Bedside Stories for a Loving Goodbye Vigil

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The Rural Doctor

My friend Charlotte's father was a rural Iowa doctor; one of those special people who could calmly set a bone and stitch you up after a nasty farm accident, or cheerfully deliver your twins on a snowy winter night. Doc was both confidante and neighbor to his patients in an era when storytelling served the human need for connection.

Storytelling, sometimes called the oral tradition, spans history and cultures. Stories can teach, preach, entertain and comfort. We are born with an eagerness to ask for, listen to, and share stories. Pause just a moment and you will be flooded with memories, which are themselves, stories.

Source:
The Plain Needle Woman.com

One afternoon, Doc was called to the home of a dying patient. He found the grandfather in bed, surrounded by family; one by one, anecdotes and accounts were told. There was nothing fancy or formal in the room; patched pockets, darned socks, and flyaway hair were worn all around, and the draping of a softly faded quilt barely moved with the old man's slow rasp of breaths.
There were no whispers, either. Each story was a farewell blessing--a living tribute of love, admiration and humor, told with the same voices that their loved one heard on the porch or around the kitchen table.

"My family are all storytellers," Charlotte told me. She'd held this memory for many years until one day, with grown children of her own, the story came full circle. "My husband had suffered a brain bleed and was on life support. As my son and daughter gathered at their father's bedside, we decided to tell some stories about Dad."

Charlotte believed strongly in the tradition of stories as a tool for comfort, saying "I am sure their dad heard the stories and I know he loved it. Ultimately, the vigil of storytelling transformed our removal of life support into a loving farewell."

Ways to prompt stories

• Tell stories that allow expressions of admiration, love, gratitude. The caregiving person in charge may suggest:
• How did _____ inspire you?
• Let's talk about the time when _____
• What were some of his/her favorite sayings, and when did he/she most often use them?
• If someone wants to express a personal message to the dying person, give them some privacy. 

Suggestions to support the dying experience

• If the person normally wears hearing aids, remember to keep them in the ears, with fresh batteries. Even if someone is comatose (a state of deep, unresponsive unconsciousness that is common at the end of life,) the reception of sounds and words should be supported. 

  

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• Make contact: using a method that does not cause pain or other discomfort, options include a light hand on the head or stroke of a brow, holding a hand or resting a light hand on their shoulder, forearm or shin.
• Always inform the dying person about who is coming into or leaving the room. Casual statements such as: “Mom is going to take a nap,” or  “Hi Mary, this is Tom. I’m going to sit with you for awhile,” or “Mary, Tom is here now,” or "The kids are coming after school, in an hour."

Read more about vigiling:

Laughing Condolence: When life overflows, share a story

Silent Night, Holy Night: Sacred Dying is another reason to write condolence

Veterans at the End of Life: An Essential Salute

When You Cannot Vigil the Dying: Be There

Thank you for caring and sharing!

Journey of the Mind: Co-Meditation with the Dying

 Sacred Journey

Off and on for over twenty years, I’ve been a hospice volunteer and my favorite duty has been sitting with the actively dying. Tough, right? Actually, I view dying as a sacred journey--the counterpoint to the wonder of birth and thus, it’s a privilege to share that space with someone. One afternoon, I was called to visit “Cheryl,” who was quickly declining. Medications had been administered but I found her restless and distressed after a fall and painful arm injury. “I just want to go into the woods and die,” she cried. “Well, you can, Cheryl. Let’s go together,” was my reply.

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Gently stroking her hand, I described our walk from the sidewalk of a noisy Tucson street into the breeze whispering stillness of the woods.
Underfoot, the dense loam of brown leaves and pine needles hushed and softened our footsteps. Pale light filtered through the forest canopy; a squirrel darted by and unseen birds chittered now and then. “The woods smell so sweet; why don’t we sit on this big log for awhile, Cheryl.” In the afternoon stillness, our breathing slowed and words were unnecessary. We had arrived at the doorway to peace, and Cheryl left her body a few hours later.

