He said he was fine

I sat at his side by the hospital bed, looked into his eyes and our eyes met.

I grabbed his hand and asked him how he was doing, he said he was fine.

My eyes darted over his body-it seemed like I was analysing every bit of his body for what felt like eternity.

I noticed something-he was lying in an awkward position, covered with septic bedsores, emaciated, broken-quiet!

He told me he was fine


His body screamed out at me-it screamed a putrid scent of death rushing in to violently tear him from the cage he was in, the cage he has known, the cage of brokenness, of immobility-helplessness.

He told me he was fine

His eyes caught mine as I looked at his dying body, he asks for water, his bony arms reaching for dear life at the water bottle I now give into his hands.

I take note of his breathing, short frequent gasps, the oxygen mask is not alleviating the urgency he has to take a breath

He told me he was fine


My heart switches on, I realise that I have limited time left

‘Do you know the Lord Jesus I ask?’


‘Have you received him into your life?’


‘Would you like to?’



As we pray the prayer of salvation- I see him finally relax, I witness a man so broken by the world, so torn by his diseased body lie silently.


He awaits death patiently.


No longer does death intimidate him like before, no longer does death threaten his peace

He awaits it, silently, patiently because he now knows that it will take him into the realm of the everlasting.


I now believe he is fine

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