I have an old friend named Bonnie (she is both a friend I have had for a long time, and she is actually old) who has been suffering from ALS for many years. There is a fast-killing ALS and a slow-killing ALS. She got the slow one. It's been 7-8 years pulling her under.
I had been assigned to be Bonnie's visiting teacher from our church Relief Society about a decade ago, a position I enjoyed for several years, visiting her every single month. Although I had been kind of scared of her at first, I quickly learned to love her. It was easy, really, because she was genuinely interested in me. She remembered the names of all my children and what they were all up to (which is a lot to remember). She could carry on deeply intelligent gospel discussions. She was a great encourager. She read my teenaged daughter's attempt at a novel, and never stopped insisting it should be finished and submitted to a publisher. "She has such a talent!"
Bonnie has been in a nursing home for the last few years. I haven't been her visiting teacher, but I've visited her as frequently as I could manage. Gradually she lost control of her feet, her legs, her arms, her torso. For a while, one finger could still move just enough to tap the screen and turn the page on her Kindle. She was so grateful that she had had Lasik surgery on her eyes years ago, because now she could read without getting someone to adjust her glasses. Finally she could only watch TV and talk, but she couldn't change the channel or adjust the volume. Interestingly and amazingly, it is really true that she never complained.
Last week I planned to go and visit her again. I thought I'd go on Friday morning, when I had no university classes and I could stay and visit for a while, and when I would have time to first buy her a new movie and some flowers. I felt an urgency to go, and Friday was my soonest opportunity.
But on Wednesday afternoon, it appeared that the activity I had planned for my church Laurel group (the 16-17-year-old girls) that evening would not work because of the weather. I thought of several good alternatives, one of which was to visit a girl in the group who didn't come often and who had some challenges. That seemed like it ought to be the best plan. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought, no. I ought to take them to visit Bonnie.
I didn't have time to get flowers or a DVD after finishing my teaching and driving my daughter to and from her dance lessons, so I just took the three girls that came that night to Kneaders Bakery, let them each pick out a treat for themselves while I picked out one that would be soft enough for a nurse to feed to Bonnie, and we went to the rest home.
You should have seen her face light up when we walked in the room! She called out, "Look what you've brought me!" (meaning the girls, not the baked goods). She said, "I feel so spoiled! This has been the best day! The bishopric was here just a little while ago." She asked about my kids. She nagged me (again!) to get my daughter to finish that book and send it to a publisher. "She has such a talent!" She asked about each of the girls who were there. She told us about the many ward members who had been to see her recently. She was completely animated and cheerful and delightful.
It was a short visit. The girls had a lot of homework. The activity had to end at 8:00. I promised I would come back with some new movies for her to watch.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I was so glad we had gone and so were the girls. They genuinely enjoyed visiting her and thanked me for taking them.
I went home and gathered up all of my best movies that I thought she hadn't seen but would enjoy: "Anna and the King," "Alfred Hitchcock Tales," "The Best of Johnny Carson," "Carol Burnett." Thursday I had classes all day and lessons all evening, so I would take them Friday. But then on Friday morning I thought, no. It's General Conference weekend in which all the apostles will be giving sermons on television all day Saturday and Sunday and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir will be singing and she will want to watch that, so I'll bring them Monday when she has a week ahead of her with nothing to watch.
The next day I was called by her daughter-in-law. She said, "You don't know me, but your name is on Bonnie's list to provide music at her funeral. I suppose you have heard by now that she died Friday morning. Oh yes. The nurses had just been talking with her, and moments later they came back to see that she had fallen asleep and just stopped breathing."
I couldn't restrain myself and it may have sounded odd, but I gushed, "Oh, I am so happy for her!" Her daughter-in-law agreed with me. We both knew she was not afraid to pass on, she was just afraid of the dying itself. With ALS it can be torture-some: choking, being revived, just to choke and strangle again. I felt the Lord had blessed her for never complaining and took away that last nasty part. And I also had to admit that I was so very happy for myself as well, because I had been blessed to be sent to visit my friend at the last chance I would have had.
I told the daughter-in-law that I would be happy and honored to sing "God Be With You." She thought it would be perfect.
I worried that I would cry at the funeral and not be able to continue singing, so I thought of a plan (visualizing my music professor sternly judging my performance) and it worked. I'm glad I didn't cry, because it was not sad. It was a graduation. Bonnie had passed this life-test with flying colors and I could celebrate it because I had been given my last good time with my friend on Wednesday night, and I had taken it.
God be with you till we meet again, Bonnie. I'll bring you a copy of the book.
"Never, never, never postpone a prompting."
--President Thomas S. Monson
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