Growing Up

Have you ever been present when someone takes their last breath? I have. Twice. This most recent time, it was different. My Grandfather, Keith, departed from this world on December 26th, 2012.

The events leading up to this are not as important as the approximate hour or so before that eventually brought me to his bedside that afternoon. That morning was spent with my Grandmother. During this visit, she had expressed hope that he would simply "go in his sleep".  At about 1 o'clock, I had a strong sensation to go and visit Grampa. Upon departing, she asked me to tell Grampa, "Hi".  I got in the car, and called my Mom. Immediately, I knew that it was time. I told her to relay Gramma's message.

I arrived in the hospital room at about 1:25pm. "It is time for Grampa to die," was my thought. My sister, Kimberly, and Mom we at either side of Grampa. I sat removed for a few minutes, simply taking in the energy of the room, along with the emotions of those present. I was confused and calm at the same time.  I first saw my sister, with tears running down her face, just sitting, holding one of Grampa's hands. The presence of my Mother, however, is what struck me.  She was sitting on his right side, holding his hand and looking into his eyes. I moved in next to her and wrapped my arm around her, and no longer could fight back the tears that were pooling up behind that dams of my eyes.

The sound of my Grampa's labored breathing broke my heart. It was the most horrific sound that I have ever heard in my life, and to know that nothing could be done, made it all the more wretched. Things happen during the death process that do not need to be written here, but my sister and I, without words, went straight to work, giving him as much dignity as we could. It was a task, that only strong souls could handle, and I am proud of my sister, and myself for that matter.  Then my Mom started to speak. She could have been speaking the whole time, but the energy in the room was vibrating and only to be drowned out by the sound of her words.

My Grampa's eyes were fixed upwards for the most part, until she started to tell him it was time to go. My hand now wrapped his and hers. Mom's words, "Dad, it's OK. You can let go. We are here. Mom will be OK." He fought it for a moment, but then his breathing became more gentle, far less laborious. His body relaxed a bit. She continued talking to him, with a tone that seemed to come from a Holy place, one that I had never heard from anyone before. She spoke with gentle authority "Dad, come on, it's time to go Home. Let go, Dad. It's alright... let go..." His eyes teared up... my Mom wiped them away... And with that, he was gone...

Tears poured out, as I stood slowly, my hand giving him Christ's blessing on his forehead, and closed his eyes. I then began to pray The Lord's Prayer over him... my Mom and sister joined in... forever and ever... Amen. 

I sat down, overcome with grief. "That was my Dad," my Mom said, as she pointed to his now lifeless body. She wept over him. I was slammed by intense rage. It was scaring me how angry I was. I kept thinking I would do anything to make my Mom not be sad. Then I thought about my Gramma, how unfair it was going to be that she would suffer with the pain that grief brings. My fingers dug into my flesh to distract my brain from screaming. Nurses, and now more family, and noise that had disrupted this sacred and now Holy ground.

This rage continues to flow through me. It has lessened some, but there are times I feel like I am going to explode from the depths of my stomach.

I was told today, that it is an honor to be present at someones death. I had forgotten that I have always believed this to be true. I have also come to realize that I see my Mom is a new light. She is a woman that I truly respect, love, and cherish. She showed me how to say goodbye, how to let go, and ultimately, how to die. I am still learning from this experience, but it has left me changed, and far more grown-up.