I tiptoed into the living room. “Isn’t it ironic that after years of ignoring us, he gets leukemia and has to move in?”

Mom pulled her cardigan closer. “Nella, hospice is for people who have gone home to die. He’s not a Christian. Dying means eternal separation from God as well as from us. I’m praying your grandpa finds forgiveness in Jesus.”

The last thing I needed was the “Jesus speech” right before a night on the hard couch. I closed my eyes, hoping to get a few hours sleep.

Ring-a-ling-a-ling.

I stuffed my face deeper into the couch cushions.

RING-RING-RING!

It was the bell Mom had left on Grandpa’s nightstand.

I stumbled in, bumping into his hospital bed. Then I saw my best friend sitting on the other side. I wiped the scowl off my face. Steve must have been looking for me, and Grandpa roped him into staying.

“Morning!” Steve’s grin had made me feel at home since we moved next door years ago. “I came to visit Grandpa John, but I’ll shove off now. I’m praying for you, Sir.”

I managed a smile as Steve walked past me.

After Steve left, I headed into the kitchen to make Grandpa’s breakfast. I hope Mom noticed my attempt to be the dutiful daughter.

I brought Grandpa’s breakfast and set it down. I was only three steps down the hall when the bell rang.

“I need my teeth.” Grandpa started stirring his food with the fork.

I brought the dentures out of the bathroom.

“This food is really dry—it needs some butter.” The sausage was already swimming in its own fat.

After I got him settled with his plate again, I turned to go, hoping that was all he needed. But I needed a shower.

“How about a war picture,” Grandpa nodded toward my TV.

I turned on A Yank in the R.A.F., and then I ran to the shower before he thought of anything else.

Testing my Patience
All day, I pretended not to hear the bell. Oddly enough, I could hear it all over the house.

I was getting ready for another uncomfortable night on the couch when Mom called me in to help her get Grandpa ready, too.

I still couldn’t believe how thin Grandpa had gotten. He’d lost about 50 pounds. I remembered him as active, even debonair. It’d been a long time, though.

“We have to flush his catheter twice a day,” Mom said.

She slowly pushed a syringe of water into the yellow tube sticking out from under the sheet. “Then we need to pull it back out.”

The clear water came out clotted and red with blood.

When I dumped the full catheter bag into the toilet, I was overwhelmed by the sickly sweet smell of blood and urine.

Mom took care of Grandpa’s breakfast the next day. It was nearly noon when . . . ring-a-ling-a-ling.

“I want a beef gordita from Taco Bell.”

Mom said it was only five minutes away and I could do my stuff later. I slammed the car door and yelled at the girl over the drive-through intercom.

“Here she is. The hero!” I heard as I walked into the room. Why was Steve here again?

“Did you warm it up and put one packet of mild sauce on it?” is all Grandpa said.

I stalked into the kitchen to get a towel, secretly hoping that I could see Steve longer. He was great; his only down side was that he wanted everyone else to be a Christian, too.

I heard Steve’s quiet voice as I hurried back down the hall. I stopped to hear what he was talking about to Grandpa. I sure hadn’t found anything to say.

“ . . . the Lord Jesus loved us enough to die for us. But He didn’t stay dead. He came back to life! And when we admit that we’ve done wrong and ask Him for help to do what’s right, we don’t have to be afraid. We know death is just a gateway to being with Jesus, without pain or . . .”

I walked in. Steve was an idiot to talk to a dying man like that!

“Son, I’ve lived my life without Jesus. I can die without His help now.”

Exactly. Even if that all was true, it was too late for Grandpa.

“I appreciate your coming by, Steve. You’re a good boy.”

Steve stayed and ate lunch with me. I argued with him— talking to Grandpa about Jesus and dying wasn’t helpful. He smiled and said he had hoped I was listening.

I shrugged. “I have time to decide.”

