Is it Too Late?

Alan R. Cobb

Birth date: Sep 16, 1929 - Death date: Apr 30, 2020

Doubt crept into my mind. I questioned my certainty about this. Thinking back on our past visits and conversations, I tried to recall. Through our four decades of memories together, I sorted the files in my mind, but I could not remember talking with him about this most important question.

Unrest filled me and burdened my spirit. I asked around. Maybe my mama or daddy knew the answer? They racked their brains. No, they weren’t sure either. But I had to know--was it well?

I asked one more person--his oldest daughter, my Aunt Sue. “Is he well?”

She answered, “He and his father professed to be agnostics.”

Fire burned in my veins. So much had changed since I checked on my grandparents at the end of March! At that point I felt relief from my Grandma Sue’s reply, “We’re totally quarantined. Neighbors and Amazon are helping us with food and groceries. We’re walking up the hill every day, slow, but moving.”

But now setbacks and changes redefined “normal” days. Each day as I checked in with my grandma, a new development occurred--new symptoms, concerning numbers, and more tests. These reset plans, expectations, and the hope of my Grandpa Al coming home.

What had begun as prudent, following the internist doctor’s recommendation to take Grandpa Al to the ER on Monday morning, unfolded a surprising turn of events. Given that this occurred as the COVID-19 pandemic now erupted in the U.S. only complicated matters.

Who would have thought that a precautionary ER visit would result in a 10-day hospital stay? Who could have guessed that all those test results would return an unsuspected diagnosis of malignant prostate cancer, acute kidney failure, hypertensive heart disease and other issues?

Three weeks prior my 90-year old grandpa had been walking up the hill on his street, coloring his wood-etched prints, and cooking gourmet meals with my grandma and their friends. He was a congenial man with a contagious smile and a strong spirit. But now my jolly Grandpa Al, a classic good man with a zest for life—a well rounded man, who loved art, travel, and culture as he also loved his family, friends, and neighbors—lay alone in a cold hospital room. Who would have thought that he would take a dramatic “downturn” in ten short days.

As the nurse had done each day Grandpa Al remained in the hospital, she connected him with my grandma on FaceTime. Except this time, hospital Day 10, Grandma Sue told me, “When I saw how much he had changed, I knew I had to see him. He looked terrible.”

Covid-19 shutdown procedures were in place, but “orders” could not lock out love. Grandma Sue donned full personal protective equipment (PPE). She sat with her husband of almost 35 years, “mostly crying behind her mask.” Although Grandma Sue observed that my grandpa was “very weak” and “mono-syllabic,” he knew who she was. When she told him “I love you,” Grandpa Al replied, “I know.”

After seeing my grandpa in person, his decline weighed down heavily on Grandma Sue. She wondered how she could manage his care now? The situation seemed impossible. Now discharged from the hospital, Grandpa Al was transferred to skilled nursing. With strict lockdown measures practiced there and the promises of “no Covid patients here” and “a FaceTime call tomorrow,” Grandma Sue headed home alone to the only home she and Grandpa Al had known together in Dallas, TX.

Meanwhile at my home in Austin, I homeschooled my children, managed our household, and supported my extended family from afar. My burdened heart for Grandpa Al wouldn’t leave me, so I prayed for God to give me a way to speak to him. On Day 5 of his hospital stay, the idea to write him a letter washed over me. Talking late into the night, I shared this with my husband.

“Go for it. You should do it,” he encouraged me.

On hospital Day 6, I outlined my letter.

On hospital Day 7, my praying friends asked the Lord to give me the time to write this letter and just the right words. Then I began to write.

April 19, 2020

Dear Grandpa Al,

I had started my letter to my grandpa. But life also happened in my home that week. Needs, relationships, and responsibilities demanded my attention. But the fire! I felt the heat. It wouldn’t let me go, and I set a goal to finish Grandpa Al’s letter by the end of the weekend.

But the setbacks! And the changes! The diagnosis, then the downturn, and the transfer!

That fire blazed in my soul. I hoped it wasn’t too late.

Then at 8:30 pm my phone rang. I answered.

“I HAD to call you. I’m sorry I’m calling late. I am just sooo sad.” My dear Little Mama, who lives five-and-a-half-hours away from me, sobbed in anguish. Covid-19 protocol had banished us from each other, but we held on to each other through the wires.

