A friend died Sunday night. I was with her in the hospital room Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Here’s a list of suggestions for those visiting the dying and their loved ones in hospitals. This is mostly for the loved ones in the room, and most of it assumes that the dying is unconscious. Kerry slipped into a coma as the weekend progressed, so even though we were ultimately sensitive to her, their were concerns for the family and friends who were there that this list addresses. I’ll assemble another list of suggestions for being with a dying person who is conscious to the end. Hope this one helps!
- I don’t care what I’m doing, when I get the call that so and so is dying, I drop it and go. I don’t say, “I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished Grey’s Anatomy.” Drop and go! They’ve called you or you’ve been informed probably when they couldn’t possibly wait any longer to let you know. Get there! Everyone will understand. It is an honor that they’ve remembered to tell you and that they want you there or think you should be there. Unless of course you are Jesus… then perhaps you can get there late and raise them from the dead. Read More
For the love of beauty. That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing now. I love beauty. And I will call beautiful whatever I want to. This is what I love.
Sunday night Lisa and I had Sarah and her mom Sandy over. Sarah was so sad. She didn’t bother to get out of her pajamas for days. “That’s healthy!” Lisa assured her. We invited them over to watch the Grammys. I bought a bunch of special beers from Checkoslovakia, France and Belgium. We bought some Gruyer cheese and expensive crackers. Sarah is losing weight because food has no appeal these days, so I offer things that can fatten her up. She brought some smokes. We just sat and talked and ate and drank with smoke breaks every hour or so. We loved the music, the conversation, the fellowship of gathering together in front of the TV. Time gladly passed, and maybe some of the pain with it.
Tonight Lisa and I are going to the visitation for Kerry. We will just love our friends, touch their hands and hug them, look into their eyes and let them see our love for them and how we share their sorrow as much as we can.
And as I write this, I am listening to Kathleen Edwards at a volume way too high if I were in an apartment. My son Jesse is just leaving with a friend on a snow-mobile to race up and down the river in spite of the cold. He’s happy today.
There is something essential about being real, being human, and just being there. This is what pastors do. Because this is what friends do. Because this is what people do. Augment that with wine, beer, tobacco, music and love.. well, what more do we need right now? It is all taken up in a cloud of benediction.
The fine-art photograph is from my friend Jorgen Klausen’s Tatoo series.
Contributions to nakedpastor are greatly appreciated.
I’m feeling my mortality today. Lisa suggested I go for a walk on the river. I lit my pipe, and upon the frozen plain I set my faltering feet. While I walked I remembered being in training as a pastor. I spent time for a course visiting terminally ill patients in a hospital. By the end of it I was sure I had every insidious disease going and even went to see my doctor to find out what I was going to die from. It was all in my head.
Being surrounded by illness, death and dying can have that affect on you. Our natural tendency is to escape from this kind of intensity by living in denial, dreaming our superficial wishes like children. Or like many people of faith do, to claim triumphant victory through a rescuing god. Fear is the root of both of those. It is our inability to accept the sober fact that we can’t control life or martial God’s will to suit our own. After a while, if you keep aware, you see that this is not reality. People get sick. People die. I’ve learned instead to embrace this revelation of my mortality, to sink down deep into the mystery of God and life and suffering and death, to take advantage of this clear, unveiled flash of remarkable vision. I will die. My solidarity with the human race is my mortality, my weakness and my sin. In these I am one with all things. My voice joins all creation that cries out for deliverance from bondage to decay in one beautifully sad requiem.
I walked way out onto the river, stood dead center and took account of my bearings. The river beneath my feet is frozen. I walk over a terrain of pain. I live in the arctic shield of suffering. But I am with lovers and friends, and even my enemies are warmly welcomed here. The Spirit is with me. I am plodding miraculously through this winter storm. I will reach the pole. And when I arrive there, I will be together with all things, the reconciliation already achieved finally made manifest to my weary flesh.
The photo was taken by me today, half-way across the Kennebacasis River in front of my home.
Contributions to nakedpastor are greatly appreciated.
My God! Another friend of mine died last night. She was only in her early 50s. Survived by her husband and 4 young children. I was just talking with her on Friday. When I visited her, although she was experiencing discomfort, we were able to visit with each other. Then Saturday morning things took a turn. She slowly slipped into a coma. She was surrounded by family and friends all day yesterday. The room was packed. Finally, her immediate family were with her, playing guitar, singing songs and reading Bible passages, talking lovingly to her and praying. She slipped away peacefully at 11:45pm. I am going to miss her. I am going to miss her sharp wit. She could always make me smile and usually laugh. That was one of her gifts. Without fail, her tongue could twist a funny phrase and wry words. Bye Kerry! We loved you.
The photograph is by my friend Jorgen Klausen’s Grand Manan series.
Contributions to nakedpastor are greatly appreciated.
David Hayward is an artist trapped in a pastor's body, stripping to the essential.
