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As the age-blackened clock beat its relentless, dull rhythm, Aunt Dora sat up slowly from the pillow.

"Do you hear the winds?" she rasped.

I scanned the room. No one moved or looked up except me. Being early October and mild, the windows stood open, but no wind blew.

In Aunt Dora's bedroom, I glanced at my Uncle John, holding Aunt Dora's hand and balancing a thick Bible on his lap. On either side of the bed sat my cousins, Andrew and Fred. None of them seemed to have noticed her sudden outburst.

"Listen!" snapped Aunt Dora. "Don't you hear that strange wind?"

"No, dear one, I don't," replied Uncle John softly. "I don't hear anything."

Aunt Dora lay back, her left eye twitching, and whispered, tripping over her husband's name, "Jo-John, read a Psalm."

Uncle John released her hand and turned pages quickly. He wiped his mouth, even though I could see it was dry. "As the hart after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God … "

"Yes! Amen!" Aunt Dora interrupted.

"My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God … "

Only eight months before, Aunt Dora had been diagnosed with cancer. Now she was dying with family around, including me—her only nephew.

"Why art thou cast down, O my soul? … "

My parents had died in a boating accident when I was ten. For the next decade, I lived with Uncle John and Aunt Dora, made their joys and troubles mine, fought with Andrew and Fred like brothers, and observed active Christian faith. In fact, thanks to Aunt Dora's influence, I committed my life to Christ when I was fourteen.

"Why hast thou forgotten me? … "

That night, in a Tennessee farmhouse, life seemed dry and brittle, but full. For me, full of suffering and anguish and pain and regrets and unfairness.

I noticed Aunt Dora's limp right leg start its uncontrollable shaking. Suddenly, she sat up again, with sweat trickling down both earlobes. "John, Fred, do you hear the knocking? Go to the door!"

Her command came in an even, polite cadence with just a hint of desperation.

Fred joined Uncle John on the edge of the bed and took his mother's other hand. He looked at his father and shook his head. No one had knocked. I waited for Uncle John to begin reading again, wondering how he could continue.

Smiling sweetly, leaning toward Aunt Dora, Uncle John mopped her head with a cloth and reopened the Bible. "Yet the Lord will command his loving kindness in the daytime, and in the night his song shall be with me … "

Aunt Dora was dying. Dying! I screamed inside. Why didn't these dear people understand? Uncle John, Andrew, Fred! She's slipping away from us. Can't you see it?

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