I knew in my heart it would be the last. The last hug we would share. The last time I would visit her home. I wondered if Jana had the same thought as our embrace lingered while we stood in her driveway. We exchanged whispered “I love yous” before I closed the door to my rental car to head for the airport.
Although it was questionable timing, I had taken off from work to go to Louisiana. I could tell Jana’s health had declined from my previous visit five months earlier. Jana was fortunate to have had two years in remission, but now the cancer was back, offering no ounce of sympathy or compassion. When I received the initial phone call from Jana about her cancer diagnosis, I was stunned. I didn’t want her to have to go through what I did a few years earlier with my cancer. I muddled through expressions of encouragement and hope amid my tears. I believe my tears were more impacting than my words as we cried together on the phone. Soon after the call, I decided to use the money my mom gave me for Christmas to take Jana on a short trip. Just the two of us to a quiet bed and breakfast close to her home, but far enough away to feel like a vacation. I called her with my proposal and she hesitantly agreed, not wanting me to spend my Christmas money on her. I reassured her I could think of no better way to spend it. We set a date and I put the plans in motion.
THE GIFT OF TIME
It was a hot and humid weekend in Cajun country, flashing me back to when my husband and I lived there. I had envisioned my weekend with Jana to revolve around prayer, afternoon strolls, late-night talks, and nostalgic reflections. After all, we hadn’t seen each other in over twenty years. Our communication had been limited to cards and phone calls ever since my husband and I had moved back to Alabama. But it didn’t matter. Jana and I had one of those friendships that could pick up where it left off. Rather than walks and talks, our time was filled with laughter, good food, and an alligator swamp tour! Jana was too tired in the evenings to stay up late, although we did discuss some of the recent challenges of her job as a social worker in the area of adoption counseling. On the morning of our last day, I asked Jana if I could pray for her. My prayer opened the door for intimate conversation as we rocked in our chairs on the front porch. Jana looked at me and asked, “Why doesn’t He just take me and not make me suffer?” I was speechless. How could I respond? Yet, she didn’t expect me to.
Jana didn’t need this trip as an outlet like I had thought; she needed more of a reprieve from her illness. But I was thankful I had provided both. I only saw her two more times in the months to follow: once when I was in the area with my mother and sister. We took Jana and her husband out to dinner. She felt good that night. I was glad we had taken some memorable pictures, which I now cherish. The other time was when I drove down for a visit after the homecoming football game at my alma mater. I only stayed for a few days, but this time Jana didn’t feel up to going anywhere outside of the city. She suggested we stay at her parents’ home a few miles from her house. Unlike the last time, this visit was more about conversation and thoughts that Jana wanted and needed to express. We interspersed it with take-home movies, snacks (especially of the chocolate variety), and eat-in fast food. There was no agenda, no walks, no scenic drives, no fancy restaurants. Jana’s level of energy had to be parceled.
We went to a friend’s lake house one afternoon where we relaxed outside in the cushioned lounge chairs before migrating to the pier swing. God painted a spectacular sunset as we watched the clouds turn from red to orange to pink and reminisced about old friends and old times. Jana paused for a moment and then said, “You know, relationships are what really matter in this world.” I agreed. It was as if she had a revelation and felt a sense of satisfaction as her life was coming to a close.
When the owner of the lake house arrived, she hauled out the fishing rods and gave us each a quick lesson on casting and reeling. Maybe it was beginner’s luck, God’s goodness, or both, that resulted in a delicious fresh fish dinner two hours later. Jana was exhausted and not feeling well by the time we left. We had hoped a good night’s rest would help, but the pain started almost as soon as she woke up. I took her back to her house; it was my last day anyway. Since she didn’t feel like eating, her husband, Gray, and I grabbed a bite at a nearby deli. It gave us a chance to talk. Gray had been dealing with Jana’s issues for several years and needed his own outlet. I felt as if God had brought me to the right place at the right time.
GOD’S SUSTAINING LOVE
A number of phone calls and a few months later revealed Jana’s worsening condition. Her daughter contacted me one day, prompting me to make the tenuous call to Jana the next day. I cringed when Gray answered her cell phone. He told me Jana had taken a “nosedive” after her hospitalization and was now in hospice care. She could no longer speak, but he held the phone to her ear. My voice shook as I read Scripture from 1 John and told her I loved her. She moaned loudly with what sounded like a feeble attempt of “I love you.” I hung up the phone and cried.
Two days later, Jana passed away. More than sadness, I felt relief in knowing that the suffering she had dreaded was over. I thought about her moaning and how it evoked such intense suffering and unselfish love. It still rings in my ears. Jana’s unintelligible noises, her deepest soul-wrenching cries, were now understood by our Heavenly Father.
I spoke briefly at Jana’s funeral, sharing fond memories of our thirty-two-year friendship. We had prayed for Jana to have the chance of becoming a grandmother. God blessed her with two wonderful years with Makaela, her daughter’s internationally adopted child. What a sweet memory and a glorious answer to prayer. But it wasn’t the memories that consoled me as much as it was the knowing—the knowing that Jana had become a companion of the Messiah by holding firmly until the end the reality that she had at the start.
Karen O. Allen is a thirteen-year survivor of breast cancer and is the author of Confronting Cancer with Faith. She resides in Birmingham, AL., and works as a Clinical Trials Administrator in the Comprehensive Cancer Center in the University of Alabama at Birmingham.
This article originally appeared in HomeLife Magazine.
