, what will you do with your time?” I asked my wife's sister.
She seemed startled by the question as she was waiting for her next lab result.
I asked during her first hospital stay, where medical hope was by her bedside.
Manners of the doctors were compassionate, as they answered all her family's questions regarding her treatment.
There was cause for concern.
The diagnosis was dire.
There was never much hope.
No matter the results, hope is never wasted.
II Safe Shores
During moments when medical hope was being discussed, my wife's sister remained polite, nodding in agreement.
She held onto her faith.
Prior to her diagnosis, she endured a month of untreated pain.
No one knew how serious it was, until it was too late.
The cancer spread, slowly consuming her time.
I witnessed her resolve as she endured.
I was there.
It took strength to carry the burden.
She must have felt alone during that month, the isolation of being the only one that believed.
She knew something was wrong.
For her to complain meant it was serious.
After the cancer was discovered, she was supported every step of the way.
She did not have to carry the burden alone.
Her family was there to show her support every day after her diagnosis.
Hands and prayers lifted her along the way.
And then there was me, just an outsider, neither part of her family nor her faith.
I was a Gentile who witnessed the power of faith, and wanted to write her story.
My wife asked for my time.
I did not mind.
I did what she asked.
It is the contrasts that reveal, reflections of opposites, which bring clarity to both.
My wife's sister did not ask me to be there.
I was only asked by my wife.
The truth was, my wife's sister did not have much time left.
Time became finite White Sand once she was given the diagnosis.
The hourglass of her life was turned upside down and the sands flowed ominously under the shadow of fear.
She was a brave woman, who walked into the great desert, armed only with her faith and belief in herself.
Hopefully her faith carried her to safe shores, on White Sands with a golden sun to keep her warm.
I did not know her well, but I know she loved the beach.
III Colleague
During times where medical hope was by her side, my wife's sister was the ideal patient.
She waited without much fuss.
She gave her best effort.
She made all the visitors feel welcome.
After a few of these visits, she no longer needed to put her best effort towards me, which I appreciated.
The repetition of seeing her made it easier to wait with her.
We became familiar enough to be ourselves.
I did not bother her much except to greet her and say goodbye.
Occasionally I would make sure to tease her a little, just to take her mind off things.
We developed our own banter, as we both made sure to get one good laugh per visit.
I wouldn't say we became friends, but I think we became colleagues at least.
If she had survived I would have tried to continue our banter.
But most likely my wife's sister would not have continued a correspondence with me.
She would have remained loyal to my wife.
I would not think less of her.
My wife was part of her faith.
I would have understood and respected her beliefs.
I just did not believe as she did.
IV Prayers
In the waiting room there was a quietness that reminded me of church.
You could hear the echoes of footsteps, of hushed whispers of family and friends, and the perfect metronome of medical equiptment.
The moment felt clear, where time mattered and had value.
There were moments of long silences where you could feel the prayers in the air.
In the background that word was said a lot.
Prayer.
"I pray for her..."
"You are in my prayers..."
"I prayed even though.."
I wasn't always a Gentile.
I went to church almost every Sunday during my childhood.
I got a lot of church hours under my belt, but in the beginning I was stubborn. I complained in my head while I put on my belt for church.
What turned into an obligation, reluctantly changed to patience, and then finally the humility sunk in.
There are some things you cannot control.
I eventually accepted my duty without trying to resist.
It was something that had to be learned with each new Sunday.
The complaints did not disappear from one single time, but through repetition of going several times. It was the habit of going that chipped away at the resistance. It was a valuable lesson that I never forgot.
I wouldn't say church and I became friends, but I think we became colleagues at least.
Church was a place where I could find time to reflect and study. It was a place where my mind was allowed to drift and listen.
I did my own study while I was there, to find what I believed in.
I stopped going once I left for college.
I have always doubted, and yet I have never doubted, that it was the right choice for me.
I did not pray for my wife's sister.
I never believed.
It would be a waste of time to do something I didn't believe in.
I have witnessed what that does. Done too many times, it leads to insincerity.
Like all things, anything can be learned through repetition.
V Witness
The thought of her last days in a hospital was a real fear for her.
I could tell she wanted to leave. She showed more interest whenever the topic was about her discharge date.
When she was finally allowed to leave, I was asked to follow.
