Bethsaida Mora Juarez

Last year for my 27th birthday, I took Grandma to Nashville to see a Dolly Parton musical. She had told me how much she missed the old dinners at Chaffin’s Barn with Grandpa, eating and watching the theater, but since they closed during COVID, I wanted to give that back to her.

Now, keep in mind, Grandma was 90. She didn’t get out of the house much, and I live in Texas, but we made it happen. We were making great time, even stopping by a coffee shop for lemon cake and coffee. We were only a block away from the theater, feeling great!

Turns out, everyone and their mom was at this theater. Suddenly we were late! It took forever to find parking, there were stairs everywhere, and we had no idea where we were going. By the time we followed the crowd to our seats, the show had started and it was so dark I couldn't see my own nose! We had to go back down to the lobby where the workers let us finish the first half on a TV.

During intermission, we sat there eating cookies and just laughing about what a goose chase it was just to get in the building. After that, they moved us to the first floor, right in front of the stage. We were so close that Grandma leaned over and lovingly pointed out the uneven lipstick lines on "Dolly’s" face right in the middle of the play!

Afterward, it was another "act of Congress" just to get back to the car. Grandma was on a bench with an usher and I went into the parking garage, where I had a mild panic attack because I couldn’t find the exit! I ended up somehow escaping and pulling up two blocks away in the opposite direction. When I finally got to her, Grandma was "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed," as she would say, laughing hysterically with the attendant.

I helped her into the car and I almost burst into tears. This was not how I envisioned the day. I wanted it to be perfect. I opened my mouth to apologize, but before I could, Grandma said, “That was so much fun, thank you!”

I blinked away my tears, and she took my hand. She told me how proud she was of me. She went on about how proud she was that I’m a nurse, how caring I am, and the woman I’ve grown to be.

I wanted perfection, but God specializes in the messy moments. As Paul wrote, His strength is made perfect in our weakness. In my "weakness" of losing the car and missing the show, God provided a moment of clarity that a perfect schedule never could have. In nursing, we look for those moments of "clarity." That was mine. She wasn’t just giving me a compliment; she was giving me a blessing. She was telling me that her work—the years of loving me and watching me find my way—was complete.

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

The human body is an amazing thing. It knows exactly how to keep the heart beating and the lungs breathing without us ever having to ask. It has a deep, quiet wisdom that carries us through every day. The body has that same wisdom when it is time to say goodbye.

In my work, I have learned that death is simply a natural part of being human. It is a bodily process, just as giving birth is. It is the body’s final act of care for us.

In those last weeks, the world begins to slow down. The body realizes it no longer needs fuel for the journey, so it naturally stops wanting food or water. It is simply "powering down." As this happens, a natural sense of peace takes over. When a person sleeps more or speaks less, they aren’t pulling away; they are just saving their energy.

The mind begins to prepare, too. There is a beautiful thing called "visioning," where a person might start to see or talk to loved ones who have gone before them. It is a peaceful transition. As the body releases its own natural medicine, it feels like the "peace that surpasses all understanding" mentioned in Philippians 4:7. It’s as if God is guarding the gateway, ensuring the transition is gentle. And often, there is one "final gift"—a sudden moment of clarity where they become alert and recognize their family one last time.

As the end gets closer, the body focuses all its remaining love and energy on the heart and the brain. I know these moments can be hard to watch, but there is a secret the body keeps: it is designed to protect us. It shouldn’t surprise me; after all, the Psalmist tells us we are "fearfully and wonderfully made." The same God who knit our bodies together in the womb is the one unraveling the earthly threads with that same meticulous care. At the very end of life, the brain releases a rush of peace more powerful than anything a doctor could give. The muscles in the face relax, and the lines of a long life seem to soften. There is one final breath out... and then, there isn't another. And that is it. It isn't a struggle. It is a body being carried by a system that knows exactly how to stay comfortable.

As a nurse, I’ve seen that final breath many times, but as a granddaughter, I know that breath wasn’t an end—it was a transition. I believe that the same God who designed our bodies with such quiet wisdom is the same God who was waiting to catch that final breath.

I am so grateful that I got to care for her here, but I am even more grateful that she is now in the care of the Great Physician, in a place where her body is whole, her spirit is bright, and she is finally "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" once again.

Lord,

Thank You for the way You designed us with such mercy. Thank You for the quiet grace You gave Grandma, and for the peace of knowing she felt no pain as she went home to You. We thank You for the gift of her life and the pride she had in her family. We leave her in Your hands now, knowing she is in the ultimate, protected sleep. May You bless her and keep her; may Your face shine upon her and be gracious to her; may You turn Your face toward her and give her peace.

Amen.