White Sands
- Operator
- Jun 12
- 17 min read
Updated: 4 hours ago
I
“When you beat the cancer, what will you do with your time?” I asked my wife's sister.
Myra seemed startled by the question, as she was waiting in her hospital bed.
I asked during her first hospital stay, where medical hope was by her bedside.
Manners of the doctors were compassionate, as they answered all her family's questions regarding her treatment.
There was cause for concern.
The diagnosis was dire.
There was never much hope.
No matter the result,
hope is never wasted.
II
During moments when medical hope was being discussed, Myra remained polite, nodding in agreement and accepting what was told.
She knew how serious it was and didn't waste time trying to control.
My sister held onto her faith.
She was a true sister, one that deserves to have her story told.
I was just a brother who she gave her name to, before she passed. I think she appreciated me for asking.
A last hug was given, and Myra said to me,
"I hope you know brother,
I love you very much."
I think she knew the darkness of her family.
III
Prior to her diagnosis, she endured a month of untreated pain.
No one knew how serious it was until it was too late.
The cancer spread,
slowly consuming her time,
unnoticed because no one believed.
Myra went to see the doctor more than once.
They couldn't find the cancer until it was too late.
The cancer grew.
The pain was real.
For her to complain meant it must have been unbearable.
I witnessed my sister's resolve as she endured.
I was there.
It took strength to carry the burden.
Myra must have felt alone during that month, the isolation of being the only one that believed.
She knew something was wrong and it must have scared her.
The pain would not go away,
even till the very end,
the pain always remained.
IV
After the cancer was discovered, she was supported every step of the way.
Isa's sister did not have to carry the burden alone.
Her family was there to show her support every day after her diagnosis.
Hands and prayers lifted her along the way.
And then there was me, just an outsider, neither part of her family nor her faith.
I was a gentile who witnessed the power of faith.
I decided to write her story.
I didnt want to forget Myra.
V
My wife asked for my time.
I did not mind.
I did what she asked.
It is the contrasts that reveal,
reflections of opposites,
which bring clarity to both.
Myra never asked me to be there.
VI
The truth was, she did not have much time left.
Time became finite White Sands.
Days were now the eternity to her present.
The hourglass of her life was turned upside down and the sands flowed under the shadow of fear.
Myra was a brave woman,
who walked into the great desert,
armed only with her faith
and belief in herself.
Hopefully her faith carried her to safe shores, onto White Sands, with a golden sun to keep her warm.
I did not know her well,
but I know she loved the beach.
VII
During times where medical hope was by her side, she was the ideal patient.
She waited without much fuss.
She made all the visitors feel welcome and gave her best effort.
After a few of these visits, she no longer needed to put her best effort towards me, which I appreciated.
The repetition of seeing her made it easier to wait with her.
We became familiar enough to be ourselves.
I did not bother her much except to greet her and say goodbye.
Occasionally I would make sure to tease her a little, just to take her mind off things.
We developed our own banter, as we both made sure to get one good laugh per visit.
I wouldn't say we became friends, but I think we became colleagues at least.
If my sister had survived I would have tried to continue our banter.
Most likely she would not have continued.
Myra would have remained loyal to Isa.
I would not think less of her.
My wife was part of her faith.
I would have understood and respected her beliefs.
I just did not believe as she did.
VIII
In the waiting room there was a quietness that reminded me of church.
You could hear the echoes of footsteps, of hushed whispers of family and friends, and the perfect metronome of the medical equipment.
The moment felt clear, where time felt timeless.
There were long silences where you could feel the prayers in the air.
In the background that word was said a lot.
Prayer.
"I pray for her..."
"You are in my prayers..."
"I prayed even though.."
I wasn't always a gentile. I went to church every Sunday during my childhood.
12 years of going to service taught me a lot, and one I am always grateful for.
I have a lot of church hours under my belt, but in the beginning I was stubborn.
I complained in my head while I put on my belt for church.
IX
Church taught me acceptance.