My wife asked that I stay with her while she and her mother made her comfortable at home.
I did not mind.
It was like church again.
I found time to reflect and study, to find out what I believed.
I have always doubted, and yet I have never doubted, that I made the right choice in separating from my wife.
VI Hope
The doctors were unable to find the source of the cancer soon enough.
Her treatment started too late.
Time was not on her side from the beginning.
I imagine that the quiet times were most likely the hardest for my wife's sister.
Especially the late nights, filled with shadows.
The stillness is where silence is felt.
The waiting can be unbearable, especially when hope seems lost.
I am sure she prayed into the empty nights when she was alone.
I am sure the emptiness made her feel even more alone.
One thing I have no doubt though, her prayers were filled with hope.
Hope is never wasted, no matter the results.
It is a gift brought into this world.
To ask and give thanks, that is repetition that teaches gratitude.
The experience of asking in humility and receiving with gratitude is when one can find their grace.
VI Memorial
My wife's sister passed away in May.
I remember the call early that morning.
I didn't play any music during the car ride to the hospital.
I drove in silence. I felt the loss.
It made me break a routine.
When I walked to the front desk to get a visitor's pass, the administrator instructed me that visiting hours were closed.
I told her that she passed away.
She looked startled and apologized.
She handed me the pass without making eye contact.
I walked down the long hallway, entered the elevator, and pushed the button for the twelfth floor.
That is where my memory stops.
I had already kept the memory I wanted of my last memory of her, placed in my notebook, along with my wife's notes to her sister.
VII Message in the Sand
Before that day, when medical hope was still by her side, I happened to be alone with her.
My wife was outside the room, which gave me a chance to ask her a question.
“When you beat the cancer, what will you do with your time?” I asked her.
Before she gave an answer, there was a pause.
I knew what that pause meant.
My wife's sister answered, “I want to become closer to God and thank Him for his blessings.”
That was the message in the sand I received, a testament to her faith.
I was imposing my time on her with that question, but it was something I felt worth breaking a routine for.
We had shared countless hours together but never talked about the reason.
I knew she was dying.
I wanted to ask her what she wanted to do with her life.
Her answer was to give thanks to her God.
VIII Test
I witnessed her faith tested.
Medical hope began to fade right from the start.
As hope dimmed with each new test result, she seemed more grateful.
She pushed on and endured.
Her appreciation for life grew, even as her health declined.
There were stories of how strong a person she was. I was fortunate to see it in person.
There is always some truth to any story you hear, but you know if you were there.
I was there.
She remained kind.
She did not have any bitterness.
No matter how bad the news was, she remained resolute with her faith.
She did not abandon her beliefs.
She believed till the end.
Experience teaches all.
Without them, belief is all you have, until you have the experience.
IX Fear
I only saw her lose hope once.
My wife asked me to drive her and her mother for an X-ray on my day off.
During the drive I noticed she was quieter than usual.
Seeing her being pushed in a wheelchair was a testament to how aggressive the cancer was.
Her strength could not match the speed of the disease.
When she was being pushed though, the motion calmed her.
It was the stillness, the waiting, that brought the most pain.
I witnessed her squirming in discomfort as we waited for the doctor.
Her mother noticed too.
We could both tell she was not going to be able to withstand the next wave of pain.
And so, my wife's mother recited a story from the Bible.
My wife's sister found her strength.
The verse awakened her faith.
She took her mother’s hand.
She lowered her head.
She closed her eyes.
And she prayed out loud.
In that moment, she was deep within the shadow that wanted to consume her hope.
She prayed for a light to guide her back.
She was lost because the pain was unbearable.
Her prayer was answered.
The doctor showed up and took her to another room.
When they returned, she described discomfort in her bones.
The doctor listened and looked concerned.
I saw my wife's sister lose her composure when the doctor suggested she return to the hospital for a second time.
He wanted to do more tests.
She shook her head.
“I can’t Momma! I can’t return to the hospital again!” she cried out, breaking her calm demeanor.
It was the fear that broke her, not the pain.
Her eyes held the certainty of knowing she would not leave the hospital if she stayed again.
She was unwilling to sacrifice any more time to the cancer.
I think she knew she was going to die.
She probably wanted to hear sounds of her home, and not the perfect metronome beeps.
The fear of her last moments being taken away was real, and she showed courage to say no.
