The Yield: Saying the final goodbye; a chance to affirm, reassure

November 10, 2006 10:00 am

— For the eight years of Larry’s illness I wanted to support him as best I could. I did this by frequent visits, playing his favorite music and being affectionate to him. Now, at the end of the journey, I wanted to be with him when he died.
I am convinced the arduous process of dying can be a time of healing for the survivors. I watched Larry struggle to stay alive. There was something left unfinished with people who loved him. For two nights I stayed in the room with Larry as he was not expected to live more than a few days. Then I decided to heed the advice of hospice and get rest for the days to come.
“Have your family members come to say goodbye?” the social worker asked.
“Our son Wade is on the way,” I said.
Wade arrived and spent time with his dad and later needed a break from his bedside. He walked slowly out to his truck. The hospice social worker and nurse arrived and asked about Wade. “He is out in his truck,” I told the nurse. Concerned, she went out and climbed in the truck to talk with him.
The next time I saw him, he was in the conference room with both the hospice social worker and nurse. Wade’s body language indicated that he was pouring out his heart to them. The gesturing of his hands told me he needed these ladies for support, and I was grateful that they were there. These professionals have been trained to care for hurting families.
Rosemary, a very caring staff member at St. Luke’s, asked if we could have a time of prayer together. Larry’s bed was rolled away from the wall. Chairs were placed around the bed. Pastor Karl led with the first prayer, and the rest of us joined in. It was spontaneous and very healing. God seemed so very close at this particular time.
St. Luke’s prepared the evening meal for Wade, his wife, DeeAnn, and me. It felt good to visit and relax for a few moments. The main topic of conversation centered on leaving no unfinished business. I felt an urgency to get back to Larry. Wade and DeeAnn felt the same way. “I’ll go,” Wade insisted. DeeAnn and I cleared the dishes.
Returning from the kitchen, we saw Wade’s stunned expression.
“Is dad dead?” I asked, sheltering him from having to say the words.
“I think so,” he said.
The three of us held hands and rushed to Larry’s room, confirming what Wade thought was true.
I saw Larry’s peaceful body lying there, and realized his struggle was over. I was overwhelmed with emotions. Relief, sadness, joy and the finality of it all brought tears instantly to my eyes. There was no holding them back. I cried. For a moment I felt surrounded by God’s love as if it were just He and I in the room.
Wade hugged me and said, “I’m sorry mom, I know that you wanted to be with dad when he died.” He went on to tell me what he had said to his dad: “You don’t have a screw-up for a son anymore. I have been sober for more than four years.”
“Right after I told him,” Wade said, “he took a breath and died.”
“Wade, your dad really needed to hear that,” I assured him. “It was meant to be this way. I thank God that you got a chance to say goodbye to your dad. His love for you prevented him from going without knowing that you are OK.”
“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything,” Wade said.
O death where is thy sting? O grave where is thy victory? ... But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 1 Corinthians 15, 55-57 King James version

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