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Freedom of Spirit

Jack Kornfield, author and a key teacher of mindfulness, calls this experience “freedom of spirit.” No matter what circumstances weigh on your physical life, your spirit--the ‘you’ behind the flesh--is always free. Kornfield reminds us, “your mind is not limited to your head,” so you need only be still and aware to enter unrestricted spaciousness. Older adults often find it easier to settle in a comfy chair, close the eyes, enjoy some full breaths and then float in awareness. The seas and breezes of your being may drift through memory and gratitude, to a place of deep peace. Some people call it a ‘practice’ and use bells and rituals to get here. Increasingly, health professionals are putting down the prescription pads and pointing to quiet places. 

Comeditation

If you find yourself with a loved one who is dying, or struggling with an illness, follow my example of introducing comeditation. It has been proven to calm physical and mental distress. It can be focused on natural, rhythmic breathing without words, but an explanation to the person you are caring for, helps them orient to the calm. It is also important to note that the dying person does not need to be conscious to benefit!

You can make a difference:  pull up a chair, take their hand, and ask: 

If you could be some place else right now, where would you go?

What a wonderful gift to offer! If their go-to place is something you can describe, do so; if they feel able to describe the journey, encourage them to be as vivid and sensory in their description, as possible. But for the fullest calming benefit, don't turn it into a dialogue. Finally, once you both have "arrived" at the place, sit quietly with eyes closed. Let the journey last for its comfortable duration. 

Read more about impermanence and mindfulness:

Impermanence: changing how you cope with change

Read more about mindfulness:

Finding pleasure and peace in slow

Thank you for caring...and sharing!

When You Cannot Vigil the Dying: Be There

The scouring of humanity

This is a post about what to do when you cannot be with a dying loved one. As I write this, the Covid-19 pandemic began scouring humanity in early 2020, overcoming nearly 2 million people, worldwide by year’s end. In most settings, infection control measures have barred visitors from patient bedsides, even those dying. 

The empty chair beside the bed

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This is a post about what to do when you cannot be with a dying loved one. It applies to the myriad circumstances that might prevent you from keeping vigil, holding a hand, stroking a forehead, whispering words of love and gratitude close to their ear. The circumstances that keep you from the bedside are many, and may have nothing to do with the pandemic. I learned this in 2019, when my mother chose the peace of her distant home for her final months with cancer. My parents wanted privacy instead of a family event and, though eventually I was called to come help with care, for weeks before, I entered the room secretly.

This is a post about what to do when you think you cannot be with a dying loved one. This is the story of how I found the way to ‘jump over the wall’ and be right there with my mother. I soothed her, whispered encouragement, and experienced a deep communion. This technique is available to everyone.

Spirit to spirit

Have you heard the expression ‘we are spirits in human form’ ? Some refer to our spirit as ‘mind.’ This is not religious dogma, it is truth. You need only read or listen to a few accounts of near death experiences to awaken to this truth. (In addition to the books by Raymond Moody, a reliable source is IANDS, the International Association for Near Death Studies, Inc.)  What you do with this awareness beyond the purpose of this essay, is your choice. But, if you are faced with the inability to be with a dying loved one, here is what you can do.

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Each of our spirits (or minds) exist in a field of energy without boundaries of time, location, language or physical dimension. Knowing and accepting this is indescribeably wonderful! It means you can ‘jump over the wall’ and connect with someone through techniques that allow you unfettered access to the ‘field.’ These techniques include meditation, contemplation, and prayer. 

To visit my mother, I used a Metta meditation described in my essay on impermanence and change. I also recommend the meditations of integrative medicine and energy work practitioner Dr. Ann Marie Chiasson. In her book, Energy Healing: The Essentials of Self-Care, Dr. Chiasson explains the Metta Meditation, which Buddhist practice calls a loving-kindness meditation. Traditionally, there are four stanzas but for your spirit visit, I suggest repeating these three stanzas, four times. 