“I will never get to see my daddy again,” my mom wept with grief. “I won’t ever get to tell him how much I love him and how great of a daddy he was to me,” she wailed in agony.

Howling mournfully to the point of uncontrollable heaving and near hyperventilation, my precious mother released her deep sorrow from the pit of her broken heart. It was the hardest conversation I’ve experienced thus far in my life. I could only listen. And whisper, “Jesus” on repeat. Only He, Only Jesus could bear these burdens, so heavy, tormenting our family.

At last my mama collected her breath. We found some comfort in talking about good times we enjoyed with Grandpa Al. Still, like walking on hot coals of fire burning my feet, my burden for him and the desperation I felt because of his drastically changing situation compelled me to pound heaven. A possible way to connect my family scrolled through my mind. I was willing to drop everything I had planned the next day to make it happen. I feared it could still be too late. And I knew it would take a village to accomplish it and the power of God. I asked my mama if she wanted to pray.

“I’m getting down on my knees in the media room,” she responded.

I sat on a skateboard in my messy garage and bowed my head before God in Heaven. I didn’t know how anything would work out. I barely knew what to pray. I told the Lord how quickly my grandpa’s circumstances had changed. I shared how badly my mama wanted to see her daddy one more time and to tell him how much she loved him. I expressed my concern for Grandpa Al’s soul and reminded Him I was in the middle of writing him a letter to share my faith, showing him the way to Heaven. I confessed my fear that it would be too late. Boldly, with my mustard seed of faith, I asked God if He could possibly make a way for our family to have a group FaceTime tomorrow, if it is His will. In Jesus’ name I prayed.

I lifted my head and wiped my eyes. My mom thanked me for praying. We discussed our relief, as we felt held by God’s comfort and Jesus’ peace. Then we sang a very broken, squeaky violin-like, acapella version of “Great is Thy Faithfulness.” Sending virtual hugs and kisses, we said goodnight to each other, and agreed to “Get some sleep.”

A new morning with new mercies dawned. I took my Peloton bike ride, spent time studying the Bible, fixed breakfast for my family, showered and got ready for the day. I knew my assignment: Operation Connect the Cobb family. My husband supported my mission, gave wise advice to my grandma over the phone, and supervised our homeschooled children whose days had just been made with the notifications that “School is canceled today” and “yes, you may go to the creek.”

Another day of unexpected changes occurred. When the overwhelmed skilled nursing facility who guaranteed us a FaceTime call with Grandpa Al could no longer deliver on this promise, my Grandma signed him out of the facility and had Grandpa Al transferred home by ambulance to begin hospice care. Meanwhile I worked all day to connect my family, and we waited on standby until Grandma Sue notified me, “We’re ready for the Group FaceTime call.”

Two minutes before the “We’re ready” text came in, I finished my Letter to Grandpa Al and emailed it to Grandma Sue. She said she’d print it out and read it to him. I was ecstatic!

Three minutes later I connected my family on Group FaceTime. Our connection was poor and short. But at least we got to see Grandpa Al one more time and say, “I love you.”

God had answered my prayer. My family got the Group FaceTime we’d asked for. And I’d finished my letter to Grandpa Al asking him if he knew it was well with his soul. Or not.

“Wonderful letter,” my grandma texted me just before bed. She also emailed the family with an invite to “come to Dallas and see Grandpa Al”.

While that would be nice, my mind told me it was impossible because of Covid-19.

Saturday brought more phone conversations. My aunt called me. “I’m driving to Dallas right now. I’ll be there at 9 pm. I have to see Daddy. It may be my last chance.” I thought I can’t go to Dallas, but I knew my mama sure wanted to see her daddy. The only way she could do that was if my daddy drove her there. I called my dad and relayed my Thursday phone conversation with my mama. I told him Aunt Sue was on her way to Dallas now. Although we all weighed the risks of contracting and spreading Covid-19, my daddy was willing to do that if it became apparent that he should.

The conversations continued. After church on Sunday my dad texted me, “We’re going to Dallas. Aunt Sue said, “Daddy is fading fast. If you want to see him, you better start driving.”

For the first time, the thought occurred to me: Should I go to Dallas? I prayed in my spirit. I reached out to my praying friends. They’d been following Grandpa Al’s whole story, receiving my updates, and praying us through every step. Now they joined me to pray for God’s wisdom, direction, and peace: Should I stay home or go to Dallas?

