My mother-in-law, an ancient woman laced with crepe paper skin and mounds of sagging flesh lay thinking to herself.

As we sat together, I planted one hand on her head and the other on her chest.  I felt the tide of her life, the to and fro of breath and heartbeat, pulse like the wind she missed.

The story of Abraham how he called to The One to know the certainty of his Lord’s existence vibrated beneath my hand. As God said: cut a bird into four pieces and place one piece on each of four mountains and then call them and by my command, they will come flying to you. This will give your heart rest and know that I am watching and caring. And I can do all things

I related the story to Meiw, the mother.  I wanted her to know that though she feared her cancer, feared its spikey barbs and utter exhaustion,  It couldn’t overcome his decree.  He who could put the bird together and make it fly again- could lift and fill her tiny sail.  He is the hope.

“I feel some better,” she said

I smiled and she slept.  It was a deep, comfortable sleep.