The Gift of Dying
The hospice room is still. My friend’s eyes are closed, resting from the effort of conversation, of accessing the files of memories and mind to reassemble words and ideas to convey and talk about – to try and fulfill her obligation to participate with me in my visit. Each word, each idea requiring dwindling mental and physical resources – resources that we take for granted in our lives, unaware that they may not always be there. Her eyes closed, she is resting from the mere effort of holding the fork to bring food to the mouth. Effort from “doing” things. She rests. I witness her rest.
If you have anyone in your life that you are supporting through this stage of passing or dying, or simply an illness, this is an interesting moment. This moment when our loved one is tired or still, suddenly we are naked to our own effort, our own impulse to fill the void with action, or thought, or words – some kind of doing. We too, can rest. Often I drink in this silence, this non-doing, this time free of the obligation to act alive, to be active and doing, anything but resting.
So on this day, I sit here witnessing not only her stillness, but my old inner friend: the impulse to be productive – to produce thought or action. I must say, since walking with her on this path for the last year, this moment is not new – nor in my life. Silence has called me since childhood. Not to say the habit of overthinking and be constantly “doing’ something has not had its day in my life. Now though, the attraction to fill the void is minimal. The impulse is familiar, but much less entertaining . The silence, the stillness, the rest is more thirst-quenching for my soul. So I sit here.
Perhaps witnessing someone else passing from this life is our chance to see the dying in our own life of old habits of wasting precious time habitually filling the silence, like dream-walking in our habit. Instead of waking from this dream-walk and consciously drinking deeply the nectar of pure and simple presence. In this, today I am very grateful. She rests, and so do I.
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