She passed a Test of how she wanted to spend her last moments of life.
My wife's sister stood up for herself, as she did a few weeks later, during her last treatment for chemotherapy.
She showed her courage there too.
I was there.
There was a tradition of ringing the bell on the last day of treatment.
She got up from her wheelchair and stood up.
By then she could barely walk on her own.
My wife's sister wanted to show her courage.
She made the effort to stand, and it was inspiring to see her ring that bell.
The effort made, when she was frail, is how I remember her.
Hope was not wasted, no matter the result of what happened after. It was a gift brought into the world in that moment.
I was glad that I got to see that.
It was because I accepted the time my wife asked of me, that I got to see a moment of hope shared in that room.
I witnessed her faith in herself.
She had not given up,
no matter the odds,
she wanted to remain standing in her last days alive.
I was glad the doctor allowed her more time to be with her family.
The doctor reacted with kindness.
He saw the charts and knew that she did not have much time.
He told her that she could stay home.
My wife's sister nodded in relief.
Her composure returned.
Her hope remained.
X Acceptance
Eventually she could no longer bear the pain.
She endured as much as she could.
After a few weeks, with her hair gone, she returned to the hospital for a second time.
My wife's sister was pushed in a wheelchair, from the car to the elevator, lifted to the 12th floor, and placed gently on her last bed.
I am sure she had finally accepted the certainty that she would not return home this time.
There was no treatment for the disease by then, too much of her body had been consumed by the cancer.
The cancer was relentless.
She passed away on May 29th, surrounded by her family. She was not alone in her last moments.
It was on Memorial Day.
I like to believe, that in her last moment, with her last breath, it was her own belief that lifted her.
It was her own faith that guided her in the last walk through the White Sands of Time.
It was her voice, the one she heard in her prayers, that took her home.
It was her words, her message in the sand, that would carry her to the being she longed to meet.
“I want to become closer to God and thank Him for his blessings.”
XVI Hope
The last memory of my wife's sister was a few days before she passed.
I returned from work at her mother's apartment.
I was there while my wife helped her.
I was given her sister's room while I stayed overnight.
As I laid down in her small twin bed, I was seeing her life from her perspective.
Next to the mirror were several photos hanging in a deliberate arrangement.
Of course she had the obligatory pictures of her entire family, including some of me.
But it was the pictures of her sisters that she treasured the most.
Her sisters were in the center of the arrangement.
She had the strongest faith in them. It was a bond forged in shared memories, of joy, hardships, and everything in between.
While I was looking at her room and seeing her life from her perspective, I was startled to hear a knock on the door.
I took off my headphones, stopped typing on the laptop, hopped off the bed, and opened the door in a quick motion.
It was my wife's sister.
I was surprised to see her.
She gave me a warm smile.
She didn't have to say anything.
There was a pause before she opened her arms.
I knew what that pause meant.
In that moment, I knew.
She was saying her final goodbye to me.
I gave her the same hug I gave Sister Laticia, when we said goodbye to one another.
It was a long hug.
I am sure it was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.
It was a moment where we both hoped we would remember each other in the future, a wish to never forget each other.
She chose to give me hug before her final departure to the hospital the next day or so.
That was the last time I saw her alive.
She must have chosen to get out of bed, asked someone to help her, supported herself on her walker, and slowly made her way across the hallway to come see me.
She knocked on her own door to tell a colleague something she didn't want to forget.
The moment was important enough to break a routine.
I kept the visitor's pass when I last saw her.
I am usually not sentimental, but I felt a loss. I couldn't throw it away for some reason.
I placed it in a page of my notebook, underneath the notes my wife wrote to herself.
My wife still had hope that somehow her sister would pull through.
She was connected to her as she wrote.
In that moment, my wife was thinking of her and writing notes with desperate hope.
The ghosts of the moment, of her thoughts towards her dying sister, remained left in my book.
My wife has most likely forgotten those notes.
I just happened to be a friend that found it one day.
I found the perfect spot to place the visitor's pass that I kept.
Another would not have known that it held hope that was brought into this world.
No matter the result, the hope one brings into the world is never a waste.
Supplemental Section>
Last Hug
First Draft of White Sands
Letter of Condolences
Sister Laticia Chapter
Choose to Read
Skip the Choice
