Over and over we have seen how precious and significant are the last months, weeks, days and hours in a person’s life, the last moments between one life and the next.
More than 60 members of Madonna House have died since the foundation of our community in 1947, most of them here in Combermere. Over and over again we have seen how precious and significant are the last months, weeks, days, and hours in a person’s life, the last moments between one life and the next.
In the book Mother Maria, Her Life in Letters*, Mother Maria writes to someone about her cancer, remission, return of the cancer and the time of dying, “The hour of our death is not an arbitrary one; it is the perfect time for ourselves and for God.”
We will all die. The time surrounding our death is a privileged time of encounter with God. And dying within God’s timing allows him to be present in new ways with his gifts. The more people you accompany, the more you see that dying is really between the person and God.
The dying process is also a tremendous gift for those who accompany the person. One member of Madonna House who has accompanied many who died said, “Not all experiences of being with the dying stand out for me, but every death has been a privilege.”
Here are stories of a few of our brothers and sisters in Madonna House.
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Theresa was not eager to go, though she had accepted the reality that death was coming to her. She had some pain and was restless — mostly because she wanted to be more active and not just lie there. During her last week, I had slept in an easy chair in the hallway on alternate nights in order to relieve the caregiver.
I was not there that last night. Cathy was, and in between checking on others, she sat in Theresa’s room, just to be with her. Theresa was restless much of the time.
In the middle of the night, Cathy asked Theresa if she would like to pray the Chaplet of Mercy and so they did. During this prayer, Theresa became calm, and an hour later, she died. I would not have thought to pray the Chaplet of Mercy, had I been there. But Cathy did, and God knew that Cathy would offer this, and so Theresa received this last gift on earth.
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Deirdre was dying of heart and respiratory problems. She had been bed-bound for several months and was quite ready to leave us.
The night she died, two of us had been there for hours, reading to her from her ancient and treasured book of prayers to Our Lady, as Dierdre had asked.
We called Fr. David Linder who came to pray the prayers for the dying. The caregiver (not a believer) joined us for these prayers. Afterwards she said to me, “Did you see? When the Father was praying, Deirdre got all quiet; her breathing was soft before she died.” Two gifts — of peace and of wonder — shared.
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Fr. Pat was a wild man, still full of life in his 80s, and his idea of dying was complicated by frightening experiences he had after open heart surgery a few years earlier.
He subsequently developed leukemia and was given two months to live. It was two years later that he entered palliative care. At that time, he asked a home-care nurse, “What am I supposed to do now — just sit here and wait to die?” “No,” she said, “choose to live until you die.” And so he did.
Over several months, he became gradually able to do less and less, but he said to me one day, “I had no idea it could be so simple.” “What,” I asked. “Dying,” he answered. He died one evening — bored, a little grumpy, and peaceful.
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We had sent Mary to the Emergency Room because the level of oxygen we could deliver here was suddenly not sufficient for her. There in the hospital, her breathing recovered with a higher level of oxygen, but all attempts to maintain that at a lower rate failed.
Mary wanted to come home to die. They told her she would die in the ambulance on the way, but Mary said, “I know you can get me home alive!” And they did. On less oxygen than we thought possible, she died a few days later, her best friend at her bedside.
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While most of our members have died at home in Combermere, some have died at the hospital, with one or more members of our community beside them.
And sometimes we are able to travel to be with a family member at the time of their death.
After two years of cancer treatments, one member’s mother was dying. In a peaceful room at home, adorned with family photos and a statue of Our Lady, she slipped away quietly, surrounded by her family as they prayed.
She had used her two years well, spending quality time with her young adult children and writing a journal filled with precious memories of family times and with treasured thoughts she wanted to pass on to each of her children.
A woman of faith, she had clearly wrestled with the inevitability of her death coming so soon, but she lived this time with honesty, dignity, and purpose.
At a conference someone once asked a palliative-care doctor something like this, “With all this talk about a time for being reconciled, for tying up loose ends, saying proper good-byes, and getting the benefit of palliative care, I’m just wondering: if you could do all that and then have MAID, what would be the difference?” The doctor replied, “Ah, but there are surprises!”
There are no generic deaths. Each person dies in their own way — and not always the way you thought they would!
We are grateful, in the Combermere area to have outstanding family doctors and the local palliative care/home care in place. People can benefit from dying at home or at the local hospice as part of this same home-care system.
One of our members volunteers at the local hospice facility. She spoke about what a privilege it is to accompany the dying. Helping with palliative care “has been an ongoing learning experience and a tremendous privilege. Each visit brings a unique blessing.
“Challenges unfold in so many ways as the patient comes to terms with the reality of their approaching death. Many intense emotions arise during this time, as is to be expected. Beautiful reconciliations frequently occur between family members and friends who have been estranged,” she said.
This is a holy time. “A process of inner transformation is taking place before our eyes, and the atmosphere is supportive of these precious moments. Staff and volunteers respect the person’s privacy while, at the same time, they remain available to be with them when asked.
“With the current government end-of-life care regulations, many people will be deprived of this process of transformation, the crowning achievement of their lifetime,” she said.
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It is not true that all pain can be eliminated. Even with all the help that can be offered, and that includes the presence of caring people, there will most likely be pain or discomfort, often distress and difficulty.
A great challenge in this process of dying is that it is so mysterious. Others can help, but only up to a point, and it is difficult for a care giver or family member to stand by feeling helpless when a person has to work something out with God in solitude. They are not able to understand or help. They can only trust that God is in charge and will take care of it.
When it is necessary for the person to work through this alone, the kindest thing we can do is protect their space and freedom for this important work, neither blocking it with too much of our presence and distraction, nor encouraging them to cut it short to avoid the internal combat.
Next to being born, dying is the most important event of our lives — no wonder it is not easy. But end-of-life days are a treasure, filled with deep significance, and our persons and lives are of infinite value right to the last minute of God’s all-knowing timing.
*Mother Maria, Her Life in Letters, published by Darton, Longman and Todd Ltd., London, 1979.
[photo: Canadian Martyrs’ Cemetery, Combermere. Photo by Ana Choi]
