I vividly recall how amazing the day was. The sky was blue, beautiful blue as it can be only here in Manitoba….
Oh I soo love the vastness of the Canadian prairies stretching to the end of the horizon… where the evening sun whispers “good night”.
I do not remember the subject of the conversation with my friend Laurie E Mustard during that weekend country drive, but I do recall how I felt in that moment when I was standing and smelling the blossoms.
It was the warmth of the sun on my face, the touch of a gentle breeze, the stillness within me, the delight of that moment that I can still tap into…
Last Friday I was holding the hand of a man who is dying. Unlike many people, I am not afraid of endings and death.
I often wonder why…?
Perhaps what influenced me was the culture I am from, where the natural death was ever present. You do not take life for granted when you live with the awareness of the end.
Going back to my last Friday’s visit I need to tell you how I met Joseph. Over a year ago, I was asked to visit him because I speak his first language. Deeply demented as he is, he was making incoherent sounds. He was quite often put back in his room so other residents would not be disturbed. Many of us would come to the conclusion that interaction with someone in such advanced stage of dementia is impossible.
But I disagree.
At first I took the time to get to know Joseph. He was a man of intense emotions. His words and gestures transmitted his frustration and aggression.
One day a visitor, a close family member of Joseph’s confirmed my observations that Joseph’s old behavioural and personal traits were still surfacing. I also learned that in his older age Joseph had fallen in love with another woman and left his wife. His children did not approve of his decision. Their choice not to visit him was the price Joseph paid for following his heart.
One day a jolly lady from housekeeping stopped to greet us, and in no time the three of us were laughing.
It showed me that there still exist the possibility to cheer him up. Joseph had opened a window and I wasn’t about to let it shut.
From that day on I used all kinds of ways to shift his mood from hostile to calm and pleasant. I would take him to quiet rooms with big windows and draw his attention to the nature outside. Weather permitting, we would go outside. I could tell by his facial expressions and at times accurately answered questions, that he was aware of the warmth of the sun, the breeze on his face or the droplets of rain landing on his nose 
. He even listened to the bird’s chirping. His face, like a mirror, reflected his inner awareness.
Sometimes I would whisper to his ear rather than trying to speak over the incoherent noises he was making. After all, how can you fight anger with anger? The moment he heard my gentle voice he would stop yelling. On occasions during those early visits Joseph would actually reach for my hand and kiss it. It is amazing how you can connect with a demented person if you truly step into their world, rather than being next to them and/or resisting the whole experience.
There were moments when sadness would come over him. The sounds he made were heart breaking. Tears would pour down his face. All I did in those moments was hold his shoulders, put my head against his or cradle his face in my hands and let the emotion run its course. Joseph would always come to a moment when he would give a big sigh. It was an indication that the release was done.
At times I sang a song to him. I intentionally chose one from the area of Joseph’s younger days. Eventually my voice became familiar to him. The moment I would greet him, I would get his attention.
Sporadically the veil, the barrier would lift and Joseph would be totally present. In those moments he would ask me, “Who are you, lady?” and I would explain to him why I was there. Those moments were the most precious.
These days the sign on Joseph’s door notifies visitors about his impending death. And the pictures on the sign remind me of all those cherry blossom moments that Joseph and I had shared. Given the reactions and expressions on Joseph’s face, I like to believe that these moments were to him like the last summer’s cherry blossoms moment to me.
Last Friday while visiting Joseph for the last time I received an Unexpected Gift, an insight which I shared with my friend: “I am sitting on the bed of a dying man,” I wrote. “I am in total peace. Yesterday he recognized my voice. He opened his eyes, he shed a tear, smiled a little and tried to talk…but that ability to express his thoughts and emotions verbally is gone, not an option for him anymore. As I sit here I ponder on all the different ways we can communicate compassion and love when our body and senses are still fully functioning. How many of us withhold, refrain from “speaking” the language of Love when we are still capable…what are we humans waiting for?”