To begin, sit comfortably; while taking a few full, slow breaths, fill your mind with the image and true, joyful essence of your loved one. ‘Hold their hand’ and truly believe in this communion of spirits. Begin to softly speak these stanzas to them, savoring each expression with your heart and spirit; when you can, close your eyes:

Repeat each stanza four times

May I be at peace.

May my heart remain open.

May I awaken to the light of your own true nature.

May I be healed.

May I be a source of healing for all beings.

May you be at peace.

May your heart remain open.

May you awaken to the light of your own true nature.

May you be healed.

May you be a source of healing for all beings.

May we be at peace.

May our hearts remain open.

May we awaken to the light of your own true nature.

May we be healed.

May we be a source of healing for all beings.

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When finished, remain in this peaceful place with your eyes closed. Note how you feel. It is suggested that you do this loving-kindness meditation, daily. You will quickly feel that you are having a daily visit with your loved one.

Further insight into our connection as spirits can be found in an excerpt from this remarkably comforting poem by Henry Scott Holland. My mother requested that it be used on her memorial folder and each time I read it, I know the truth, that she is only in ‘the next room.’

Death Is Nothing At All

All is well,

Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

Whatever we were to each other, we still are.

Please, call me by my old familiar name.

Speak of me in the same easy way you always did.

Laugh, as we always laughed,

At the little jokes we shared together.

Think of me and smile.

Let my name be the household name it always was,

Spoken without the shadow of a ghost in it.

Life means all it ever meant.

It is the same as it ever was…

All is well.

-Henry Scott Holland

May all who are in this circumstance know that you are not alone. I wish you peace and the comfort of a spirit to spirit visit. Namaste.

Please share this with someone you know who is anticipating a loved one’s death.

Thank you for caring.

My Turn to Grieve

The Growing Through Grief series

I am known to many as the one who is easy with matters of dying and death. I can discuss ways to make the end of life sacred, the paperwork of death, funeral options and military honors. I do this with the conversational tone you would use to discuss the price of organic veggies, local car repair shops, or summer travel plans. For over ten years, I’ve been known as the Condolence Coach by a world of readers, but I am long overdue for a new post, and here’s why.

Last fall, when my mother entered hospice, my zeal to discuss death’s details and grief journeys, withered. In truth, it cowered in the corner, shunning all but the most necessary social contact. Sharing the life-altering news became my daily ‘small talk.’ A dog walking neighbor might comment on last night’s wind and I replied: “my mother is in hospice.” Meeting another shopper at the grocer’s card rack, I offered, “my mother is in hospice but I think she’ll make her 90th birthday.” To my relief, people were kind.

Perhaps it’s not accurate to say I lost my 'zeal,' when the real loss was ‘innocence.’ While my experience and knowledge as a hospice volunteer and funeral professional deepened insight and compassion, it was always ‘someone else’s loved one.’ Detachment preserved the innocence of my heart. Now, this was my heartache.

Sadness Selfie

Across the country, heavily sedated with the standard hospice cocktail of morphine and lorazepam, Mother wasn’t taking birthday phone calls. I quelled the panic of her slipping away by reaching out psychically. I imagined her approval and laughter as I played dress-up with the pink paisley poncho she had sewn for me fifty years ago.

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Digging through my jewelry box, I ringed its neckline with lapel pins she’d given: quirky cat, pine cone, straw dolls, and artsy swirl. Like the young bride seeking her mirrored reflection on the morning after deflowering, I sought mine and took a selfie, seeking to preserve the transforming mystery of my profound sadness. 

Until I was called to serve at my mother’s deathbed, my vigil occurred thousands of miles to the west with intense meditations, journaling, tears, and talks with my husband. I began to trust the truth of a message I’d texted when she was still able to communicate: 

“You are a fabulous woman:  

and will always be so, with or without a body.”