What turned into an obligation, reluctantly changed to patience, and then finally the humility sunk in. There are some things that cannot be controlled.
My mother was going to take me without fail.
I eventually accepted my duty without trying to resist. It was something that had to be learned with each new Sunday. The complaints did not disappear from one visit, but through repetition.
The habit of going chipped away at the resistance, which was a valuable lesson I never forgot.
What you do, becomes you.
I wouldn't say church and I became friends, but I think we became colleagues at least. Church was a place where I could find time to reflect, where my mind was allowed to drift and listen.
The repetition of listening to a story through the oral tradition, always seemed classical. The words hold the power, from that Holy Book.
All those words imprinted, which are never forgotten in a way.
The Roman Catholics taught me to listen, of words passed down by the Nazarene, of the great wisdom from the Blue Tribe of Lions, all the way back to the fruit, which brought Adam knowledge.
I did my own study while I was there, to discover my own beliefs.
I stopped going once I left for college. I have always doubted, and yet I have never doubted, that it was the right choice for me.
I did not pray for Myra.
I never believed.
It would be a waste of time to do something I didn't believe in.
I have witnessed what that does.
Like all things, anything can be learned through repetition.
Done too many times, it leads to insincerity.
I lived among them, and I learned their spotted ways. Without judgement, I pity them.
Pity is all they ask for, but I have nothing they can take. They took everything, without my complaint.
X
The thought of her last days in a hospital was a real fear.
I could tell Myra wanted to leave.
She showed more interest whenever the topic was about her discharge date.
When she was finally allowed to leave, I was asked to follow.
My wife asked that I stay with her while she and her mother made her comfortable at home.
I did not mind. It was like going to church again. I found time to reflect and study, to find out what I believed.
I have always doubted, and yet I have never doubted, that I made the right choice in separating from Isa for the final time.
XI
Her treatment started too late, time was not on her side from the beginning.
I imagine that the quiet times were most likely the hardest for Myra.
Especially the late nights, filled with shadows.
The stillness is where silence is felt.
The waiting can be unbearable, especially when hope seems lost.
I am sure my sister prayed into the empty nights when she was alone.
I am sure the void made her feel even more alone.
One thing I have no doubt though, Myra's prayers were filled with hope.
Hope is never wasted,
no matter the result.
It is a gift brought into this world.
To ask and give thanks
is repetition that teaches gratitude.
The experience of asking in humility,
receiving what is given,
is where one finds grace.
XII
Myra passed away in May.
I remember the call early that morning.
I didn't play any music during the car ride to the hospital.
I drove in silence.
I felt the loss.
It made me break a pattern.
When I walked up to the front desk to get a visitor's pass, the administrator instructed me that visiting hours were closed.
I told her that my wife's sister had passed. The woman looked startled and apologized.
She handed me the pass without making eye contact.
I walked down the long hallway, entered the elevator, and pushed the button for the twelfth floor.
That is where I try to stop my memory of that day.
I had already kept the memory of Myra placed in my notebook, along with Isa's notes to her sister.
XIII
Before that day, when medical hope was still by her side, I happened to be alone with Myra.
My wife was outside the room with her mother, as they were making urgent plans, which gave me a chance to ask my question to my sister.
“When you beat the cancer, what will you do with your time?”
Before she gave an answer, there was a pause.
I knew what that pause meant.
Myra answered.
“I want to become closer to God and thank Him for his blessings.”
That was the message in the sand I received, a testament to her faith.
I was imposing my time on my sister, but it was something I felt worth breaking a pattern for.
We had shared countless hours together but never talked about the reason.
I knew she was dying.
I wanted to ask her what she wanted to do with her life.
Myra's answer was to give thanks to her God.
XIV
I witnessed her faith tested.
As hope dimmed with each new test result, Myra seemed more grateful.
She pushed on and endured.
Her appreciation for life grew, even as her health declined.
It was like seeing a flower bloom in the desert, a creation that knows the odds, but refuses to wilt.
