Sign up for our free newsletter:

In early 2004, all my winter plans seemed to revolve around the results of my CT Scan. I sent in a $100 deposit on an rv parking space in Casa Grande, Arizona, asking my landlord to hold my check until I got the results. The retreat speaking I'd been asked to do also would depend upon the test results. Though I had been declared "cancer free" only two months earlier, I couldn't seem to get excited about planning a "snow bird" trip until after the January 5th procedure. I knew I was at the crossroads of my life—or my death.

One night I dreamed I saw the form of a man draped in white, standing at the junction of a dirt road. The road split, forming a Y, and I wasn't concerned about which way I would go. I believed the form was Jesus waiting to walk with me no matter which path I chose. In the days following that dream, I recalled that picture in my mind again and again. I was certain that I would know which way to go when the doctor's call came the day after the CT Scan.

"It doesn't look good, Barbara," said Dr. Higgins gently. "The cancer is in the liver in several places. You may not have very long."

I began asking questions while my friend, Jan, started to cry. We were having lunch out when the call came on my cell phone. Together, we went to the doctor's office to pick up a copy of the lab report. Dr. Higgins was at the front desk and he wrapped his arms around me while saying he wished it could have been different. He then showed me a picture of the tumors on the computer screen and advised, "Cancel your motor-home trip, get your affairs in order, and go out to lunch a lot with the girls." The time frame, he guessed, would be a few months, and it wasn't likely that I would see next Christmas.

I had known this was a possibility, because my type of cancer, angiosarcoma, is rare, very aggressive, and almost always metastasizes. But the doctors seemed sure it was encased in my spleen when they removed it in October 2003.

Now, less than three months later, I was facing a different kind of journey than the motor-home adventure I had planned. I was "going home."

	None of us is promised tomorrow, which makes me wonder if maybe we all shouldn't be living as if we're on our final journey home.

Hello, I must be going
How could I tell my family? Widowed 23 years ago, I was the only living parent my three grown daughters had. I was a healthy, active 72-year-old who walks, rides her bike, and drives a 30-foot motor home all across the country. Who will believe this?

I called my oldest daughter, Vikki, first. A long, painful sigh was all I heard on the other end. Then I told her all the facts. After a pause, she said, "Just think, Mom, now you can eat all the chocolate you want."

I loved it! Vikki isn't one to show emotions, and her sense of humor covered the words she didn't have to say. Her sisters, Brenda and Jeri, were next.

I knew it would be the people who cry that would be most difficult for me, yet I knew they needed to hear it from me, not someone else. It was easier for those I could tell in person, because I could hug, hold, and reassure them that I was at peace with dying. "I'm one of the lucky ones," I'd tell them. "I have time to say 'I'm sorry' for mistakes made, time to tell my three daughters what special women they are, time to still make some great memories." And, yes, time to go out to lunch with the girls.

My dreams to be a published writer and to travel both abroad and in the United States have come true. I've got some of the greatest friends in the world. My church is like a big, wonderful family. I now think of life like being on a great vacation. Even the best vacation must come to an end—and hopefully while we are still having a good time. We may feel sad for a moment, but isn't it always good to come home?

Funny, I don't feel sad about going home. I do pray for strength for the journey. As I get closer to reaching out to grasp God's welcoming hand, I've learned some things that I hope will equip all of us for our final journey home, whether it's in six months or 60 years.

1. Accept your diagnosis. Yes, get a second opinion. But when the doctors tell you to get your affairs in order, do it. If God chooses to heal you, He will; however, not taking care of practical matters in the meantime is not wise. This is not a lack of faith; it's common sense. My friend George was so deep into denial when his wife was ill that he wouldn't even consider the possibility that God might not heal her. It was only three days before her death that he realized she wouldn't make it. Unable then to do anything but cry, he had no idea how to go on without his beloved Kaye. They had not said their goodbyes and he had made no arrangements for her death or preparations for living on his own. It eventually cost him his job, his home, and his health.