Photo used with permission,
Jim Hunter, Fairbanks, AK

Sacred Grieving

I began reading Grieving- the Sacred Art, Hope in the Land of Loss by Lisa Irish. Long believing death is not a medical event but a sacred one, I embraced the idea of sacred grief. Initially stunned by what Irish calls “a swirl of painful and overwhelming emotions,” I felt validated by her words, accepting that my moments of disorientation were sacramental emotions. Irish promised that if I did not identify grief as ‘the problem’ it would become ‘the solution’ and offer me hidden gifts. 

The first gift was an opportunity to vigil at my mother’s bedside. Though I was not new to this process, the intimate ministry of care for someone I adored was as riveting as it was taxing. ‘Profound’ remains one of the few useful words for this time.

Photo used with permission,
Jim Hunter, Fairbanks, AK

In the months since my mother’s death, I have received more of grief’s gifts: peace, wisdom, and gratitude. Glimpses of siblings’ grief have proven that we all walk personal paths through loss. My long held advocacy of the value of condolence notes, was affirmed. After I shared the news of my mother’s death--along with the narrative obituary I’d composed, the arrival of sympathy cards and supportive emails became an invaluable balm. I shared most of them with my family, thus multiplying their comforting impact. As the Condolence Coach, I reversed my rigid opposition to electronic condolence; for expediency and privacy, it has a place.

Sacred grieving deepened my spirituality. I celebrate my mother’s legacy of preferences and mannerisms. I believe her soul remains within reach through love. I find that memories should be curated-- as enduring or disposable. I strive to avoid regrets-- those shoulda, coulda, woulda’s-- which only sour the sweet gift of recollections.

Am I done grieving? Deadlines and calendar pages have no place in this sacred experience. I have--and will have--days of longing for my mother. 

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In 2014, I reblogged Elaine Stillwell's article, An Emergency Kit For a Bad Day . She stressed the importance of self-care, and the value of being prepared for the unexpected "black days" that can arise after a loss. My emergency kit also includes outdoor exercise, meditation moments, gratitude for a birdsong greeting, the surprise of a heart rock in the trail, and volunteering in my community. These are the stepping stones for my inner peace, one day at a time.

Thank you for caring!

Beth Surdut: Paying Attention is an Art

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Meet Beth Surdut: Environmental Artist, Textiles Painter, and Writer. I had the pleasure of meeting this deeply spiritual and deeply earthed woman, during a recent gallery reception for her wildlife art.

Creator of "The Art of Paying Attention," a series of illustrated wildlife radio essays and true adventure stories heard and seen on NPR, Beth is always watching and listening. From the field or face to face, she raises the bar of attentiveness, for each of us. I introduce her today because she understands the journey of death.

Sacred Journey

Let us revisit the concept that death is NOT a medical event, but a spiritual one. It is sacred but often, only the dying person knows this! Beth told the story of painting a silk scarf to be gifted to a woman with terminal illness. "This will help," said the dying woman as the scarf was draped around her shoulders. When deeply asleep, the scarf could be removed and freshened but otherwise, "Where is my scarf!?" the woman demanded. Beth noted: "the healing scarves I make (unless otherwise requested) contain the Hebrew r'fuah  shleimah (complete healing, the short form of a prayer requesting the complete healing of body and spirit), whereas  a tallit-- a prayer shawl-- is for meditation that is not  necessarily associated with distress. Both are made with kavanah (intention) and offer places of comfort."

Beth also explained, for my benefit, the purpose of the Jewish prayer shawl, Tallit. As it is placed over the head and drawn down over the shoulders, the wearer enters a world of soul and God, absolute truth, the ultimate All. Prayer and meditation should be a journey--of seeking and enlightenment.