I talked with my husband. He gave me his blessing to go. I talked with our five children. They gave me their blessing to go. Everyone assured me they’d manage just fine at home. Everyone pitched in to help, doing dishes and making lunch while I raced around gathering food to prepare for my family in Dallas and packing my bag.

I called my mother-in-love. She encouraged me to slow down. “Stop and pray. Get your Bible. Even though you have the blessing to go, really ask the Lord if you should proceed with this trip. Make sure you have His peace and that He's the one directing you to do this.”

On my knees in my closet I bowed before the King of Kings. “Lord, You know ALL that’s happened and is happening right now. You know the state of my Grandpa Al’s soul. You know I wasn’t even thinking of going to Dallas until an hour ago. You know I have my family’s blessing. BUT I don’t want to take one step outside the center of Your will. I know there are stories in the Bible of people who made major mistakes because they didn't stop to inquire of You, Lord. So I’m stopping to ask You to guide me in Your wisdom and lead me by Your peace. Should I go to Dallas?”

I waited in that humble position for God to speak. He did! His Spirit washed five Bible verses over me, one of which He repeated.

. . . Speak My message through psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs . . .

. . . How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news! . . .

. . . The One who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world . . .

. . . Be still and know that I am God . . .

. . . I anoint your head with oil and My goodness and love will follow you . . .

. . . Speak My message through psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs for My glory . . .

I used my Bible app, searching by keywords, to look up the verses after I prayed. Sure enough I found them in Colossians 3:16, Romans 10:15, 1 John 4:4, Psalms 46:10, Psalms 23:5-6, and Colossians 3:16-17. I also realized that the sermon that Pastor Matt Cassidy preached that morning was from Colossians 3!

This was no coincidence. God had spoken. He had made a way. I had His perfect peace. After hugging my family and sharing this with my mother-in-love, I headed to Dallas to minister to Grandpa Al and my family. I didn’t know how it would unfold, but with the blessing and prayers of my family and friends on my back, I couldn’t wait to see what God would do in Dallas . . .

“We gave him a pain pill this morning and he’s been sleeping ALL day,” Grandma Sue reported. “He’s had a few sips of water and this nutritional drink,” Aunt Sue added. My parents and I looked on at Grandpa Al laying down on the hospital bed in his bedroom as they spoke.

“Grandpa Al, it’s me, Shannon, your granddaughter. I drove from Austin to come see you. Your daughter Teri and son-in-law Kevin from Midland are here. Grandpa Al opened his eyes when we spoke to him. We’re here along with Aunt Sue, Brother Bernard, and your lovely wife Sue.

“My fa-mi-ly,” Grandpa Al uttered. He struggled to talk, but his joy was obvious. He recognized his wife, two daughters, son-in-law, and me. Grandpa Al expressed his relief to be “home.” As he’d typically say when we asked him how he’s doing, he responded, “Happy as a clam.”

We visited with Grandpa Al for about an hour. Joyous energy and love filled the atmosphere as we recalled old stories about when he was a boy among other special memories we’d shared. Grandpa Al sipped water from a straw, offered occasional short responses, smiled his usual ear-to-ear grin, and his eyes gleamed as he looked up at his loved ones who surrounded him.

“Chicky, we’re going to let you get a little rest while we go cook dinner. But we’ll come right back. Okay?” Grandma Sue held Grandpa Al’s hand as she told him the plan.

I followed my family into the kitchen, planning to be of service however needed. However, when I realized that truly, there were too many cooks in the kitchen and there wasn’t anything left for me to do, I ventured back into the room with Grandpa Al. His eyes were closed when I entered. I noticed the printout of my Letter to Grandpa Al sitting on his dresser.

Lord, I’m trusting You to show me when and how I can share You with my Grandpa Al, I prayed in my spirit.

“Grandpa Al, it’s me, Shannon, your granddaughter.” He opened his eyes when I spoke his name. “Did you know I wrote you a letter?”

“A let-ter!” Grandpa Al exclaimed.

“Yes! I can read it to you if you want,” I offered. “It has some pictures with words on them. If you want I can show you the pictures.”

“O-kay!” Grandpa Al consented with enthusiasm.

