and Dyin'

A few years ago, I was reading a book with stories of several midwives. I was shocked when I read that most of them spent time working in hospice or with terminally ill patients. I was still of the mindset that they are totally different realms of care taking. When I asked my midwife about this she said it was perfectly logical. "It is the two thresholds."
There is something very similar to creating a space for bringing a soul into this world, and dealing with the left over space as a soul leaves this world. I had the privilege of spending time with a group of women who gathered around another mom as she spent her last days on this earth. Fittingly, this same woman was a doula at the birth of my third child. I dedicate this story to her.

The emails started coming out, and we knew that she was nearing the end. One can only fight off the ravages of cancer for so long. I am a nurse, so when I saw an email about her developing a condition, I knew she was hours away from leaving us. Another nurse friend of mine recognized it. She started The Vigil. We would all meet in the lobby of the oncology floor to be present for our friend, and each other. Soon, a very motley crew of women formed. People were knitting, writing, working on the computer. Someone set up an altar on a table for us to place whatever we wanted to. We sat, cried, laughed, hugged and just simply waited. Waited, not knowing exactly when the event would happen, but sensing its approach. We searched for answers, not even understanding the questions to ask. Waiting. Finally, most of us decided it was time to head to our own homes, leaving a couple of us behind. Ultimately, death is a private event. As we hesitantly started leaving, the one who started The Vigil said that she wanted us to join in a circle and hold hands. Among us were Catholics, Pagans, Protestants and Jews. We had no common words so we just chanted one long Ohm. It's beautiful sound fading out as each of us released our own fears and anguish.

The call came very early in the morning for me. I was dreaming of my friend when the phone woke me. She was sitting in the middle of a circus, looking around at the lights, holding her daughter. The sound of the phone ring melting into the dream, bringing me out of it. As it happened, I had an appointment with one of the Episcopal Nuns at the Convent later that morning. Because I had gotten up so early, I made it in time for the Eucharist. As we approached the prayers for the departed, my tears started flowing, and I managed to utter the name of my friend. I sat in the chapel openly grieving, sobbing. I have never participated in communal grieving this way. Once I overcame my embarrassment, I found it cathartic.

The next day, on Sunday, we gathered at a friend's house on the lake. As a group of moms, we always came together to decorate something for an expecting mother. This time, we gathered to decorate a cardboard casket. It was a day full of tears and laughter. The children all got to paint whatever they wanted. It was amazing to watch them. For most of the children, it was their first experience with death. They got to see it as a celebration, and to feel the presence of a supportive group of people. Towards the end of the festivities, someone noticed a rainbow over the lake. Not one rainbow, but two appeared. It was a sight that I will never, ever forget. It seemed as God was telling us that everything would be OK. Something about a promise, a promise that tells us to trust the process. We really have no control over how we enter this world, or how we leave it. After this experience with dyin', I now know I can trust the process. I know that this group of moms will simply show up. We'll sing, chant, pray or whatever we need to do to help a soul as it leaves this world. I found this experience to be a very Holy one. It was a space filled with amazing people, renewed friendships and healing. I am so grateful for having shared it. Thanks Serenity, I am in your debt.