For several years Bill and I had planned to move closer to our son’s family when we retired. We owned a home nearby and remodeling was first up. Bill is a general contractor, cabinet maker, ultimate handy man — this project was his baby. He retired first and so began to draw, measure, collaborate with experts, and make many trips north to begin work. Then I retired and, in September, we made trips together, “camping” in the back bedroom during the demolition days. We were so happy about the prospect of retired life in a beautiful town, building a new life together with our family.

As the weeks passed I noticed that Bill wasn’t as happy or energetic about this work as we both expected. It seemed he did more resting than working. I am so sorry now that I complained about his lack of enthusiasm. He blamed it on age, his back, and probably more. I reminded him he wasn’t that old (65) and the work would build muscle. How were we to ever finish the project if we couldn’t redeem the few hours per visit? I often told myself that timing is always in God’s hands.

By November, Bill had lost over 40 pounds. It became apparent, that the remodel project was not to happen, at least by his hand and in any time soon. On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving he came home from a game of golf with our boys and collapsed on the loveseat in our bedroom. He was absolutely spent. What was happening?

We scheduled a visit to Bill’s primary care doctor. Upon a routine exam, the doctor found nothing alarming, ordered a few tests, and told him to eat cheeseburgers and milkshakes. Bill submitted to negative test after negative test. We put him on a high calorie diet. We walked the hallway together for exercise. It was grueling. The regiment wasn’t working. We watched Bill grow weaker. From the front porch he waved a wobbly hand to our kids and me as we pulled away to attend the Christmas morning service.

In January, we became desperate logging every meal, every activity, and every sign of decline to report to anyone for medical advice. But, we could not get the attention of doctors. No one knew what to do for him, didn’t seem to want to tackle the problem. We were left to ourselves.

Until one morning when, in our usual chairs, I cried out to God with more fervor than I have ever cried to Him before. “This is the day, Lord God. Today, You must rescue us. Today, You have to show us what to do. We need you NOW! Help us!”

Maybe 30 minutes after that prayer time, our son, Jeffrey called. He knew and had spoken to a former UC Davis hospital administrator who recognized Bill’s symptoms and gave Jeffrey instructions for us, urging us to act immediately. So, I packed a quick bag for both of us and drove the hour in rain to try to get Bill admitted to a prestigious hospital where no one can be admitted without a referral. We had no referral. We had no medical records. We had no real information. We had nothing but a plan… and God.

Bill lived in the emergency cubicle of the hospital for 3 days and then was finally admitted. The grateful heart I had for that answered prayer, boosts my faith every time I recall it. Over the next 2 weeks he endured the most horrendous (considering his condition) round-the-clock tests, met many doctors, and received excellent, kind care. The attending staff was stumped. Bill was an anomaly. The puzzle pieces were missing. In the end, the first test and subsequent hypothesis, proved to be the correct one. Bill had an acute form of a neurological disease for which there is no cure – Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, otherwise known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s Disease. Our son, Jordan stood beside us as the news was delivered. He caught me, held me, comforted his dad and moved us forward inch by inch.

Devastated, but not without peace, Bill and I and our family prayed for courage and help. We began a journey of trust. Just 2 days after the diagnosis, the journey took us back home to spend our days on hospice care. Our sons met us there, met our nurse, and made practical arrangements before they left again to their own homes. Bill and I determined to cling to our God and each other and handle each day as a gift. We didn’t know then, but there were only a few left. Five months of them left. Five months. I will be forever thankful for five beautiful months.