Light of Love

This morning I heard the news of my client dying. I’ve taken care of her since December two or three times a week. Her family hired me on recommendation from a mutual friend. I stayed overnight with her to make sure she was safe and was able to have her needs and wants met.

When I first started, there was a sense of service, but that soon grew into friendship. We talked about art, cooking, her accomplishments, what she wanted to do in the future. She was very dry with her humor, but when she laughed it was totally worth it.

A few weeks ago, she was really hard to get a conversation going with because she was thinking deep thoughts.

“I think I’m going to die.” She said into the silence.

I was surprised because even with her health issues, she was still very much her.

“Why do you think that?” I asked without judgement.

“I feel it.”

“What do you think happens after we die?”

“I don’t know.” She responded.

“Are you afraid?”

“Not really.” she said quietly.

She shifted topics to something more tangible. I brought her yogurt with blueberries and granola in it, her favorite. We chatted for quite a while as Dateline blared in the background.

About ten days after that conversation, she complained of a headache. She couldn’t remember things or objects in waves of not recognizing. She was sleeping when the first crisis started. She was attended to lovingly and immediately by one of her primary caregivers.

She spent time in the hospital where I visited her. She didn’t seem to know who I was but that I was there to love her. She stayed for over a week. They sent her home.

Pretty quickly upon her arrival to her home, she drifted farther and farther from this world. She could only answer a question if she were alert and that was a one shot deal. Options were decided by her caregiving team.

I was there to support her while they did hospice intake. She was my age, so I thought it was preemptive but that’s just me denying what was actually occurring.

The last words I said to her when I left Friday morning were of love. I told her she was safe. I told her that her body knew how to die. I told her she was so very loved. I left, hoping to see her again, but knowing that it wasn’t likely.

She wasn’t in any pain. She was comfortable in her own bed. She had loving attendance to witness her last breath.

I’m surprised by how different this loss feels compared to others. There is a sense of acceptance instead of denial. I’m not mad at her for leaving or at the situation. I’m sad my friend is gone, but I know that it was just what had to be done.

I think back to the conversation we had. I know she wasn’t afraid. I know she was at peace. I will miss her dearly.