'Sacred Dying' is a term coined by the late Dr. Megory Anderson, and a ministry I described in my post Silent Night, Holy Night: Sacred Dying is another reason to write condolence. Whether you are a hospice volunteer, friend or family member of a dying individual, your presence at the deathbed can be uplifting if carefully considered. Vigiling is not for everyone, and Sacred Dying mentors stress that behaviors such as wailing and denial at bedside are disturbing to the journey and work of dying. I encourage readers to sign up for the 10 Tips to Vigil & Establish Sacred Presence.

Comfort objects

Clearly, acknowledging the sacred journey with a special scarf such as those created by Beth Surdut is like hanging a welcome banner:  My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73:26

As life, ego and cares falls away, a special object of comfort-- if given with great love-- focuses attention on a good death. Do you remember the scene in the 1981 movie, Arthur, where Dudley Moore brings gifts to his dying butler, Hobson?  The seemingly ridiculous gift of a basketball became a true comfort object--an undemanding companion.

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What would you choose for a comfort object? Is there someone you know who needs one?

Thank you for caring!

Arriving Where We Started: Advice from T.S. Eliot

"We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time."

~ T.S. Eliot

Four Quartets, "Little Gidding" (V)

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Have you reached the place of knowing? You may arrive there many times. What 'aha' has touched you recently? After moving across the country, I spent months in a state of inner wrangling. Like a cowgirl, I was rounding up the wayward cows and calves from the wide plains of self-definition. Finally, I arrived, all of me accounted for, and deeply understood 'I have arrived, I am home.' 

Eliot's verse also reminds me that, although our journey of self, and our journeys in relationship with others-- become dog-eared, rubbed thin, and greyed with age...they are still dear, if not a tad weary. Oh how we quest! Oh how we explore! 

Our frailties brought on by illness and mortality reset our awareness. Suddenly alert--like turning your car onto the home stretch, we look into the faces of loved ones and arrive at absolute knowing. You "arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time":  the essential love, the essence of love...and raw, breathtaking gratitude.

This absolute knowing can also mute all that is unessential during the hours of dying. Surely this is occurring in the higher consciousness--the soul of the one severing the silver thread. It may be a similarly graced occasion for persons at the bedside. If the opportunity arises, let the unessential be muted! 

At the end of life, we arrive where we started! 

What does this T.S. Eliot verse bring to your heart?

Thank you for caring!

Clutter Makes a Mess of Grief: How to Help!

Few people will admit that their possessions have crossed the line from "a little messy" to big problem. From time to time, we may all experience the problem--often in small doses:

• The tee shirt drawer doesn't quite close.
• The coat closet has no room for a visitor's jacket.
• It takes significant excavation to unearth the potato peeler from a tangle of kitchen tools.
• The garage workbench has lost its usefulness, covered with parts, packaging, and paraphernalia.

Fixing Small-Dose Clutter

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A small-dose clutter problem can be resolved in fifteen to thirty minutes, restoring functionality to a space. Common sense consigns the torn and broken to trash; goods that have fallen out of favor become a bag welcomed by a charity store. Some of us logon to craigslist or ebay and turn stuff into cash; freecycle facilitates a feel-good way to connect with someone in your community who can use what you no longer need (craigslist also has a "free stuff" category, and my household has enjoyed many grateful handshakes.)

Heavy Environments

Over the years, I've been in many homes bearing a lifetime's accumulated property. These environments bear a weight that exceeds the measurable:  

• A burden of confusion.
• An expense of duplication.
• The distress of indecision.
• The demand of nostalgia.

I have known people who's estate planning included diligently purging excess "to make it easier for my executors." And I have known folks who become infirm, look around their rooms packed with possessions and say, "the kids will sort it out." 

What is it like to die in a messy room?

No one comes back to complain, but Megory Anderson, founder of the Sacred Dying Foundation, encourages "establishing a sacred presence." She and her team offer many excellent resources for lay and professional use. In her free booklet of vigiling tips, De-clutter the bedside area is number 1! If you believe that death is not a medical event but a spiritual one, the simple practices that invoke honor, respect and sacredness are rich in love but trimmed of turmoil. During active dying, remove from the bed's radius those piles of medical and hygiene supplies, displaced household goods, and even beloved room decor that distracts and act like guy-wires holding tightly to the person who must detach and leave.

