"Gone From My Sight"

There is a wonderful booklet given to all families when one of their loved ones is admitted to hospice. It's called Gone From My Sight. I almost wish I'd had a copy sooner than I did. It's the best preparation you can get. The following is in this booklet, among other extremely useful things . . .

"I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!”

“Gone where?”

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: “There, she is gone!” There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!”

And that is dying."

                          ~Henry Van Dyke

At the urging of some of my readers, I finally feel compelled to tell you what the final hours and minutes are really like from an observers view, knowing that some of you have been there, but many have not. I'm weary just thinking of how many will feel that they didn't do all they could have, or say the things they needed to before, as I said in my last blog . . . it's too late. Those are the worst 3 words in anyone's vocabulary. Some of what I'll write is culled from others, mainly because I've alluded to my own thoughts in previous posts. I realize that some just plum don't care to deal with it, but it's one of the givens in life, and it doesn't have to be depressing. For some unknown (or maybe not so unknown) reason, my "pay it forward" path has been chosen for me, and I see that as a *goodness*.

I've been approached by family members asking if they should leave the wife alone with her husband, that it seemed as if they're all there only for themselves. My opinion was that it's up to the wife, if she feels she has made her peace, and that family is a comfort to her husband, it's her decision if he's unable to talk. But, if death is imminent, and things have been left unsaid, I would prefer to be alone.

I've been asked, "how can you tell when the time is drawing near?" Everyone's passing is different, but some things seem to be universal . . . eyes glazed and half open, more labored breathing (more phlegm as time goes on), some are restless, they never fully awaken again, and appear to be on a real mission. Some remain aware longer than others, giving you a last chance to converse, even if only one-sided. But remember . . . hearing really IS the last thing to go. Assuming they have unfinished business, or are worried about you, the absolute greatest gift you can give them are these words: "Please don't worry about me, you know I'll be okay. It's alright for you to go when you're ready." 

I sat with a veteran last night who had no family. I knew he'd be lucky to make it through the night. I wanted to stay, and would have if I hadn't found someone else who would sit with him, or at least check on him. I had to work the next morning, but I'd have done it! I was close in my estimate . . . he passed away early the next morning. 

This is all I have left of that Navy man, and he was squeezing hard . . .

 From "The Eleventh Hour" ~

"Walk with me to the water,

When it comes my time.

What we say will not matter,

Just keep your hand in mine.

I’ll cross the water by myself,

I know that’s what I must do.

But the chilling sting won’t be felt,

Because I’ve walked with you."

~Nellie Keller

This, too, has much to say on behalf of the survivor, not only for friends, but family as well. Sometimes, most times, advice is just not wanted or required. Your touch, your presence, your trust, and your caring are all that are needed. 

My Friend, I Care . . .

Don’t tell me that you understand
Don’t tell me that you know.
Don’t tell me that I will survive, how I will surely grow.

Don’t tell me this is just a test,
That I am truly blessed,
That I am chosen for this task,
Apart from all the rest.

Don’t come at me with answers
That can only come from me,
Don’t tell me how my grief will pass
That I will soon be free.

Don’t stand in pious judgment
Of the bounds I must untie,
Don’t tell me how to suffer,
And don’t tell me how to cry.

My life is filled with selfishness,
My pain is all I see,
But I need you, I need your love,
Unconditionally.

Accept me in my ups and downs,
I need someone to share,
Just hold my hand; and let me cry,
And say, “My friend, I care.”

      ~Joanette Hendel

No, it isn't easy to be in the humbling presence of death. But it is indeed inevitable. And yes, there are many unknowns, but "Grace Under Pressure" has served me well. I hope it's a comfort to you.