I heard a wonderful story recently about a couple named Isadore and Sarah Kornberg. They were married in 1944 in Brooklyn and were together for close to sixty years. In later years, Sarah was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and Isadore had heart issues. In 2003, he had a heart attack. Their son, Robert, says his dad survived but was in a nursing home for three months. During that time, Sarah, had become increasingly more confused. Shortly afterwards, Isadore had another heart attack and passed away. Robert knows he will have to tell his mom the news. The next day he goes to her home, and the conversation went like this:
Robert: “Mom, I’m sorry to tell you that dad died last night.”
Sarah: “My dad died last night?”
Robert: “No mom, my dad died last night.”
Sarah: “We have the same dad?”
Robert: “No. My dad, your husband, Isadore Kornberg died last night.”
Sarah: “He was a very nice man.”
A few days later, Robert’s mother was still confused and asked, “If your father isn’t going to come home, why doesn’t he call?” Robert replies, “Mom, I keep telling you, dad passed away.” Finally, Robert decides he doesn’t have to keep telling her. Let her remember what she remembers and he never mentioned it again.
In another week or so, Robert notices there is a message on his parent’s answering machine. It’s Isadore calling Sarah from the nursing home. The answering machine captured their last conversation. Isadore says to Sarah, “I love you honey and I miss you. I may not be coming home as soon as I thought, but before long, we’ll be together again.” Sarah says, “I hope it is soon,” and Isadore replies, “I hope so too.”
Last conversations can be hard, but sometimes we’re oblivious that it is the last time we are speaking with someone we love. I’m convinced grace is a part of all last conversations. I remember the last time I talked to my mother. We had gone to Tulsa to visit the folks and I remember standing on her porch, hugging her and telling her I loved her. I was so glad I had told her that and have that memory. What a grace moment.
Maybe knowing you’re going to die is a luxury because it affords us the chance to tie up loose ends, but in so many instances we don’t know we’re having our last conversation with someone we love. By the grace of God, we hopefully have the chance, like Isadore and Sarah, to say what we need to say. Lent reminds us that death comes to all of us… so make each conversation count… like it is your last conversation.
Rev. Dave Poteet, Pastor of Congregational Care
