Cocoon to Butterfly

My first grade teacher has spun a cocoon around herself; a deep coma, a place of peaceful rest. She waits like a butterfly bursting out of the cocoon. We wait with her watching for the newness of life to burst forth. The dying body cocooned will become the butterfly of new life as it flys to eternity.

See Spot. See Spot run.

I visited my first grade teacher today. She is dying.
I was filled with warmth as I remembered her tender kindness and gentle patience as a teacher of energetic 6 and 7 year olds. Affirmations abounded for each child in her class.
Gratitude washed over me as I held the hand of the woman who taught me to read. Irony overwhelmed me as I wondered how I was called to care for this wonderful woman who had cared for me 44 years ago. The shoe was now on the other foot and it felt uncomfortable.
Once again, in her dying, she has become my teacher. I sit at her bedside and learn lessons of gracious gratitude. She lives out her gratefulness with polite please and thank yous said with a gentle smile and soft eyes. In her dying she teaches me about living with dignity, integrity and quiet courage as she does not complain while her positive and hopeful spirit continue to shine.
Today she taught me that the vale between this life and the next is mysteriously thin as she spoke these words with the same kind of deliberate communication style that I remembered as a child: "Pastor, I want to speak to you about my death," which was followed by a long moment filled with intentional and yet comfortable silence. She continued, "It will be Sunday." I wondered what she saw and heard that I did not as I waited for Sunday to come.