Then Jesus shouted out again, dismissed his spirit, and died.
Matt 27:50
When I was a young woman, my close childhood friend Griff, was dying of AIDS. It was a time when young men dying of AIDS were scorned and shunned. AIDS is a horrible death, and one we would never wish upon anyone, especially someone we love.
As Griff’s health declined, his brother, Lindsey, would call to give an update. One day Lindsey called to say that it was time.
I had never seen anyone die before. The prospect of being in the same room with someone actively dying made me uncomfortable. My flight arrived early that day. It was a long, emotional day, with many people stopping to say their goodbyes. It was wonderful to reconnect with old friends; however, in that hospice room, there was no mistaking what was about to happen.
Lindsey and I spent the evening alone tending to Griff, telling stories, and quietly laughing over Saturday Night Live.
Then, near midnight, it began to happen. The death rattle, the gasping with long pauses between, began to occur. And then Griff took his last breath, his spirit released, and he died. Looking back, I’m not certain if we saw it or felt it, but both Lindsey and I knew exactly when Griff left; we knew the last breath.
It was a profoundly powerful and spiritual experience; it was a moment that triggered a redefinition of who I would become. I was stronger than I could have imagined at the time. I was able to be in the presence of death and be at peace; I was a woman with a fierce capacity to love which caused me to say, “No, let’s stay a little longer,” not wanting Griff alone when he passed. I was a guardian committed to surrounding him in prayers of love and gratitude for having known him.
My friend, Griff, was certainly no Jesus figure. But I loved him; I love him still. When I think of Christ, taking his last gasping breath, I ask, how do I redefine myself to make that painful sacrifice worthwhile? How do I be stronger? How do I care more? Fight against injustice? Not abandon those in need? Give from an abundance of love?
The death of Christ for the sins of humanity, for our sins, for my sins, is so big that it’s difficult to really take in. So sometimes I think of my friend, Griff, and the light that went out of the world that day, and weep.
God,
Today I thank you for placing me in this crazy and imperfect world, where broken people teach us about the depths of love. Thank you for the light of your love which gives us vision and guides us to you, regardless of how things appear to the eye. Thank you for seeing us as your children, rather than as sinners who now must be punished. Thank you for your grace. Amen.
By Rhonda Sanco
horizondaily 
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