When grieving is literally 'a mess'

The time and process of sorting through the belongings of a loved one can be comforting and surprising. "I didn't know she still had that", "She really liked purses!" "Those cases of cereal in the basement are all expired." "Look what he stashed in the crawlspace." Understandably, we will all leave some degree of stuff to be dispersed or disposed of. The window of time to empty a room or residence can depend on a number of things:  policies of a skilled care facility, avoiding the cost of another month's rent, and whether a home will be sold or remain in the family. If your acquaintance with a survivor is familiar, consider offering assistance to sort, pack, and disperse property. 

Sympathetic support: a condolence 'gift'

It is imperative that your assistance be grounded in trust, and a plan of action that is acceptable to all legally responsible survivors. Marie Kondo, a Japanese organizing consultant and author of The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, and Spark Joy has some interesting tactics for decluttering that can certainly be applied to an entire home clean out.

1. Tackle categories, not rooms (focus reduces the burden)
2. Respect your belongings (take care of what you keep)
3. Nostalgia is a trap (time spent in reverie and sentimentality blur good judgment)
4. Dedicate efforts to the life of the decedent (express this out loud)
5. What you keep you must truly love ("like" or "useful" don't make the cut for a legacy item. See my post on Keepsakes)

Whether your assistance is presented first, in your condolence note or, in a later companionable visit, your offer qualifies as a remarkable condolence gift.

Thank you for caring!

Silent Night, Holy Night: Sacred Dying is another reason to write condolence

My end-of-life work has expanded this year to vigiling at deathbeds.

As a volunteer with a local hospital's No One Dies Alone (NODA) program, I am asked to sit with a dying patient for a few hours. When a family accepts the offer of NODA services, round-the-clock (or specific windows of respite) coverage are scheduled.

Silent Night, Holy Night

During my orientation with Chaplain Diane, I was asked to indicate which 4-hour shifts (in a 24/7 grid) I could serve as a 'compassionate companion.' At first glance, the choices were baffling; my mind quickly shuttled through my commitments and habits and I found myself putting check marks on 4 a.m. to 8 a.m., two days per week. That impulse has been wonderfully rewarding. It is nighttime when most families take a break, go home to rest, give pets attention, and squeeze in other life responsibilities.

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I am called out weekly into what is always a Silent Night, a Holy Night. There are very few vehicles on the roads and it is pure pleasure to descend the ramp to the rebuilt freeway and take my pick of 5 lanes' white concrete streaking by. I say a prayer that my presence be helpful.

It's almost 4 a.m. when I log in at the nurses station. The 4th floor is bright but hushed and I enter the patient room, knowing only his or her name, age, and status for 'universal precautions' (i.e. if communicable infection.) "Hello, Stanley," I say as I approach the bed, "my name is Deborah. I'm going to spend some time with you tonight."

"Doesn't Deborah think about anything else besides death?" Sure, I do. But like anyone else with a passion, responding to a 'calling' delivers unparalleled satisfaction. 

Are you familiar with the dynamic of synchronicity? 

Carl Jung, a 20th century pioneering psychoanalyst, believed in significant connections between thought and occurrence. What we focus on may manifest itself in coincidences that may provide insight, aid and opportunity. I have often expressed that just as we consider birth a momentous occasion, death [and dying] should be honored for its mystery and significance.

Thus I synchronistically found myself in the Dewey Decimal stacks of 291.38. 

Allow me to detour for a moment and explain that the Call Number 291 is Comparative Religions. I do not believe books on dying should be bogged down by religious proscription, shelved A to Z between Atheism and Zoroastrianism. I certainly wouldn't want to find books on dying in Call Number 616, Diseases. May I respectfully suggest a reclassification to 269, Spiritual Renewal or the crux Call Number 218, Humankind. Can I get a Comment from a librarian, please?

