Ruth and Billy Graham's Final Farewell

By Nancy Gibbs and Michael Duffy

"No matter how prepared you think you are for the death of a loved one, it still comes as a shock," Billy Graham observes, "and it still hurts very deeply." Ruth and Billy would have been married 64 years this month. He called her his soul mate and best friend; she was also a woman who could keep him humble, help swat away the temptations and ego trips and the offers from moguls who wanted to make him a movie star or talk-show host. She was a fierce warrior for Jesus, the kind of woman who once tried to hide a broken arm from Billy because she didn't want him to know she had gone hang gliding and who referred to her chosen burial place as her "launching pad." We asked him how he was coping since her death in June. "I realize now," Graham replied, "in a way I never could have before, that a very important part of me has been taken away." And so he has a new tenderness for all those who mourn, that they will be comforted.

Billy used to tell people he wasn't afraid of death but was maybe a little scared of the process of dying. Ruth turned 87 on June 10 and was in rare form that day, celebrating with him and various children home from their world travels. But she was frailer than ever before after a bout of pneumonia, and that night, as evening came, she started to slip. The next day, the feeding tube that had made it possible for her to be cared for at home came out as she was shifting in bed; she told the nurse she didn't want the tube put back in. She had struggled for a long time, longer than nature might have intended. The rest of the family talked it over and consulted with the doctors. In the end they agreed that the tube would be replaced but only to deliver pain medicine, no more food or fluids.

Three days later, Billy and their five sons and daughters were ringed around Ruth's bed, reading Scripture, singing "Great Is Thy Faithfulness," a hymn sung by millions of people at Graham's crusades. Finally, at twilight, she took a few last breaths. Billy leaned over and kissed her cheek and her forehead. He asked his children to sing the doxology with him, and they struggled through it, praising God, "from whom all blessings flow." The cat that had been shooed away from the bed for months was now allowed to jump on and curl up beside her. And then the family lit a fire in her fireplace, just the way she had liked it. "I know God has prepared a home for her in heaven," Billy told his friends at her burial. "I just hope she saves a room for me."

Grief is a demanding guest in an old man's house. Let sorrow settle in, and in time it no longer feels like home. His daughters had the hospital bed removed and restored Ruth's room as it used to be, warm and inviting, not sad, so it looks as if she's just away on a long trip. It was Billy's habit, through all their decades of work and travel, to call her every evening at about 5. These days, as twilight rolls around, he finds himself wanting to pick up the phone and call her and then remembering that he can't. "Sometimes I'll be preoccupied with something, and suddenly I'll be reminded of her for some reason," he says, "and I'll find myself almost overwhelmed." One way he copes, he says, is by thanking God for the years they had together. "They are over now -- but God was good in giving us to each other, and I want to be grateful for those memories and not suppress them." He has pulled out some of his favorite pictures of Ruth and put them on his desk to remind himself.

We asked him whether, with all our advanced medical technology, we perhaps fear death and fight it too much. "I think we often do," he said. "I'm convinced that in some cases we aren't so much prolonging life but prolonging death." Over his long life he has endured some serious medical crises; he now has Parkinson's disease and prostate cancer and a shunt to drain excess water from his brain. "I'm thankful for the incredible advances in medicine that have taken place during my lifetime. I almost certainly wouldn't still be here if it weren't for them," he says. "And I believe God has given them to us because he loves us and wants what is best for us, both in this life and the next. But death is a reality common to us all, and for me as a Christian it isn't something to be feared, because I know what lies ahead for me beyond the grave."

Graham has always been one to keep looking forward and not get stuck in the past. He's thinking about fixing up the house or writing another book -- he has already written close to 30. "Over the years I've seen people lose a spouse and then withdraw and lose interest in life," he says, "and I believe we need to resist that." But it has become clear that a man who spent his life teaching people how to live is now in a position to show people how to die, with hope for an eternal kingdom that is no longer a theological abstraction to him. Heaven is where Ruth is. "Someday soon I will join her," he says. "Most of all, I take comfort in the hope we can have of eternal life in Heaven because of Christ's death and resurrection for us. I've preached this message almost all my life, and it means more to me now than ever before."