Dying with Grace

Dear God:

Me again.  How do I do this?   This is not what I meant when I asked you to cut me some slack. It’s gone from bad to worse, and I’m going to have to make a very difficult decision soon.  People are offering suggestions and wanting me to give them some hope to cling to, some reassurance that we still have some time.  Others don’t trust me and I’m worried they will hate me for telling them the truth and for doing what Sheila wants.  Why is it so hard to do what someone else wants?  I want her to live!  I want to shirk this onerous duty.  But I also am glad to serve her and to be the one trusted to do what she wished, to let her pass into the next world with dignity and grace.  

How do you watch someone you love die?  What do you say to everyone?   What do you say to the person dying?   She’s not in pain. She’s at peace.  I feel such conflicting emotions. Part of me wants to hold onto her and keep her with us in this world.   And go on believing the doctors can fix her and that she’ll be with us for years to come, at holiday tables and great grandkids birthdays, reminiscing about past holidays with loved ones who’ve already gone on.  And then I won’t need to tell anyone she’s gone or break anyone’s heart.  And I won’t have to face her house or make phone  calls  or do all the planning that goes hand in hand with leaving this world.  

But part of me, most of me actually, knows the truth.  That I cannot keep her here with me because she’s already reaching for Christ’s loving arms, that she’s eager to go home, to be with her mom and her husband and her grandson and everyone else who has gone before her.  I see the peace in her face as she lies sleeping, the lines that only two days ago were creased into her face from the pain, now completely smooth, her breathing deep and slow and quiet, such a stark contrast to the rapid, loud gasps from last night.  I watch her bring her hands to her face and then gently down onto mine, and I look into her eyes, eyes that look right past me.  And when she speaks I strain to hear and understand what she says, to no avail.  She gets an exasperated look on her face,  shakes her head, and says never mind, dismissing me with a roll of her eyes, a slight smile, and a weak wave of her hand.  I hear her carry on conversations with people unseen, and she tells me in a brief, lucid moment she’s been thinking about Patrick.  And my heart breaks for her when, she asks about Dad, and then she suddenly realizes he is gone, and suffers the agonizing heartache of loss all over again; her face crumples and tears slide down her face as she remembers he’s no longer here.  

Watching someone you love begin to die is hard, inordinately hard, but also so very precious. To be here during this time, as all pretenses of being okay just fall away, is so humbling, so special.  To watch this woman, who has been more of a mother to me than my own mom, transition from fighting the cancer that is destroying her to accepting the inevitable, no, welcoming it, is something I will never forget and will always cherish.     

Sincerely and as always, with great thankfulness

Your child