Myrtle

She has rested her head at a little nursing home in Tualatin, Oregon, for who knows how long. Her missionary plaque hangs on the wall, little known to the staff that that lady is this lady. The one lying coma-like in a bed-- she tramped across the Southern States for two years as a latter-day missionary in the 40's.

We'd sing to her. The first time we came, staff told us she didn't talk, but she loved music. She had a picture of President Hinckley on her wall. We sang hymns and primary songs the first time. On our way out the door, Myrtle called out "No!" We brought her a picture of President Monson, telling her about his call to be the current prophet several years ago, probably while she had been listening to music. We told Myrtle about our callings, our lives, about the beauty of the world that we had been told she loved.

She was a professor once. She worked with the boy scouts for many years. So we'd been told. When family came to visit us, we took them to visit Myrtle. Something about her spirit calms you. Everyone feels it--especially staff.Our visits were brief, but Myrtle's peace lingered in our lives for days after our visits.

On Monday, I got a call from the nursing home staff. "Myrtle has stopped swallowing. If you'd like to say goodbye, you'd better come soon." The day had been busy. I felt that we must go--we had to say our goodbyes. The last several times we'd visited, Myrtle didn't even open her eyes. We pulled out of the busy Costco parking lot and drove to Myrtle's bedside. Walking through the doors of the center felt the same as always, the radio playing oldies and that nursing home smell ever present. Old age sat everywhere--it always had, but that day, death felt formidable.

Was she still breathing? There, we saw her, last room to the back. Her pink sheets and bed. She was there. Eyes open. We walked across the thresh hold of the room, and instant Spirit greeted us. A hollowed, hallowed face shone from the bedside. That perfect, smooth skin. . .

"We've come to say goodbye, Myrtle. You must have loved ones here right now," I whispered to Myrtle, acknowledging the thickness of holiness in the room. We sang "Oh My Father," prayed, and left our friend to rise up to eternity.