There were stories of how strong Myra was. I was fortunate to see it in person.
There is always some truth to any story you hear, but you know if you were there.
I was there.
Myra remained kind.
She did not have any bitterness.
No matter how bad the news was, she remained resolute with her faith.
She did not abandon her beliefs.
My sister believed till the end.
Experience teaches all.
Without them,
belief is all you have,
until you have the experience.
XV
I only saw her lose hope once.
Isa asked me to drive Myra and her mother for an X-ray on my day off.
During the drive I noticed she was quieter than usual.
Seeing her being pushed in a wheelchair was a testament to how aggressive the cancer was.
Her strength could not match the speed of the disease.
When Myra was being pushed, though, the motion calmed her.
It was the stillness, the waiting, that brought the most pain.
I witnessed her squirming in discomfort as we waited for the doctor.
Her mother noticed too.
We could both tell she was not going to be able to withstand the next wave of pain.
And so her mother recited a story from the Bible to bring comfort.
Myra found her strength.
The verse awakened her faith.
She took her mother’s hand.
She lowered her head.
She closed her eyes.
And my sister prayed out loud.
In that moment,
Myra was deep within the shadow
that wanted to consume her hope.
She prayed for a light
to guide her back.
She was lost
because the pain was unbearable.
XVI
Her prayer was answered.
The doctor showed up and took her to another room.
When they returned, she described discomfort in her bones.
The doctor listened and looked concerned.
I saw Myra lose her composure when the doctor suggested she return to the hospital, for a second time.
He wanted to do more tests.
Myra shook her head, terrified.
“I can’t Momma!"
"I can’t return to the hospital again!”
She cried out, breaking her calm demeanor.
It was the fear that broke her, not the pain.
Her eyes held the certainty, of knowing she would never leave the hospital, if she stayed again.
Myra was unwilling to sacrifice any more time to the cancer.
I think she knew she was going to die.
She probably wanted to hear sounds of her home, surrounded by her family, and not the sterile metronome of the heart monitor.
The fear of her last moments being taken away was real, and she showed courage to say no.
She wanted to spend her last moments of life on her terms, on unbended knee.
XVII
Myra stood up for herself, as she did a few weeks later, after her last treatment of chemotherapy.
She showed her courage there too.
I was there.
There was a tradition of ringing the bell on the last day of treatment.
She got up from her wheelchair and stood up.
By then my sister could barely walk on her own.
Myra refused to give up.
She made the effort to stand, and it was inspiring to see her ring that bell, without needing support for those few seconds.
The effort made,
when Myra was frail,
is how I remember her.
Hope was not wasted, no matter the result of what happened after.
It was a gift brought into the world in that moment, for all in the room to see.
There was pride among strangers in seeing a patient stand up.
I was glad that I got to see that.
It was because I accepted the time my wife asked of me, that I got to see a moment of hope shared with her family.
I witnessed her faith in herself.
She had not given up, she wanted to remain standing as long as she could.
XVIII
I was glad the doctor allowed her more time to be with her family.
The doctor reacted with compassion.
He saw the charts and knew that she did not have much time.
He told her that she could stay home.
Myra nodded in relief.
Her composure returned.
Her hope remained.
XIX
Eventually my sister could no longer bear the pain.
She endured as much as she could.
After a few weeks, with her hair gone, she returned to the hospital for the final time.
Myra was pushed in a wheelchair, from the car to the elevator, lifted to the 12th floor, and placed gently on her last bed.
I am sure she had finally accepted the certainty, she would not return home this time.
There was no treatment for the disease by then, too much of her body had been consumed by the cancer.
The cancer was relentless.
My sister was not alone in her last moments.
Myra passed away on May 29th, surrounded by her family.
It was on Memorial Day.
XX
I like to believe,
that in her last moment,
with her last breath,
it was her own belief
that lifted Myra.
It was her own faith
that guided her
in the last walk
through the White Sands of Time.
