When You Sit With a Dying Person
How to find peace when you sit with a dying person
Having the chance to sit with a dying person is a sacred gift. To accompany a loved one (or a stranger), from a realm of family, love, life events, rainy days, and sunshine into the unknown is an opportunity that not everyone will experience.
The purpose of this post is to encourage and support those who expect to be facing this event.
And to shed a different light than the light of tragedy which so often colors the days preceding death.
Differences and similarities between birth and death
The salient difference between being present at the birth of a child and attending the death of someone who has completed their journey is this: we can hold a soft, squirmy, sometimes bawling, infant in our arms and feel their heartbeat and see their round eyes as they take in the world they have been born into but we cannot do this at a death. If we could experience the ‘beyond’ with its mysteries with the same eyes that we behold a newborn child there would be less wailing and more celebration.
So let’s back up a bit to the moments before birth – and death. If you have ever given birth you understand the word ‘labor’.
For the vast majority of women, there is a point at which they would do almost anything to escape the pain.
The physical pain of delivery, the mixed pain of letting go and trusting the process, the unspoken pain of a life about to radically change in a few moments.
Fears about how long this will last far out shadow the promise of new life.
“Make it stop!” is the predominant cry from the soul of a new mother giving birth as she questions her sanity about ever doing this again.
If you have sat with someone who is dying you know there are labor pains that precede death.
Modern medicine does a fairly good job of alleviating physical pain for the person who has reached the last few hours in the dying process, but not the pain of fear, regrets, and letting go.
Unfortunately, there is little to alleviate the pain for loved ones who find themselves in a labor of love they hadn’t expected.
Their cry is similar to that of a woman in labor at childbirth. “Make it stop!”
Because we are unable to experience the ‘delivery’ that is akin to that soft squirming baby with the big eyes, we have nothing to alleviate our pain, little to ease raw sorrow.
The Mystery in birth and death
Once the pain has subsided with the birth of a baby we know a few things…weight, length, hair color, and probably a name. Our hope rests on this wee bit of knowledge.
And the awareness that we get to impact, guide, and love the little one before us – along with feeling tiny warm breaths as they snuggle against our neck.
When we sit with a dying person, we know very little. We may have a diagnosis and time and place of death.
But we know nothing – Nada – of what lies ahead for the one who is dying. And we have no way of impacting their next life, guiding them in the beyond, or even knowing that our love makes a difference at this point.
No more soft snuggles against our neck. We are called to trust in the Unknown, in what I call Mystery.
The pain of needing to know as you sit with a dying person
For all the religious or cultural teachings about heaven and hell, paradise or nirvana, they remain in the realm of ideas or beliefs.
We want answers.
Having answers to questions brings a certain sense of security or understanding – Like “Where does my red hair come from?” or “What disease am I likely to die from given my family history?”
But we are not at all comfortable with the unknown. Witness the rise of sites like ancestry.com and 23andMe.com as millions of people search for evidence that life began somewhere and will go on – somewhere.
I propose that discomfort with Mystery is at the root of the labor pains in the dying process.
To celebrate or not?
Parties begin for the birth of a child before they are born and continue once a year for the rest of their lives.
Blowing out candles acknowledges the time that has passed and the events that are shaping their lives. As a child makes a wish, they are surrounded by friends and family who cheer them on with this vision.
The pain of labor on the day they were born is replaced by joy and hopes for their future. Every year.
We do not celebrate deathdays the way we do birthdays. When we sit with a dying person have we relinquished the hope and vision that we bring when a child is born? I wonder why?
Because we cannot see into the beyond does not mean there is nothing to celebrate there.
What would it mean to light a candle on the anniversary of a loved one’s death, put on their favorite music, and dance in celebration of this new life in the realm of Mystery?
What effect might this practice have on the pain that is so hard to release after death?
The holiness of the moment
Both as a hospice nurse, and from my personal opportunities to sit in vigil with a loved one, I bear witness to the moments just prior to death for which there is no better word than ‘Holy’.
The same moment occurs in the birth process when new life emerges from the womb.
When life emerges from the unknown or returns to the unknown, it is Holy. Sacred. Mystical.
It is this holiness that enfolds both the pain of labor and the grief of loss, binding the past with the future in ways that cannot be articulated. A process that can only be beheld in awe.
If (or when) you find yourself next to a dying person and the labor is hard and painful, remember that you are privileged to witness a miracle.
Even as a baby is born from Mystery into Life, death takes a person from Life into Mystery.
Light a candle and give thanks.
It is a holy moment.
[Photocredits: dog-on-man by Juan-Garcia; newborn-with-parents-by kelly-sikkema; man in pain-by adrian-swancar; mystical-feather by javardh; -question mark by-marcel-strauss; birthday-cake by stephanie-mccabe; candle-on-cupcake by angele-kamp]
