Vigil

Watching and Waiting

My friend Greg is dying. He is in hospice care at home, and a group of us — his friends and family — are taking turns doing what we can to help keep him comfortable. Greg is in and out of lucidity. There are times when he knows that we are there with him, and even times when he can express preferences — yes or no to watermelon Italian ice, yes my arm hurts, or no I don’t want pain meds.

We don’t really do much. We reposition him, make sure he gets his meds on time, offer him something to eat or drink (which he generally doesn’t want), keep him clean, and sit with him. He isn’t talking much now, so much of our time with him is sitting quietly, or talking to him hoping that he can hear us, or talking to each other. I find myself praying a lot. I pray that he won’t be in pain, I pray for the right words, I pray for peace for his husband and all those who love him.

The root word for “lucid” is the Latin lucere, meaning “to shine” or “to be bright”. This verb traces back to the Latin noun lux, which means “light”. Greg has always been the brightest light in every room he entered, so it is disconcerting to see that light flickering on and off. There are times when it is clear that he is with us, and other times when his eyes may be open, but he is somewhere else. I wonder what he is thinking and feeling. He has always been so sharp — I wish I had some clue about his thoughts in this situation. Is he impatient for his next step? Are we helping or hurting?

Friends are coming from out-of-town, and others from down the street. There is a parade of caring folks who feel the urgency of this time, and want to see him before it is too late. There are so many that they can’t all be accommodated — he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s a time for a lot of memories to be shared, and we’ve been laughing at some of the things Greg has done or said. We’ve also been shedding tears for what’s happened and the wonderful person we are losing. At the same time there is gratitude for an amazing life and the way he has touched each of us.

Photo by Claudia Wolff on Unsplash

Some of the most important things that people do during this time are the smallest tasks — loading the dishwasher, cleaning out the refrigerator, making sure that the garbage is out. Lots of visitors bring food, which is a welcome treat. Each small job accomplished is one that Greg’s husband Danny doesn’t have to do, one more moment that they can spend together. It has been a blessing to see all the ways that people want to help.

I’ve been finding myself wondering about all the things we don’t know: How will I die? Will it look like this? What happens next? As much as I have faith in an afterlife, what does that look like? Can we communicate with our loved ones after death? I know many people who swear they have had signs and even messages from deceased loved ones. I’ve had the personal experience of feeling called by God. Is that stuff real, or is it some quirk in our psychological makeup? I don’t know any of these answers.

As we spend time together, emotions are running high. Everyone is waiting on edge for something to happen, looking for a sign of distress, or some change that indicates that things are getting worse. We all know that the eventual outcome will not be good, but this period of waiting feels difficult. I know that no matter how much I try to hide it, I don’t have much patience with others. I don’t want to hear one more comment from someone who doesn’t really know what they’re talking about, or who is just repeating something they read on the internet. I find myself getting short with people, or not giving them as much attention as I should. It’s also exhausting, which adds to my impatience. There is too much to do, and not enough time to do it. Yes, I’m struggling with this, but so is everyone else, each in their own way.

I understand why we spend this time together. This is one way we can give back to someone who gave so much to us. It’s a time to show our respect, a time to deeply feel the emotions around this loss, and to be available to support each other. It’s terrible, and confusing, and lovely all at once.