It was her voice,
the one she heard in prayer,
that took her home.
It was her words,
her message in the sand,
that would say
to the being she longed to meet.
“I want to become closer to You,
and thank you for your many blessings.”
XXI
The last memory of my sister was a few days before she passed.
I returned from work at her mother's apartment.
I was there while my wife helped Myra.
I was given her room while I stayed overnight.
As I laid down in her small twin bed, I was saw her life from her perspective.
Next to the mirror were several photos hanging in a deliberate arrangement.
Of course she had the obligatory pictures of her entire family, including some of me.
But it was the pictures of her sisters that she treasured the most.
Her sisters were in the center of the arrangement.
Myra had the strongest faith in them.
It was a bond forged in shared memories, of joy, hardships, and everything in between.
While I was looking at her room, seeing her life through her eyes, I was startled to hear a knock on the door.
I took off my headphones, stopped typing on the laptop, hopped off the bed, and opened the door.
XXII
It was Myra.
I was surprised to see her.
She gave me a warm smile.
She didn't have to say anything.
There was a pause before she opened her arms.
I knew what that pause meant.
In that moment,
I knew.
Myra was saying her final goodbye to me.
I gave her the same hug I gave Sister Laticia, when we said goodbye to one another.
It was a long hug.
I am sure it was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.
It was a moment where we both hoped we would remember each other in the future, a wish to never forget each other.
Myra chose to give me hug before her final departure to the hospital.
That was the last time I saw her alive.
My sister must have chosen to get out of bed, asked my wife to help her, supported herself on her walker, and slowly made her way across the hallway to come see me.
Myra knocked on her own door to tell a colleague something she didn't want to forget.
That moment we shared was important enough to break a pattern.
She wanted to say goodbye to her brother-in-law.
XXIII
I kept the visitor's pass when I last saw my sister.
I am usually not sentimental, but I felt a loss.
I couldn't throw it away for some reason.
I placed it in a page of my notebook,
which had my notes to this story,
underneath the notes my wife wrote to herself.
Isa still had hope that somehow Myra would pull through.
She was connected to her as she wrote.
In that moment, my wife was thinking of her, and writing notes with desperate hope.
The ghosts of the moment, of her thoughts towards her dying sister, remained left in my book.
Isa has most likely forgotten those notes.
I just happened to be a friend that found it one day.
I found the perfect spot to place the visitor's pass that I kept.
Another would not have known it held hope brought into this world.
No matter the result,
the hope one brings into the world
is never a waste.
Reality
Maria Isabel Williams' words
June 2, 2024 at 8:37 AM
Hi Mark,
One night she was in so much pain towards the end but she gussied up the strength to walk down the hall just to tell you good night.
I told her she didn’t have to that you would understand and she replied yes I do.
She said I need my brother in law to know I care and he is loved.
That’s who she was and she loved you.
Only had good things to say about you.
Ttyl
Isa
My words
February 8, 2024 at 3:58 PM
Dearest Isa,
I am grateful that I could have helped by letting you get those last magical moments with her.
I am glad that you could have those last memories created on the island deemed as paradise.
In the story below I think I can get you and your family back there.
I can get her back through faith from a simple son with no faith.
First attempt at telling a story to show my wife that I love her.
____________________________
White Sands: First draft
I see your sister waiting in the most beautiful paradise.
Walking on the White Sands, waiting to hear your voice.
I think Eternity is whatever you want.
She was special.
I think she was one of the chosen.
A true Sister that reached that special place where she can now do anything.
Family never let each other down, no matter what.
Loyal to the end.
If you practice the faith it doesn't matter when you find it.
The faith takes you to Eternity.
A non-believer like me, who has no faith, can see the power of it.
She was a true follower.
Eternity can make the things you wished for all your life become true.
She said I want to be with my family.
"The only thing I have ever followed more than my faith."
She made her Eternity to be with you.
I understood your sister in that last hug.
I was a part of her family.
And since she is family I will never let them down.
