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The Last Breath

by Rebekah J. Hamrick

It is early afternoon at Cape Fear Hospital. Everything seems eerily quiet. I stare vacantly at the cheap plastic clock that hangs just above the TV and try in vain to fight the yawn that is creeping up my throat toward the door of my mouth. I will try anything to stay awake. Anything.

I reach for the remote control. What am I doing? I hate TV. I hate it because of the picture perfect people who prance across the screen. I hate it because of the gory violence that seems to steal my feeling of security. I hate it because once I start watching it, I can't seem to stop. It doesn't take long to get me hooked.

My eyes are glued to the screen as a murder mystery with a dark haired villain unfolds. The character comes to life and I feel almost as if I am a part of this play, of this drama. I want to shout, "She's the one who did it! Don't you see? She looks innocent but she isn't!"

My thoughts are interrupted by a scream from the room next door. "He's not breathing! He doesn't have a pulse! Get Norma NOW!"

My heart skips a beat and I flip through all seventy-nine channels in order to turn off the TV. I listen fearfully as a group of physicians desperately attempt to bring this man back from the dead. I whisper, "God, I don't know if He's trusted Jesus as his Savior, but if he hasn't, please give him a chance to do so."

Someone steps into the hallway and gently speaks, "It looks like he might make it."

The weight of dread is taken from me. But suddenly, I hear the revived man shout, "LORD JESUS, HELP ME!" and he is gone.

His last words: "LORD JESUS, HELP ME!"

I wonder if he understood? I wonder where his faith was?

I ask myself, "What if that had been me?"

Not too long ago, I stayed in the very room where this man breathed his last. He just died in my bed. He is gone forever. But gone to where?

Things are no longer quiet. Family is being comforted and machines are being rolled noisily down the hallway. Sleep is the last thing on my mind. Suddenly, the cheap plastic clock has a new meaning. It represents time -- such a precious treasure.

I whisper softly, "It is appointed unto man once to die... God, my times are in Your hands."

Life Applications:

What has been your experience with death?
What have you thought in regards to your own death?
How much do you truly value your time?

Copyright 2002 by Rebekah J. Hamrick
All rights reserved.