2. Talk about it. At first, people will be uncomfortable around you. Their loss of words can be compensated for by what you say to them. Tell them about your x-rays or blood tests. Ask them to pray for you and with you. In time, they will become as much at ease with talking about your situation as you are. Humor goes a long way, too."Just think, this is the last year I have to make out my income taxes," I've told friends. People will respond to you in a tone similar to the one you set. My friends saw that my joy was not diminished by my diagnosis.

3. Make memories. When your affairs are in order, don't just sit down and wait. Have lunch out with friends. Go on a trip with your spouse. Have family times of reliving the past while looking at pictures and talking about favorite things. Two months after my diagnosis, I went to Hawaii with my youngest daughter. I also took a five-week trip in my motor home to Arizona and California and Washington to see family and friends and say "goodbye for now."

4. Write it down. This is a wonderful way to pass on your values and love, and to tell stories that no one else could. I wrote letters to each of my three daughters telling them about some of my favorite memories with them. I told them how proud I was of them and encouraged them to meet me at the river that flows by the throne of God. I wrote similar letters to my sisters and brother and also a letter of appreciation to my church that I hope will be read at my memorial service. I felt a deep sense of relief that I hadn't left anything unsaid.

5. Clean up the clutter. I bequeathed all my manuscripts, files, and unfinished writing projects to a writer friend. I told her, "Use what you can and throw the rest away." My family breathed a deep sigh of relief as they told me they wouldn't have known what to do with the stuff in my file cabinets. I gave away favorite mementos, shredded old tax returns and financial records, and cleaned out my cluttered drawers.

6. Give gifts now. I found so much happiness in giving meaningful gifts to people while I still felt good. My friend Madelle had borrowed my crystal starburst broach last Christmas, so I knew she liked it. What fun I had giving it to her. Judy picked out four birdhouses from those that line my kitchen shelf above the cupboards. I told my friend Mary that she would get my sewing machine when I am no longer able to use it. I walked my daughters through my home asking them to tell me the special items they would like to have. I put adhesive labels on those things with their names on them. This helped me not to give away something they had wanted, and hopefully it will help diminish conflicts after I die. The more I gave away, the greater my joy.

7. Examine your faith. Though listed last, this is the most important thing a dying person can do. Review your relationship with God. Have you accepted His Son, Jesus, as your Lord, believing that His death on the cross has paid the price for your sins and that you will go to heaven when you die? Not being able to answer yes to this question means there can be no peace in dying.

I've been a hospice volunteer for many years, and I've found that those who have a solid faith die so much more peacefully than those who don't. At hospice, we call it a "good death."

Reading the Bible is much more personal to me now, and I've found a greater freedom in sharing my faith. Not everyone has a few months to prepare for his death. None of us is promised tomorrow, which makes me wonder if maybe we all shouldn't be living as if we're on our final journey home.

One of my daughters e-mailed me a quote from an unknown author. It has become my slogan on this fantastic final journey: "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, 'Wow! What a ride!'" What a ride, indeed.

Editor's Update: Barbara Baumgardner passed away peacefully the evening of February 25, 2005, with her family members by her side.

	What did you think of this story?
	Please to give us your feedback.

Read more from 'Stories of Hope'

Home  |  People of Faith  |  Stories of Hope  |  Today's Culture
Build Your Faith  |  Laughing Matters  |  Archives  |  Contact Us

				Try Today's Christian Woman Free! Name Street Address City/State/Zip E-mail Address No credit card required. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery. Offer valid in U.S. only. If you decide you want to keep Today's Christian Woman coming, honor your invoice for just $17.95 and receive five more issues, a full year in all. If not, simply write "cancel" across the invoice and return it. The trial issue is yours to keep, regardless. Give Today's Christian Woman as a gift Order a gift subscription!

FREE Newsletter Subscribe to the Today's Christian Newsletter    RSS Feed   RSS Help