Chinese Food and Chris Rice
After Steve left, Mom asked me to help her change Grandpa’s pad. I knew he was too weak to get up to the toilet, but I hadn’t really thought about it.

“Ewww, Mom. No.” I whined.

She sighed. “I just need you to hold his shoulder and hip, so he stays rolled over.”

A week of food, war movies and Steve’s visits passed. Then one morning, when I brought Grandpa an omelet and coffee, he looked up at me and grinned. “Thank you, Dear. Mmm. It smells great.”

I almost fell over.

“What’s up with Grandpa?” I asked Mom in the hall.

Her eyes glowed. “Steve prayed with Grandpa last night, and he accepted Christ.”

I’m glad it made Mom and Steve feel better.

Grandpa showed he was still the same old guy, though. He called one of his friends and asked him to bring Chinese takeout. Ha. Christians aren’t supposed to be selfish.

Grandpa’s friend came right at noon, but he hadn’t brought the side of lo mein noodles Grandpa had requested.

But he simply thanked his buddy, and they started exchanging golf stories. Maybe he was just more polite with people outside his family.

Later that afternoon, I had just turned on another movie when my aunt breezed in carrying a Styrofoam container.

“Hey, Dad! I thought I’d stop in to see you and bring you some Chinese.”

Grandpa and I gasped as the lid opened to reveal . . . lo mein noodles.

Grandpa frowned and smiled at the same time. “Who told you?”

Now she was confused. “Nobody. I just know you like it.”

He slapped the bed. “God loves me! He’s busy with the whole world, and He brings me lo mein!”

I left my rejoicing relatives. Whoop-de-do. Lucky break.

Another week passed, and Grandpa continued to be more grateful, even as he got weaker. Steve continued to visit him, read the Bible and pray with him. I continued to play Cinderella with a chip on my shoulder.

It was two in the morning, and Mom, Grandpa, and I were still awake. He was restless, confused and not very responsive. Mom was on the phone with the hospice nurse, who told her that the end was closer.

Mom gave him the prescribed medication to help ease any pain. I turned on a song from a CD that Steve had brought over a few hours earlier—Chris Rice’s Untitled Hymn. “Come to Jesus” the song said as it repeated over and over through the night.

The sun came up, and Grandpa was quiet under the influence of his medication. It was Friday, which meant he should get a bath.

Even though we’d done sponge baths before, today was different. As we washed the hollow of his collarbone and rubbed lotion over his age-spotted back, there was something hallowed about it. Something almost worshipful.

Two of my tears splashed on the taut skin of his chest. I didn’t dry them off. I rubbed them in over his heart.

The bell didn’t ring all day.

But the song continued to say “Come to Jesus.”

Steve visited. He was quiet, but I knew he was saying goodbye.

As the day headed into night, I sat by Grandpa so Mom could take a nap. His breath came in rattling spurts.

Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t heard him breathe for a few minutes. I leaned closer and heard only a faint sound.

“Mom!” I choked on the words. “I can barely hear him breathing.”

Mom grabbed her stethoscope. She put it over his heart and listened for a minute. “His pulse is slow and weak.”

She kept the stethoscope on his chest.

Then she took it off.

“Those were his last heart beats. He’s with Jesus.”

I stared at the shell of my grandfather’s body. It looked peaceful.

Tears trickled down Mom’s face as we held each other. I felt relieved, though; I didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

Then I realized that the relief was because I believed. I knew Grandpa was safe and well because I believed in the Jesus who had changed Grandpa’s heart.

As Mom called the mortuary, I called Steve.

“Hi, umm,” is all I managed before I choked.

“I’ll be right over.”

Thirty seconds later, and the tears for my grandfather I thought I’d never cry were splashing on Steve’s T-shirt.

Finally, I calmed down and we went back to Grandpa’s room.

“Come to Jesus and live.” Steve repeated the words of the song that was still playing.

“I came to Jesus, too,” I whispered. “I’ll see you in heaven, Grandpa.”