*Note: I usually don't write about my work on this blog. I try hard to seperate my hospital life from my personal life. But today I had an interaction that so effected me, I am compelled to share it.
Everyone thinks about death is their own way. And because no one knows what happens after we die, every thought or idea is just as valid as the next. Death can be seen as the enemy or a welcome friend. People can lean into death when they know it is their time, or resist it with every fiber in their Spirit. Some see it as the only option and others see it as a last resort. But birth and death are the only universal experiences I know of, and each are truly powerful. Today two close friends of mine are preparing for birth, which fills my soul with happiness. And while I was thinking of them, I was called to speak to someone who is preparing for her next and last experience. Her death.
I encounter birth and death every single day in my work. And once, tragically, I was there for both, when a young patient died much too soon. But birth and death are a part of my everyday life. And they still amaze me. I stare in wonder at the newborns and I am humbled by each death I encounter. I see it every single day but I will never allow them to become common.
Rarely is a chaplain called for a birth, typically my only encounter with the newest of life is when I wonder through the nursery and offer to be a rocker for a fussing baby. But a chaplain is almost always called for death. The need for spiritual guidance during this momentous transformation is powerful. I am called to guide patients and their families during this time and it is in those moments I know exactly where God wants me to be. More often than not, I encounter people at the hospital during their very last days, hours, minutes of life. Sometimes I may never know a person except through the stories their loved ones tell. Each experience is unique and wonderful.
And I love to hear families talk about what their deceased loved one must be experiencing. More often than not families imagine their grandmother baking cookies for Jesus, or their brother having a beer with God. The human experiences which brought identity to that person often are translated into their new life in the Eternal. It is a way of trying to make sense of that which we can never understand. None are right and none are wrong.
But today I was called to sit and speak with a women less than 20 minutes after she had been told their was no more medicine or treatment that could help. She was given 6 months to live. She knew she was ill and not bouncing back like she normally does, but this was still a surprise. She didn't know what to think or where to turn, so she asked for me. The extent to which that humbles me is beyond my ability to communicate, so I won't even try.
As I sat with this lovely woman and her amazing husband, she told me about herself. She told the awful story of her 9 year old daughter being murdered in one of the worst ways I have ever heard. She told me about her living children and her grand-children. She told me about her new hobby of Pinterest. She told me about her. But she wanted me to tell her about death. She wanted me to tell her about heaven. So I smiled and I sighed, and I said, "I don't know." I told her about some of my experiences of being with people when they died, and the things they say and do which makes me think this world is not it. But, I don't know. I don't know that she will see her daughter in the new cosmic reality she will enter. I don't know, but I hope so, I said.
She appreciated me not knowing, and was honored I didn't try to lie and given her a reason to believe I knew what would happen next. So we talked about something I could give her guidance on, preparing for that last moment of her life.
In many ways, my patient has been given a gift. She was given time to prepare herself and her family for this new reality. Too often people die so quickly and unexpectedly, and I sit with their families who stare at me with eyes so lost it hurts my heart. But my patient today will not leave her family in that way. She has time, so much time really, to get ready. And as we talked about this getting ready, she introduced a metaphor which struck me as wonderful and accurate. Getting ready for death, she said, is a lot like getting ready for your first big trip to Hawaii.
"How true!" I exclaimed. It is a lot like that. Getting ready for a big trip to a paradise you have heard and read about but never experienced is the perfect metaphor for preparing for death. There is a lot of preparation that needs to take place. You make lists of tasks you must complete before. You makes plans for the travel. You make sure the plants will be watered and the pets fed. You look forward with excitement and trepidation. It will be wonderful when you get there, but what if something happens on the way? What if the flight is bumpy? How can I prepare for the unexpected?
So she and I started to make a list. She assured me her Christmas presents will be purchased in time and knew just who to ask to help her wrap them. She had promises she wanted from her children (stop smoking) and notes to leave for her grand-children. And if things got bumpy on the way, we can plan for that too. Advanced directives give families guidance and are one of the greatest gifts we can leave.
My patient started planning for her unexpected trip to Hawaii, and I sat back and smiled. How beautiful, I thought.
Today has been about preparing for our two universal experiences. My dear friends await the arrival of their first child and my patient awaits the moment of arrival in paradise. Beginnings and endings in this life are connected in ways which lifts the imagination. How incredible it is I get to experience this circle every day.
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