An encounter with a lonely and dying person
I take a big breath,
hoping you are awake and not asleep.
Your life now is in the liminal space,
between dormancy and awakeness.
I stand in front of you,
I see your eyes tear up,
As if the sight of mine brings with it feelings that cannot be contained.
You pour raindrops from your eyes,
“I don't want to die, I am not ready yet,
Why am I punished?” you say.
“You don't want to die and you feel punished” I say.
"Please don’t allow me to die”, you say.
My heart quivers,
“It sounds like you are afraid of death”
You look at me with your mouth puzzled,
like a child that awaits for some comfort from a caregiver,
or a dog waiting for a snack from his owner.
You mumble,
“I do not want to die”.
I reflect to you,
“You do not want to die.
What are you afraid of?
What do you think that death will bring to you?
Silence.
-- Did you ever ask yourself that? --
You are alone.
Are we not all alone on our deathbed?
We, the care team, are your community.
We are your family right now.
I’m sitting and listening to you.
Trying to be present,
noticing transferences and countertransference,
thinking about what I
should
feel
like saying.
I too am in the not knowing.
I look at your eyes
You don't want to die like this
I am not consoling you but rather just listening,
observing,
noticing,
praying,
trying to be together with you in your pain.
You passed yesterday night.
I wanted to come visit you again.
Was my intention to visit for myself to feel better
or
for you to know you are held?
Yet you moved on,
You are at peace now,
Your soul is off to do what it needs to.
What does your soul need to do right now?
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