Her son greeted me warmly at the door. As soon as I entered the house, I felt like I had stepped into a sanctuary of grace. It was very calm, and the energy in the room was not heavy with sadness. An old dog was curled up, basking in the sun streaming through the patio window. Classical music was softly playing. The fragrant smell of fresh bread came from the kitchen.
I quietly slipped into her room. The light was dim with just candles burning. I walked over and sat in the chair next to her bed, taking hold of her frail, outstretched hand. She was surrounded by soft, fleece blankets and big pillows which cushioned her gaunt, eighty-pound frame. Though her body had almost dissolved, her radiance filled the room, drawing us in. As I sat beside her, her soft eyes looked deeply into mine and we sat there for a long time, not uttering a word.
Finally, her surprisingly firm voice said, “Hello and who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Candace, a nurse from hospice,” I replied. “I’ve come to see how are you feeling today?”
“Wonderful. I am just wonderful. I feel like I am at a posh resort. They take such good care of me here,” she beamed, looking at her son and daughter-in-law.
Then she fingered the turquoise pendant hanging around my neck. “That’s beautiful,” she said. “Yes, it is,” I responded. “Would you like to have it?”
“Nah…I’m dying you know. No need for bling,” she replied with a twinkle in her eye.
“How is your pain,” I asked.
“It’s not bad. They have good drugs in this place,” she replied, laughing.
“I’ve also come to change the dressing over that pressure sore on your bottom. Would you mind if I did that?” I asked. “I wouldn’t mind, but I don’t want anyone else looking at my bony bottom,” she teased. I’m very vain, you know.
Her son crawled into bed with her and gently and tenderly turned her over on her side where he held her close to him while I carefully replaced the dressing. “Isn’t he the best!” she exclaimed, as they nuzzled each other.
When we turned her back over, her eyes closed. It didn’t take much to tire her out. I continued to sit quietly by her side. She had whammied me and I felt caught in her spell. I realized that I did not want to leave.
Reluctantly I returned to the living room to finish my notes. Her son joined me. “She is always like that,” he said. “Everyone who sees her can’t leave, and when they do they feel like they have been given a priceless gift.”
“She has been the best mother anyone could have ever had. There is no unfinished business between us. Now in these remaining days we just enjoy and love each other. When she isn’t so tired she sings me songs that she used to sing me when I was a little child. I have taken a leave of absence from work. The most important thing I can do in my life right now is to accompany her on this final journey. It is an opportunity for me to repay her kindness,” he said with tears in his eyes.”
The visit was over and I bid them goodbye. One week later I received word that she had passed away in the arms of her son and daughter-in-law. They asked that we not call the mortuary until the following day. They wanted time with her body as they had promised her they would carry out some ceremonies after she passed.
Twenty-four hours later they called me. “You seemed to have had such a strong connection with my mother,” he said. “Would it be possible for you to come and help us bathe and dress her before the mortuary comes?” “Yes, of course, I would be honored. I’ll be right there.”
When I went to her bedside I was struck with how peaceful she looked. We bathed her in rose scented water and rubbed her favorite lotion all over her body. Then we dressed her in a silk, turquoise dress that she had worn to their wedding last year. They picked flowers from the garden and adorned her as a final touch. Now it was time to let her go…
I have received some very precious advice as a hospice nurse. When you take time before entering a house to pause and empty yourself of personal agendas and expectations, you can more readily receive what a family is ready to give you. She and her family generously showed me that it is possible to face death with humor and a loving heart, without fear—indeed, a priceless gift…
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