Guest Blog by Philip Williams

Hogan Hilling
May 12
4 min read

Dear Lani, By Philip Williams

Dear Lani,

It’s 12:55 am on Thursday, February 20, 2025. I am standing next to the hospital bed where you are battling cancer and fighting for your life.

To the left of your bed is our exhausted mom sitting in the chair by the wall, where she is watching her only daughter fighting for her life. She is exhausted and can barely stay awake. As mom periodically dozes off, I watch in agony as you slip in and out of consciousness and utter “uh-uh”… “uh-uh”… as you’re telling God “Not Yet…Not Yet”…

During one moment of consciousness, you reached out to me and softly caressed my hand as if to say, “Thanks for being here.” All the while, not knowing it would be the last time I’d feel any sign of life from you.

I sat in the chair at the foot of your hospital bed in view of the screen that was monitoring your vital signs.

With every breath “Lil Sis” you took, I begged God to give you another chance to live longer. I know I’m your younger brother, but I affectionately call you “Lil Sis” because I am physically bigger than you and have always been your protective brother.

At 1:04 am, I lovingly look at your beautiful, angelic face and suddenly see an angelic cloud of peace hovering over you.

One minute later, at 1:05 am, your heart monitor reads Asystole. Being your favorite firefighter, I realized you had gone into cardiac arrest, which is usually irreversible and means that your heart is about to take its last beat.

I immediately looked at Mom. She read my face and asked, “Is she gone”?

“Yes, mom,” I said with great anguish.

My world immediately collapsed.

While I saw mom breathe a sigh of relief that you were no longer suffering, I wasn’t as composed. I kissed you and threw my arms around your lifeless body and unleashed a series of screams that summoned 10,000 Angels to comfort me and cried a heavy cry. The tears flowed like a waterfall down my cheeks.

I heard my cries bouncing and echoing off the walls throughout the hospital. Each tear felt as if it were ripping my heart out of my chest. Even as I write this essay, I can still feel that wrenching pain of losing you.

Then I heard that 3-letter word, which kept bouncing around in my head, prompting one question after another: “Why?”

“Why did you have to go now?”

“Why did it have to be you to leave this way?”

“Why not me?”

I would rather have died than lose you so soon.

You and I had a special sibling bond. I never imagined that someday you’d no longer be a part of my life.

I felt as though there was much more for us to do together as brother and sister. But the reality is that life here on Earth doesn’t last forever. Death is inevitable, and now it’s time for God to be your “Big Brother” and take care of you.

After mom and I said our goodbyes and finished crying, mom courageously called dad and shared the sad news of your passing.

Dad immediately drove to the hospital.

When he walked into your room, he looked at you and then turned to me and fell into my arms, sobbing profusely.

A few minutes later, Dad embraced Mom, and they cried together. Then I embraced both of them. And together with the Angels who carried your soul to Heaven, we comforted each other.

News of your passing traveled quickly. Our other siblings and closest friends arrived at the hospital to say goodbye and share their condolences with us. As I watched them mourn your death, my eyes stayed affixed to your lifeless body.

While I appreciated everyone’s efforts to comfort me, I didn’t want to be touched…I didn’t want anyone to talk to me…I just wanted to look at you and watch you sleep in peace.

Then it dawned on me. Hours before you passed away, you had been trying to tell Mom and me that it was time for you to leave this world and be with God. Apparently, you knew it was time because you had written the date Thursday, February 20, 2025, on the wall of your home.

Amid the grief of those who mourned your death, I began to relish the memories I shared with you and the people you touched and helped as a missionary and ordained minister, spreading God’s words and encouraging them to live a Godly life. Your angelic heart prayed for those less fortunate, who struggled with life, and the sick. You also prayed for your doctors and medical staff who attempted to heal your cancer and prolong your life. And they also prayed for you. But alas, it was your time to go.

I always thought you were one of the most interesting people I had ever known. Mom always said that you were an Angel on loan to us from Heaven. Looking back on your life, I believe it's true.