A love testimony from my friend Carl to his beloved girlfriend

Three months ago, a very good friend of mine wrote this wonderful letter to his girlfreind who died from cancer. He transmitted it to his friends from Stanford. I found his words so amazing. A pure love testimony.


My Girlfriend Is an Angel

Let me ask you a question. If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, how would you face death? Or better yet, how would you want to face death? To tell you the truth, I'm not sure I can answer that question myself. But I can tell you how it feels to lose someone that you love very much.

Anne was born in Wisconsin, but she always considered herself a California girl. Anne was well educated. She graduated Cum Laude from Butler University in Indiana with a degree in Performing Arts, and later earned a Masters degree in Special Education. She loved the ballet and started taking lessons at the age of five. Later she joined a professional dance troupe and performed all over the country. Then she spent five years with the San Francisco Opera ballet.

We met at a wedding, and I fell instantly in love with her. Our first date was the very next day. I was 45 minutes late because I was trapped on a tour bus and couldn't get back to my car. But she was kind enough to wait and immediately forgave me when she understood the circumstances.

We dated for a couple of years, and then tragically broke up. While we were apart, she was diagnosed with cancer. The cancer was treated and went into remission. She told me that when you face death, you learn what's important to you in your life. That's when she decided that our relationship was important to her. So she contacted me and we got back together.

Later on, the cancer came back. This time it was more aggressive and the prognosis was terminal. However, this time around we were facing the cancer as a couple. She leaned on me, and I did what I could to learn how to best help her. After a couple of years, the doctors told her that they had reached the limits of what they could do for her and that she only had six to eight more months to live.

Throughout these months and months of pain and suffering, she still had a sense of humor. She jokingly chided me for not taking her to Hawaii. She started speaking French, a language I forgot she spoke, and started calling me, "Al-bear"-- which is Albert in French. And when we had to change her position in the bed to prevent the spread of bedsores, she would say, "yowsa" instead of crying out in pain.

She showed her love for me in a lot of little ways -- every day. She resisted moving from the bed we both shared to the hospital bed that was set up in our living room. She said that she would miss touching me at night, and I must admit I felt the same way too. I did end up spending a lot of time on the couch just to be near her. And, during the last days of her life, I shared her hospital bed with her. Proximity to each other was a comfort to both of us.

During her last day of life, her breathing became quite irregular. She had what can best be described as a kind of sleep apnea where she would stop breathing for long periods of time, then suddenly gasp for air and start breathing again. This worried me greatly, but I found that her breathing would become more even if I held her hand and talked to her. So I crawled into bed with her and put her hand on my heart and I read to her for several hours.

On the night that Anne died, I was reading, "Chicken Soup for the Soul" to her. It is a book of short stories devoted to various acts of love. The last story I read to her was this one by a person named Jacque Hall. It goes like this:

After church one Sunday morning, my five-year-old granddaughter was intently drawing on a piece of paper. When asked what she was drawing, she replied that she was drawing God. "But no one knows what God looks like," I said.

"They will when I finish this picture!" She answered.

I didn't plan to make this the last story that I was ever going to read to her. But it was around three o’clock in the morning and I was just too tired to read anymore. Ironically, I think it was God's way of telling me that she was finally going to see what He looked like. She died a few minutes later, while I was resting beside her. Her hand was still on my heart.

Later on that day, I went to a friend’s house to give him the tragic news in person and something miraculous happened to me. On his wall was a poem that I'd never seen before in all the times that I had visited his house. It said:

I'm Free

Don't grieve for me, for now I'm free
I'm following the path that God has laid you see
I took His hand when I heard His call
I turn my back and left it all

I could not stay another day
To laugh, to love, to work or play
Tasks left undone must stay that way
I found the peace at the close of day

If my parting has left a void
Then fill it with remembered joys –
A friendship shared, a laugh, a kiss
Oh yes, these things I too will miss

Be not burdened with times of sorrow
I wish you the sunshine of tomorrow
My life's been full, I savored much
Good friends, good times, a loved one's touch

Perhaps my time seemed all too brief
Don’t lengthen it now with undue grief
Lift up your hearts, and peace to thee
God wanted me now; He set me free

It was as if the words were written expressly for me.
It was as if Anne was speaking directly to me.
It was as if she was whispering words internally, "I'm free my love, be happy my love, for I am with He. And I will watch out for thee.”

A couple of years ago I had to undergo major surgery for sleep apnea. It was during that time that Anne and I were apart. So my mother volunteered to fly from Texas to be with me during my surgery and help me recover afterwards. I told her that she didn't need to do that, that somehow I would make it on my own. She told me that I didn't understand the situation. That she "had to" be there for my surgery and subsequent recovery. Because she was my mother, and I was her son, and she couldn't bear to be apart from someone that she loved, who needed her. It wasn't until Anne got sick, that I understood what my mother was trying to tell me. When you love somebody -- I mean really love somebody, taking care of them is not a chore. It's a celebration of your love for that person.

The Bible says, "Above all else, love each other deeply." Anne made loving her so very easy for me.

With Deep Love for you my Angel