Dear Grandpa Al,

My parents and Aunt Sue entered the room as I dialogued with Grandpa Al using my letter to him as the inroad to his soul. My dad later described this moment as “a God-given hour of lucidity.” He said, “I kept watching Grandpa Al watch you as you presented your letter to him. He was focused, listening like a child engrossed in a story, and he understood the logical explanation you gave him as you led Grandpa Al to Christ in bold witness.”

My mama added, “Daddy has never been that attentive with religious or spiritual stuff. But Daddy stared intently in your eyes as you read your letter to him. He listened. He understood. He was lucid, he got it as you spoke it, and he knew what he wanted. Now he’s living it. I have no doubt he’s a true believer and we’ll get to see him again because you told him the truth.”

Speaking of God’s lavish love and rescue plan to save us, “Isn’t God good, Grandpa Al?”

“Good.”

Telling him about God’s grace, His undeserved love for us, “Isn’t this a good gift, Grandpa Al?”

“Yes.”

Declaring that Jesus paid our debt of sin, dying in our place, I asked, “Isn’t that a good deal, Grandpa Al?”

“Good.”

“Do you want to be the boss today, Grandpa Al?”

“NOOO,” Grandpa Al emphasized, shaking his head.

“Good. Because Jesus conquered the power of death by rising again on Easter. Jesus isn’t dead. He is . . . “

Pointing to his heart, Grandpa Al mouthed “Raised.”

“That’s right. Jesus was raised to life, so that we can live forever. Now He’s in heaven preparing a place for us. Let Him be your boss today.”

The next day when Grandpa Al’s nurse came to bathe him she asked, “How’s it goin’ Mr. Alan?” My mom stood by their side to help and overheard his incredible reply, “Good. Shannon saved me yesterday.”

I’m not a Savior, but I was God’s messenger. And now I know the answers to my questions. No, it wasn’t too late. And yes, now it is well with Grandpa Al’s soul. God was faithful, oh so faithful, to do what He sent me to Dallas to do.

During the remainder of my time in Dallas, always asking Grandpa Al’s permission first, the Lord let me read scripture and sing songs to my grandpa. Those moments together, raising praise to Jesus were both powerful and precious. They emphasized God’s love for lost sheep and the great lengths God will go to find those who have strayed. This touched me soul-deep. My spirit testified, Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God. He chases us down . . . fights till we’re found . . . leaves the 99 . . . to rescue the one. And in this case, the lost (and now found) but quickly fading one was my Grandpa Al.

Each day he grew weaker, less attentive, and more detached from this world. I watched his body gradually relax. His arms, once flexed, now rested on the gurney, and he no longer reached out to hang onto this world.

The words of his hospice nurse scrolled across my mind, “The people that refuse to trust Jesus, it can take awhile for them to let go. They tend to be more anxious and agitated. Some of them really fight.” How comforting to see that my grandpa did not struggle because his spirit was at peace with God.

At last, the time came for me to go home. Tears filled my eyes. A lump welled in my throat. Taking one last long look at my frail but now well grandpa, I kissed Grandpa Al’s forehead before I drove home to Austin. My voice squeaked, “Next time I see you, it will be in heaven. I love you, Grandpa Al.”

The next day at my home in Austin, I continued to praise the Lord and pray for my grandpa. As I prepared dinner for my family, I listened to the “Praise Him with Your Lips” Spotify playlist that I made for my grandpa. Waves of deep emotion welled up within me. The songs ushered in a crescendo within me. An image of a boat filtered through ambient light and gently gliding across calm water as smooth glass filled my mind. I sensed in my spirit that his time here on earth drew near the end.

And Ding! the text came in. My grandpa had drawn his final breath. Jesus had welcomed him into his heavenly home. Even as my eyes leaked, my spirit rejoiced with the angels. Yes, my spirit praised as my lips confessed gratitude to God for the rescue story that He unfolded for my family. My grandpa, once a Lost Sheep, in a matter of a short few weeks, and only four days before it was too late, received Jesus as His Savior, and got well.

Read the letter that opened the door: Letter to Grandpa Al. If someone you love needs to hear the hope you have, I pray it gives you words to borrow. Read Grandpa Al’s obituary. Listen to the Spotify playlist I made for Grandpa Al: Praise Him with Your Lips.