If they ask anything of me, I will do.
I will comfort her sister in her time of need.
Make the memory of both sadness and joy with your family.
What is lost will return in time.
Nothing is ever lost, only forgotten.
Love Always,
Mark
My Words
June 1 2024 at 12:11 AM
Hi Isa,
I know that this month is one of sadness for you.
But I wanted to be the last to say that I am sorry for the loss of your sister.
She was a special soul.
And she lives through our stories that are told.
She loved you.
You knew her all your life.
That sort of bond is timeless and powerful.
I mourn the loss of time that I missed.
She was truly humble.
You are a beautiful person.
I love you and hope each year these months get easier
Which it will.
Time heals all
And the memory of her will live on through the stories we tell of her courage.
She will find a way to enter your life.
She was loyal to you in the end
The world is a sadder place for not experiencing your brave sister.
Love,
Mark
Sister Laticia
Blue Habit
I remembered someone I said goodbye to that wore a blue habit, cerulean during the summer, prussian during the winter.
She was a nun.
Of all my teachers in the past, the nuns are the ones I remembered the most.
They were the only teachers I ever raised my hands for. I knew they would notice if I didn't answer and so I participated.
Sister Laticia was a young nun I remember, who did something unforgettable.
Sister gave me a hug to say goodbye, and gave me her Bible.
I have been given two Bibles in my life, hers and Myra's.
Bible
Both of them wrote notes inside the Bible.
They both studied.
They were testing the truth of what they wrote, out in the world beyond the Holy Words.
A crease in the page, a line underlined, a note made to the side, anything to remind them to read again.
Experiences are a page from our life.
The Bible and life are similar, in the sense that the effort put into studying will show in the understanding.
The effort one makes is the reward one receives.
If one can understand the experience, the words will have meaning.
Words are a reflection of one's understanding, not the other way around.
The Truth of oneself,
the beliefs one hold,
guide through life,
proven by action,
tested by repetition.
I think good teachers try to inspire, not impose.
Perhaps that was why Sister gave me her Bible when she said goodbye.
I received her gift and made a promise to myself.
I matched Sister Laticia's gesture of kindness and read the Bible, from cover to cover, before I left the faith.
Unfortunately, I was never a great student.
I study things the only way I know how, passively and with frugality.
Maybe Sister Laticia was the type of teacher that made all her students feel special, and perhaps it happened to be my turn.
I don't know.
I only know that she created a memory that lasted, and did not get lost with all my other school days of past.
This is what I can recall.
I decided to answer a question that day.
I rarely answered.
After I raised my hand and gave the answer, she was so excited that she told my classmates to wait.
She pulled me out into the empty hallway.
I was just as confused as everyone else, but I followed her lead.
Sister Laticia knocked on the door to disrupt another class in session.
This moment was important enough to break a pattern.
She knocked on the door to tell a colleague something she didn't want to forget.
A startled older nun, who's name I cannot remember, opened the door.
The older teacher listened patiently to the explanation given by Sister Laticia.
The nun asked me what my answer was, which I repeated.
She seemed less impressed, but patiently thanked us for the moment.
After that I don’t remember anything else about that day.
I learned something though, which I have never forgotten. The first answer, unrehearsed, holds the power of the moment.
I remember just making an observation about a religious painting and the story that didn't match.
Before Sister Laticia left for another parish, she drove to my house and rang the bell.
My mother called my name.
She said I had someone here to see me.
I was startled to see Sister.
I never knew her very well.
Sister Laticia handed me her Bible intently and then she hugged me.
I gave her the same hug I gave my wife's sister, when we said goodbye to one another.
It was a long hug.
I am sure it was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity.
It was a moment where we both hoped we would remember each other in the future, a wish to never forget each other.
I never forgot Sister Laticia, nor will I ever forget Myra.
I don't forget sincerity.
Timeline
Started: 5/1/23
Completed: 2/10/25
Days: 651 days
Genre: Obituary
