Once again, I unwillingly find myself here. This time the chair has a leather cushion. The beige room has just one extra large framed geometric print. The only window overlooks the northern Philadelphia skyline. The people beside me are different too. But the scene within these four walls is the same. I am sitting beside a person I love who’s struggling with his last breaths. Whoever said, “Third time’s a charm” was for sure not referring to this particular scenario.
I know this drill. As I said, I have been here before. I’ve read “Gone From My Sight; The Dying Experience” which is more commonly referred to as “The Little Blue Book”. I’ve been schooled on what signs to be on the lookout for, and their potential meaning. I notice staff gently walk into the room as if the floor were covered in eggshells. I hear their carefully worded questions to glean important details about their newest charge. I watch their eyes carefully, for they speak the unspoken.
I know Hospice workers too. They are the ones who quietly swoop in to care for those experiencing advanced, life-limiting illness. They keep their patients comfortable during their last bit of life here. Their primary language is compassion; saying enough to comfort loved ones, but never too much. They speak in hushed tones while navigating a room filled with loved ones sitting vigil. These super humans measure time in minutes, hours and days. Patience and empathy are their super powers. Hospice caregivers have hearts of gold and a special talent to walk even though they have angel wings to fly.
I don’t remember much these days, but I remember this. Every minute feels like an eternity, yet it seems like no time has passed at all. I find myself counting breaths, searching for a pulse and noticing the temperature of the hand I've been holding onto so dearly. My heart replays happier memories on a loop. My inner voice makes deals with God. I call on all my angels to help the transition from here to there, wherever there is.
Of course you must know I have my own concept of “there.” You're greeted by all those you’ve loved who arrived before you; think wedding reception line. The weather is your version of a perfect day. It is a place where time no longer matters so reunions and hugs can last forever. Tables are filled with every single food you have ever loved. Your favorite scents fill the air. You are led to the coziest room you've ever seen and snuggle up with all your past pets to view your Life movie. Afterwards, you meet with an angel to discuss the highlights and lowlights, answer a few questions, explain a few actions and receive your report card. Your grade determines the amount of time or community service you must serve before being ushered to the heavenly gates. Some may spend eternity at this stage whilst others may sail right on past.
It is at those gates you are handed your Angel Star card. Similar to a credit card except your balance is angel stars awarded based on your level of human kindness, compassion and heart. These stars are used to perform miracles on earth. Sitting beside your loved one during their darkest hour. Turning a traffic light red to avoid a dangerous accident you know will be up ahead. Flickering a light bulb, leaving your scent or a special token, selecting a song on the car radio or visiting in a dream.
I wish you a smooth transition Dad and a receiving line as long as the horizon. Please spend a few of your million angel stars to let us know you've arrived safely.
with a melancholy heart,
Just a few important things you should know about my father-in -law: Jerry H. Stoutland (5/1/29-1/24/21) was a true “gentle” man. I recall meeting him many years ago. He was Lutheran—I was Jewish. He was a man of few words—I was a chatterbox. He shook hands— I hugged. But we shared a common love of gardening and his son. Time passed, grandchildren arrived, hugs replaced handshakes and I learned to appreciate the quiet between our conversations. And up until the very end he made sure to mail me a card for every Jewish holiday.
Moral: Actions do indeed speak louder than words.