As I Held Her Hand

The tears rolled down my cheeks as I sat in the chair next to her bed, her frail hand resting gently in mine. I wasn’t prepared for this…

(the day before) It was a typical Monday morning. I grabbed my mug of tea and hit the road, anxious to check on my patients after the long weekend. Mid-morning I learned from my team that “B” wasn’t doing well. I was surprised when I heard the news because she had not shown any decline. After I finished visiting a couple of my other patients, I headed to B’s house. I needed to see her in person, so that I could make my own assessment. This just couldn’t be her time.

I made the usual climb up the darkened staircase to her bedroom. B awakened when I approached her bed. Through the exchange of a few words, I could tell she had slowed down immensely since our visit just days before. Her energy was low, her words nearly a faint whisper. Her situation had changed. I felt a familiar twinge of pain in my heart as I listened to the details of B’s decline from her son. And I realized this was, in fact, her time.

B and I talked a bit before she drifted off to sleep. I asked her what she was thinking about (a question I pose to most of my patients because it opens the door to their thoughts…allowing them to guide our conversation). B told me her thoughts were blank, that she wasn’t really thinking about anything. Then she asked me if that was ok. I assured her this was a good thing….it meant she was free of worries and fears and unfinished business. She was ready. But I was not.

True to my word, I returned the next day (Tuesday) to spend more time with her. This time she was asleep, unable to speak even when she did open her eyes. I sat down in the chair next to her bed and placed her hand in mine. I wanted her to know that I was there, to feel that she wasn’t alone.

As I reached for a tissue from the box on the table near her bed, her words echoed in my ears…”Here I go, being a big old cry baby again.” It was common for B to cry during our visits, especially when she asked me to pray for her children or for the brokenness that exists in the world. But this time I was the one crying.

I have faced a lot of patient deaths in my work as a hospice chaplain, but this one tugged at my heart in a different way. There was something unique about my connection with B. As I held her hand and wiped away my tears, I thought about our conversations and time together. Suddenly it hit me. I realized my tears and sadness were deep and familiar, that this experience was somehow linked to my mom.

B’s compassion for the world, her charming and tender way with people, and her witty sense of humor…these are qualities I’ve loved and admired over the months…qualities also exuded by my mom. When I realized B was, in some sense, an older version of my mom, I wept even more. I was not only grieving this beautiful soul who had become a dear friend, but as I held B’s hand, I found myself also grieving an end-of-life moment I will never get to share with my own mom…the experience of sitting next to my mom’s bed and holding her frail hand in mine.

I spent as much time as I could with B in the days that followed. She was awake and talking during our last moment together, speaking lovingly about her children and even showing her sense of humor as she faced physical challenges of the dying process. B was ready to go, and her words and inquisitive eyes told me she wondered why she was still here. I didn’t know why she was still here. For a moment I thought…maybe she’s here for me, to give me an experience I will never get to share with my mom. I didn’t have an answer for B, but I prayed with her and she seemed comforted by my words. I expressed my love to her as I left, knowing it could be our last encounter.

When I drove away from her house, I asked God to bring her peace. B was ready to go, and whether she was still here for me or for another reason, I felt like I needed to tell God that I was ok, that I was ready to let go.

B passed away the next day. It was a beautiful Friday afternoon, the Spring flowers in full bloom. During our chats over the months, I was blessed to receive B’s love and care as she asked about my mom. I spoke mostly of their similarities….they had so many…and I often told B that my mom would have loved her. Through my tears and sadness, I found beauty in the day. This would not only be the day that my dear friend passed on from this life, but also the day B and my mom finally got to meet.

To my sweet friend, B….thank you for letting me hold your hand. Thank you for inviting me into the end of your life story, for sharing your wisdom and compassion, and for having such a witty spirit. Thank you for the laughter and the tears, and for letting me experience a bit of my mom again. I will carry our memories in my heart…always.

In Loving Memory of B…a former hospice patient whom I continue to love and miss.