I Think God Has Forgotten Me
She is over a hundred years old now, and I always feel honored just to be in her presence.
On one of her birthdays, we talked about all the presidents who had served during her lifetime. There were quite a few. She remembered many of them. Her mind was still sharp, and she had more than a century of stories tucked away inside her.
Recently, I asked her how she was doing.
“I’m doing all right,” she said.
“Well, that’s great.”
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
That caught my attention.
“Why is that?”
She looked at me and said, “I’m a hundred years old. My family is gone. My friends are gone. I think God has forgotten me here.”
If I’m honest, I didn’t quite know how to answer her.
“How could God ever forget you, Sister? You are a precious reminder of His goodness to us.”
It was the best answer I had in the moment.
But her words stayed with me.
She is tired, but not in a way that sleep would help. She sleeps much of the day already.
It is a deeper weariness than that.
She has lived more than a hundred years. She has watched generations come and go. She has said goodbye to people she thought she would grow old with—and then kept growing older.
She is surrounded by neighbors and caregivers who know her and care for her. She isn’t alone.
They just aren’t her people.
She misses the family members whose voices she can still remember. She misses friends who once shared her days. And she misses church.
There is an old Methodist hymnal in her room. Sometimes during my visits, I take it down from the shelf and find a hymn for us to sing together. She always seems grateful for that small return to something familiar.
I used to think she simply missed the music.
I understand it differently now.
She misses the people she sang those songs with. She misses familiar voices beside her and familiar faces around her.
Many of those voices are gone now.
I don’t think she had lost her faith.
I think she was tired.
Not sleepy.
Tired.
There is a kind of weariness that another night in bed cannot touch.
The body can rest while the heart remains heavy.
The room can be quiet while the mind keeps carrying years of memories, losses, worries, and goodbyes.
Sometimes we need more than sleep.
We need rest.
And I am beginning to think there is a difference.