I wasn’t really in the mood to write tonight. I just sat down to check email. And then, just a few words from a friend triggered a reflective, sentimental, and peaceful feeling in me. And of all things, that feeling is about endings.
It’s the start of back-to- school time around here and that is a beginning. New beginnings, or even repetitive beginnings, can trigger those butterflies in the tummy, those sweaty palms, and the uncertain anxiety. After that initial response, however, beginnings are generally regarded as good stress. It’s how we move forward, how we grow. Beginnings leave us with a positive image and connotation. I think of new friends, new challenges, new opportunities, of firsts with my loving hubby and my kids, of all the places I would have never been without a beginning.
Tonight’s email was from a friend facing an ending. A loved one is in hospice care and will not be with us on this earth much longer. And aware of that, they struggle. They struggle with how to balance the joy of a long, fruitful life with the reality of the infant this man is now. The face the cold, hard job of taking care of someone that by nature, and position as father and grandfather and his other roles, was here to take care of them.
And I grieve for them. For their upcoming loss, for the difficulty involved in watching it, for the logistics of trying to be many places at once, for the hesitation we all feel in knowing what to say or do or how to talk about this all. I share my thoughts and prayers as support for them, as they support each other and complete the basic challenge of getting through another day like this and another, and another…And then enters guilt! Just because we humans get tired and stressed and exhausted from the struggle – it doesn’t mean we wish that loved one wasn’t here. No God, please don’t misunderstand – that’s not what we meant at all. In an eyes-half-open moment while changing an adult’s diaper at 3 am and seeing him in pain – our reluctance wasn’t a wish for it to be over! It’s just human nature. The most fundamental and basic of human feelings and emotions – and a reminder that the only way to survive times such as these are by the Grace of God.
I have fortunately lost very few people that I had a close relationship with. But fortunately (oddly enough I mean that), my work has put me in a place to have many experiences with death and dying. I’ve come to find a beauty in it – a rhythm, or a peace if you will. I’ve had the privilege of sitting vigil with families in the midst of saying good bye. I really do mean privilege. They’ve shared their most private, most difficult, and most hurtful moments with me, as a nurse, as a caregiver. My position brought me into those situations. The connection I felt in my heart has left me with a huge respect for endings and for assisting people, as I am able, to experience that ending in the most helpful and most healthy way possible.
I’ve watched cancer kids rejoice that one more vacation was accomplished before the disease took over – or a graduation, or the start of kindergarten. I’ve seen families start to process their time with their children as a GIFT – a gift of all the days and hours they’ve had – instead of having life stolen from them. I’ve wrapped up babies who’s little hearts have stopped beating and let mommies and daddies hold them until they can feel their goodbye are complete enough to make the next step. I’ve been present when we tell parents a baby so young, born so early, just couldn’t survive, and we are amazed it survived those first 48 hours – and it must have been because he knew what wonderful parents he had. I can still hear a deep, strong voice reading the Bible to his 24 week gestation son in his last hours. We all drew strength from that voice – especially the baby. His vital signs changed when his Daddy read to him, and hung on a little longer while they had that time together.
On a personal note, those experiences like the ones above, prepared me for a couple of my own. I’ve talked to a Youth Group on the night of the death of one of their own, about how we will still celebrate graduation – and Adam’s life – and how we will celebrate those last great moments with him and for him as we move ahead and keep him alive in us. And, most preciously, I’ve bent down and kissed my grandmother while she took her last breaths. As I kissed her, and hugged her, I told her that I owed so much of what I had become to her and the wonderful, beautiful things she had taught me to do and to be. I put my tiny baby son up next to her and let him lay in the hospital bed with her. I had watched my daughters just hours before bring her a photo for Mother’s Day and sing a song they had learned at preschool for her. She told them she loved them, and they, having the honor of knowing their Mamaw Jackson, told her and loved her also. She was buried with that photo.
I will never say I enjoy the experience of death – but I cannot say that I fear it. I revel in it’s beauty and in the peace that comes after we fully love and fully engage ourselves and fully connect. And in that most primitive of connections, we, God’s people, share also the ending, with help and strength from Him and through those he has placed with us.