End of Life

I signed on as a hospice volunteer a year ago. I told them "let me help these people write their memoirs."

So a year later I finally get the call. She is a lovely woman, very Catholic. I'll call her Carol.

People expect hospice volunteer work to be depressing. This experience was what I expected - very much the opposite.

I knew in my heart all such visits would be completely about the individual and not about me. I felt it was a time to be silent and just listen.

But Carol sensed that I had lost someone I loved - she thought maybe my son. She could tell it was someone very close. I told her last May I lost my Gram who raised me. I told her that since she left she has rattled paintings, shaken my bed and visited me in my dreams.

I laughed and told her Gram hasn't changed a bit. Carol seemed surprised and comforted.

She told me she didn't have much time left and I told her she was at the holiest time of her life. It was a wonderful visit, but she was very frail. I expected to be able to be there an hour, but she weakened significantly after only 45 minutes.

Sunday is our day. Last Sunday I called her aide to make sure she'd be up to it. She said Carol was looking forward to the visit VERY MUCH! She would be disappointed if I couldn't make it. I assured her I would. I packed up my laptop and headed out.

When I got there Carol was indisposed. The aide was busy with her. Her son and husband were upset ... I waited 30 minutes, but the situation didn't improve. The son apologized profusely. Which was so unnecessary.

Carol is an elegant woman in her 80s - still very beautiful and mentally sharp. It pained me that she has to go through this. In my head, death is painful, like birth. (If it is painful for the mother, how can it not be painful for the infant?)

It is painful as we enter a new plane of existence.

Her son said he was sorry I had "come for nothing." I didn't feel that way.

Today I called and the aide and son picked up at the same time. It sounded like the son wanted me there, but Carol had told her aide she wasn't up to company.

Once the son hung up, the aide told me "Carol is seeing her mother clear as a bell. She says she's very beautiful. She's seeing other relatives who have passed as well and is afraid she's going crazy."

The aide told me Carol is still very much aware of what's happening in this life - knows names, knows her son and his wife just had a child.

I said "good, they're all with her. All that remains is for those who love her to tell her it's OK to go." I imagine she has mixed feelings about leaving a new grandchild.

The aide told me she had just had her own "dream visit" from a friend the night before. She said she puts her nose to Carol's nose and tells her everything will be alright.

I said "You will be the perfect angel." I gave her my number in case they want me to stop by. I don't know if Carol has any "peaks" left.

I'm a little sad I haven't had time to tell her about an experience I had that would give her great comfort.

About ten years ago I saw in the newspaper where Janet, mother of my dearest childhood friend, had died. We had all been out of touch for decades. I told my Gram we should go. The funeral was to take place at St. Leonard's at the end of my Gram's street; the street I grew up on.

The church was darkened and quiet. As we walked down the aisle to Janet's coffin, my friend's brother remembered me and enthusiastically called me by name. "Little Stevie Spurgeon" towered above me. He remembered my Gram as well. "Hello Ethel!!"

He walked us up to the coffin and said "she's in a better place."

A lifelong smoker, she had died of lung cancer.

My Gram said "what do you mean 'better place' - SHE'S DEAD!" I was mortified, but I knew she was in great fear of death. It's amazing how many people who have been religious all their lives are fearful towards the end. There is such a huge difference between being religious and being spiritual.

There were about 30 mourners at the funeral. As I said, lights were dim ... I kept having a problem with my eyes (this never happens) ... I kept seeing rainbows around all the lights and candles. I remember blinking hard to make it go away - but it didn't. This went on for some time.

After the service, my childhood girlfriend told me her father had died a few years earlier. He was deeply spiritual and had trained for the priesthood before meeting Janet. They would go on to have five children.

My friend told me he was so spiritual he saw "death" as "his next big adventure." He promised when he got to the other side, he would send rainbows.

I can't think about it now without smiling.

Maybe I'll still get a chance to tell Carol about it; but - either way - I know she's in good hands on both sides.