Surrounded by God’s Love During Hospice

By Evelyn Sherwood 

"We got it all," the doctors  said.

"Her prognosis is good," they said. 

And they were right. Until several weeks after the surgery to take a tumor out of her stomach. 

She was admitted into the hospital, unable to hold down food, her abdomen swollen three times its average size, and her body writhing with pain.

I spent the next three weeks attempting to balance work responsibilities in Indiana and care for mom in Michigan. I watched nurses and doctors poke, prod, and run every imaginable test on mom with no conclusive answers. They were running out of ideas, and I was running out of patience. 

Part way into week three, her oncologist approached me in the hallway, "Mrs. Sherwood, how can I help?" 

"Please help me get her transferred to IU Cancer Center in Indianapolis. We need some answers." 

Within the next 36 hours, mom's paperwork was sent, a bed had opened up, and the ambulance was waiting outside to transfer her from Toledo, Ohio, to Indianoapolis, a bigger city more than 3 hours away. 

I went back to mom’s house and started throwing some of her clothes and toiletries in a suitcase, my mind swimming with questions. 

“Why her? She was only 64 and had so much life left to live.”

“Will cancer take her? God can heal her, but will He? She’s not only my mom, but my best friend, my mentor.”

“What will I do if God calls her home?” 

As I drove to the IU Cancer Center in the dark of night, my mind replayed the way my folks had walked out their faith during trials. I grew up watching my parents hold tight to Jesus and His promises when faced with adversity. 

But now, my faith was under fire. I prayed: “Oh God, please heal mom! I’m not ready to let her go! God, please heal my sweet momma.”

We Finally Get Some Answers

We all arrived at Indianapolis hospital shortly after midnight. Within two hours this new team of doctors had discovered the answer. The oncologist walked into the room, grabbed the round black stool on wheels, and rolled it close to mom's bed. 

With tenderness, he held her hand and spoke gently, "Mrs. Steffes, we have the test results. Your body is riddled with cancer. 

“There is nothing more we can do.”

Silence hung thick in the room as time stood still. “Did she suspect this would be the prognosis?,” I thought. “What was she feeling? What was I feeling?” I was tired, numb, and in disbelief.  

I could not take my eyes off of my mom, my best friend. Her body was frail, but I saw a beautiful strength rise within her. Here was my mom, 64 years old, a pastor’s wife,  mother of two, grandma to six, a teacher,  Jesus lover and everybody’s biggest cheerleader. She spoke confidently. 

"Doc, I know who holds my life in His hands. And I trust Him completely." 

Doc and I both began to cry. 

"Mrs. Steffes, I have never seen so great a faith."

The next few days became a tsunami of activities. We moved mom and dad into our small ranch home the first week of December, along with a hospital bed that resided in the northeast corner of our living room. Mom wanted to be in the living room so she could see the love pouring into our home as family and friends dropped in to give support and encouragement.  

Hospice nurses and chaplains moved in and out of our home like our front entry was a revolving door.  Suddenly, I was being asked not just to be my mom’s daughter -- but to be her caretaker, to give her medicine every three hours through a catheter. 

My thoughts raced. “What? I have no medical background.” 

I felt like I was on the edge of an emotional cliff. “What if I do it wrong?

I swallowed hard and exhaled a prayer, "God, please help." With that, my lesson began. Under the hospice nurse's watchful eye, hands shaking, I administered mom's medicine for the first time.

God’s Love Delivered through His People 

Family members and friends stepped in to help bear the weight that comes with caring for a terminally ill loved one.

Food was brought in, wood was chopped for the fireplace, and everyday errands were run. But still, the responsibility for administering mom's medicine fell solely to me.

We celebrated Christmas, with all the family gathered around mom's bed. The doctors had told us it would be a miracle for her to live that long, so we were over the moon grateful that we had one final time to celebrate the birth of Jesus, her savior, our savior, together. 

We laughed, cried, and savored every sacred moment. 

December moved into January, and God gifted us with unexpected precious time. But as we watched life fade from her daily, I could feel the toll. 

I had not slept more than 3 hours in a row, determined to get her the medicine she needed to reduce the pain. I was tired. My body felt sick. Every step I took, my body ached with exhaustion. I was beginning to question how much longer I could maintain.

God answered a prayer I never asked for when a friend called up and asked if she could help. She had been a nurse! 

"Oh, yes. Would you mind coming over to help with mom's meds tonight?"

Within an hour, she had arrived at our home, ready for the task. As she pushed meds, I slept soundly for the first time in almost two months. And while I slept, someone prayed.

I am not sure who, but the next day when I woke up, the residue of prayers hung in our home. 

My weary body felt renewed, restored, and regenerated. With each beat of my heart, I could feel the rhythms of grace pulsing through my veins brought on by the prayers of God's people.

It was the grace I needed to carry me through the final week of mom's life. We said goodbye to a woman we loved.

Mourning her loss in this life -- despite our assurances of a better life -- still hit hard, crashing down in unexpected waves of grief. But I will never forget the grace of God revealed to me through his people during that time.

God showed me his love in the midst of the most difficult times.

Evelyn Sherwood is a trusted soul-care guide, speaker, and blogger in Kokomo, Indiana, who has served in pastoral ministry for thirty-five years. Sherwood’s popular Stories of Hope events draw a diverse audience of hundreds from the Midwest, and they continue to grow in popularity. Sherwood serves an active and growing audience through her blog, evelynsherwood.com, encouraging her readers through hard times by helping them recall God’s work in their past.

On a summer evening you might spot Evelyn and her husband, Steve, driving through Indiana farmlands in a canary yellow ‘47 Ford pickup or enjoying an outdoor movie night with their eight grandkids. Find her on Instagram @evelynsherwoodauthor or email her at evelynsherwoodauthor@gmail.com. You can also join her on the Hope for the Journey weekly devotional.