Reflection, the day after

December 15, 2010

As I knelt at the side of my mother’s bed in the Care Unit of Pittsboro Christian Village it occurred to me that I should be paying attention to what I was feeling and thinking during her final hours.  Since I had not “done this before” - this attending to a loved one during her final moments of life – the time invested merited reflection.  While I had been present during my sister’s final days, she was in a coma up to the end and, frankly, we didn’t know as much then about how better to interact with, or bring comfort to, a dying person – even to one whom we thought to be out of hearing. 

     However, with gratitude for the excellent suggestions from UNC Hospice I learned that hearing is the sensory ability last to go as the body dies.  Thus, I felt equipped to offer appropriate care by: singing hymns and spiritual songs to Mom, reading or reciting Scripture, reminiscing of happy and shared moments, or by simply sitting nearby perhaps merely holding her hand.  I apologized to her for feeling guilty that I had not recognized in her developing weakness, lethargy, or memory issues symptoms of heart failure and need of expert attention.  In this the Lord overruled, I believe, for she did not fall nor did she suffer lengthy illness or ravaging pain in her last days or months.  Rather, her final days seemed to have been spent largely comfortably with only the expected pain or discomfort of her body shutting down.

            “Shut down” was a phrase supplied by the UNC Hospice team to help us understand some of what was happening inside her.  Apparently, a dying body may be aware of dying such that it diverts energy from one part of the body to another, where it is more needed.   

On the physical plane, the body begins the final process of shutting down, which will end when all the physical systems cease to function. Usually this is an orderly and undramatic progressive series of physical changes which are not medical emergencies requiring invasive interventions. These physical changes are a normal, natural way in which the body prepares itself to stop, and the most appropriate kinds of responses are comfort enhancing measures.

To consider that the body is engaging in an “orderly… progressive series of changes” as its way of “normally, naturally” handling its own decline borders on astonishing.  It is one small part of creation’s magnificence and mystery that prompts reverence for the Creator-heavenly Father. This information about the body’s changes is readily available, though  I simply had not had occasion or motivation to discover it previously.

     Something else surprised me: I felt no discomfort in being so close to death.  On the contrary, previous visits to assisted living facilities or hospital units where suffering or dying ones were being cared for had usually unsettled me.  Perhaps being with friend Max two years ago during his final days served as preparation.  At any rate I felt no aversion to being close, kissing mother on the forehead, holding her hand or simply studying her face – a face that bore the expression of someone other than the mother I cherished.

     We spent much time there in that small room with her, occasionally leaving for a hot drink, a phone conversation or to stretch one’s legs.  That I was there for so many hours without feeling “bored” or that I needed to “get back to work” must be God’s grace in operation.  It reminds me of visiting friends in South Korea for several weeks in 2006.  About half way through the visit I realized that my “job” was not to teach, encourage, disciple, or give pastoral care but to learn, listen and receive what my hosts offered – to be still.  Similarly in Mom’s situation, I was to cease other activity and be still, while quietly reviewing for Mom, myself and all within hearing the hope of the Gospel in Jesus.  At one point I felt like lifting my fist at the Enemy to speak loudly, “Death is swallowed up in Life!” from 1 Corinthians 15, the great resurrection chapter.

     Despite the hours that Jenny, I and Tim (and later Carolyn) particularly, invested in this life passage, we were not actually present when Mom uttered her final breath.  The [Pittsboro Christian Village] care staff was so compassionate and competent to offer regular, personal assistance to Mom, especially when much of her bodily functions were out of her control.  So when two of the nurse’s aides asked permission to do just that on late Tuesday morning, we stepped into the hall.  After only a couple of minutes, the healthcare administrator strode by us on his way to Mom’s room – apparently having been summoned - and motioned for us to follow.  When I looked into the room at Mother, I knew that her spirit had departed; she had crossed over from time to the timeless, from being broken to being whole, from dying to living – forever!

     Without another thought I entered the room and knelt one last time.  Then from deep within me – and rather unexpectedly – weeping began.  I remember thinking at the time that I was surprised that such emotion would come over me, especially after all the months of watching her health decline.  Did I think that I had already grieved her departure?  But why should I be surprised that I had truly cared for my mother, that I was feeling a confusing combination of relief and gladness for her, wonder at the hope of the resurrection, sadness that her participation at the Village had been so brief, and probably some relief for Jenny and me who had borne her care-giving for three years that we were being released from that responsibility.  So I let the tears run down my cheeks with no sense of embarrassment.  I remember Tim gently squeezing my arm, “It’s ok, Scott”.  But my tears were less about grief than they were from love.  And yes, it was ok to shed those tears.

     This song by Fernando Ortega came to me early this morning, the first after Mom’s passing:

One morning when time is done
Bright heaven will be our refuge
The city of God most high

I long for that holy day
This longing sometimes it captures my heart and carries me far away

Beyond the sky Beyond all telling
Our Father himself will be our light
His arms will hold us and with his hands
He'll wipe away the tears that stain our eyes

When darkness falls over me this promise
It's like a fire inside burning the dark away

Beyond the sky Beyond all telling
Our Father himself will be our light
His arms will hold us and with his hands He'll wipe away the tears
That stain our eyes