Full Circle

Last week, my friend Ginger called to offer me a job. Her mom, Florence, following a gradual descent into Alzheimer's and a subsequent stroke, was nearing the end of her life and needed around the clock care. She asked me if I could take the night shift, to give her live-in caregivers some rest. The first night as I entered her home, I heard voices singing in beautiful harmony from upstairs. For a minute, I thought we were too late and the angels had already arrived. But it was some of Florence's children, around her bed singing to her. Florence had loved to sing and play the piano, and shared her love of music with her family, and now they were singing to her, sure that she could hear them.


That first night, armed with a large Diet Coke, I was more than wide awake. As the hours ticked by, I listened to the variations in her breathing pattern, terrified that she would die on my watch. I faithfully administered her morphine drops according to the schedule and swabbed her mouth with a moist sponge every hour. In the long stretches between doses, remembering the week four years ago that I kept vigil beside my dad's hospital bed before he died, I felt all those emotions again, and noticed how much nicer it was to be in a home instead of a hospital.



The next night I returned to find many family members gathered to sing , to pray, to bless, to say goodbye. After all the rest had left, Ginger kissed her mother, pressed her face against her mom's cheek, told her how much she loved her and that she would be right there, then fell exhausted into the next bed. I had only kept watch for maybe half an hour longer when I heard the distinctive rattling breath. I called to Ginger, and we watched together a minute, till we were sure. It wasn't scary or tense, just sweet and peaceful and holy. We closed her eyes and while Ginger began her phone calls, I gently supported Florence's chin to close her mouth , amazed at her beautiful young-looking skin.



I never met Florence when she was conscious, but still loved her. It was such a gift to be there for the last two nights of her life, and to witness the love and tenderness with which her children cared for her, as she had once cared for them.