I felt at home when my eyes laid on the spine of 291.38A Sacred Dying, Creating rituals for embracing the end of life. This is Megory Anderson's attempt to provide both "testimonial and handbook" on how to "reclaim death and dying for the person going through it." She acknowledges that the hospice movement has returned the family to the farewell, but cautions that solicitous concerns about grieving divert loving attention away from the person actively dying.

A theologian, author, educator and liturgist, Dr. Megory Anderson is the founder and executive director of the Sacred Dying Foundation in San Francisco.


Readers will be inspired by Dr. Anderson's skill and experience in creating meaningful rituals. With her insights and passion for "honoring the final hours of a person's life," she has created a set of tools which family members and caregivers can employ, mindfully, to enhance the transition from physical life. The Sacred Dying Foundation also offers Vigil Training for individuals and institutions.

Sitting Vigil

Sitting vigil is the term for companioning a dying person. It may be a time with or without an exchange of words. In many cases, my patients are in advanced stages of dying, unconscious, in a pain-managed dream state, generally unresponsive. Rhonda Macchello, MD, adjunct faculty medical advisor to the Sacred Dying Foundation notes:

 "Fundamentally, dying is a spiritual process and not a biological one."

That tips over a lot of our assumptions. Whether a dying person is conscious or comatose, comfort measures for the body are secondary. However, it is crucial to create a structured focus on the person dying, and it is imperative to assume full  function of hearing:  auditory input--whether discordant or soothing, has an impact. When caregivers, family and friends surround the deathbed with their veil of sorrow, a good transition is impeded.

Take it outside

It's true:  with few exceptions, the sense of hearing remains to the end of life. Conversation and squabbles among bystanders about medical care and decisions, expenses, funeral, wills, property, estates, fears, resentments, tiredness, inconvenience--and even sorrowful crying--are burdens to the spirit of the dying person. Step out of the room and out of 'earshot'.

Gifts for the dying

Death is sacred because of its mysteries and profound emotion. Stay focused on that. Enhance the reverence with soothing touch, peaceful music, pleasing scents, soft glowing light...
Forgiveness, gratitude, love...

"Rituals transform one state of being into another."

 Dr. Anderson uses the examples of blowing out candles on a birthday cake and rites of passage such as a first driver's license to describe the ritual triggers for thought, insight, and transformation. She acknowledges that religious rituals and symbols can be a part of vigiling if they are meaningful to the dying person, but suggests that personalized rituals will often address deeper issues. A special memento, a favorite toy, a religious article or often, the creative repurposing of an everyday item can be used to exercise the psyche in resolving concerns. The desired outcome is always a readiness to let go of the body, to 'leave'.

I loved her story of taking a sheet from a hospital's linens shelf, and tying knots to represent the concerns of a dying person. As each topic is discussed and 'let go', a knot is untied. Finally, the sheet is liberated to become a huge sail, its four corners held by family members who joyfully loft it overhead. And though this ritual is for the dying, the symbolism of freeing their loved one's soul is deeply comforting to family.

The Music of the Night

On a Silent Night, Holy Night (a vigil), one of the first things I do is turn off the television. Though there is a channel with calm music programming set to nature scenes, the digital broadcast is unreliable. Our NODA program equips a Comfort Cart in each room with a CD player and case of discs. My current favorites are Angel Symphony, Memory Road, and Walk in the Woods.

The melodies take me to deep ponds of gratitude for the person's life:  their humanity, kindness, and courage. I assume the best. I consider them teachers. I forgive their shadows and encourage the true glory of their soul to burst forth from a tired shell.

On a Silent Night, Holy Night- everything is possible.

Sacred dying is another reason to write condolence because life is a spectacular thing. It is note-worthy.

Thank you for caring!