My Own Death

This week, Mrs. G was resting when I arrived so I sat by her bed. When she stirred I talked to her a little. I read her some Mary Oliver poetry which she seemed okay with. I stopped when she started knocking on the wall. I asked her about where she was born in the Philippines and she told me a little about the islands. She asked who I was and why I came so I told her I was there to visit her and love her and to give A a little break. We talked about how great A was, what a good son. She started repeating the last line of everything I said, which I assume is a symptom of her condition(s). So I started reciting the 23rd Psalm, and when I did, she grabbed my hand and held on tightly. I pulled up another Psalm on my phone and read another one slowly so she could repeat the lines. She held my hand in both her hands for over an hour and we just said Psalms. When she got tired, she stopped speaking but she still held my hand. I continued to read her Bible verses that were comforting and encouraging. A came in and said he had dinner ready for his mom. She didn't want to let go of my hands! He noticed and said she only holds on to someone like that when she feels very safe and secure. That made me feel good. I kissed her and told her I would be back to visit soon.

This was the most connection I've been able to make with Mrs. G since I started volunteering two months ago. She really seemed to absorb the words I was reciting like a dry plant sucking in water. It felt like the words were a lifeline for her, a light in the darkness as she lay in her hospital bed, only somewhat aware of her surroundings. I try to imagine what this part of life is like for her. Her mental faculties seem to come and go so I feel at a loss when I do this exercise, but I do feel that the spiritual words are sustenance for her. Whether it's prayer, poetry, psalms or other bible verses, she appreciates the thoughts and beliefs I know she has as a devout Catholic made manifest on my lips. 

I told her that I pray for her throughout the week and that I light candles for her in church and she said I was very nice and kind to do so. She appreciates the ritual and outward signs of religion that are important to so many Catholics. 

As I try to imagine what this must be like for her, I cannot help but think of my own inevitable death. What will incapacitate me? What will have me lying in a bed, just waiting for the end? What will I think about if I am able to think? What will fill my days? Is there anything I can do to prepare? It's not like I can practice. I'll be an amateur.

Will I be scared? I will probably be frightened or terrified. I imagine everything I have been will come up in front of my mind's eye. I will seek comfort and reassurance. I know of a few things that will help me. 

One will be thinking about my family and friends, about the love I have experienced -- given and received. It will help me to think about my work and my vocation because I value that so much. I will consider the beauty I have been privileged to know and the beauty of this world. I am sure that no matter how many years I will have lived, I will not want to part from the miraculous wonder of this earth. To not experience the freshness of morning, the beauty of plants, the rhythmic majesty of the ocean, the love of pets -- that will be hard to leave trusting that what comes next can even hold a candle to what I have known here. 

I have always been on a search for the meaning of life. I have studied the world's great religions and there is one scripture verse that give me great peace as I have casted about for meaning, purpose and direction: 

Micah 6:8 "He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" (NRSV)

This is the whole purpose and aim of life. To walk humbly with God. Not to sit and reflect forever on angels and rainbows. To engage in life, to walk, to move through it actively WITH our God. What could be more of an invitation to participation? What could be a greater privilege and purpose? 

I have always felt God in my life, giving me direction. I have felt purpose and guidance as the ground under my being and the air I breathe and the days I move through. I cannot know what my own death will be like, but I hope when it comes I still have this knowledge, deep in my being, of God's presence with me. For that is our whole purpose - to be with God and to be aware of it. What a gift!