She placed her arms around my neck as I edged her off the mattress toward the bedside commode. “What’s taking so long?” she whispered.
I’m trying, I thought, wincing at the spasms nagging my lower back since becoming my mom’s caretaker. Our eyes locked and I realized she wasn’t talking about my delay in getting her to the commode. She meant why is it taking so long to die? I relaxed my grip and rested on the side of the bed. Was she asking for permission?—because I wasn’t the one in control here. If I were, I would have smashed the oxygen tank into shards and willed her lungs’ saturation rate to a perfect 100%. She seemed only to be asking for my blessing, so I gave it. “Whenever you’re ready, just go. Go to your mom and dad and sisters. They’re waiting for you.”
She nodded, smiling wide. “I’m not afraid. I’m ready.”
I had no choice but to surf with her. Some days she caught a wave and stood strong—she’d sit in the leather chair, propped up by a million pillows, sipping a strawberry milkshake and laughing. Other days she missed the wave entirely, tumbling down, weak and worn, sipping iced water from the tiny paper cup I held to her dry lips. Her tiny body smelled of peat and sweat, a result of nighttime sweating episodes that left her weary. That the very definition of peat is a decomposing matter was not lost on me.
Is there some rite of passage that takes us from child to adult when we sit by the side of a dear one and witness their escape from this earth? And why must some experience death so young, forced to go through life without that vital relationship with mother, father, spouse, sibling, friend? Would my own loved ones sit by my side one day as I forged through my earthly exit?
Powerless, I sat by her side and watched her fearless exit. I imagined her arriving in fashionable short black boots, splashy cardigan layered over a soft green turtleneck. Surely there’s a portal where all those awaiting her arrival are watching – waiting to greet and receive her!
And, just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”
-Henry Van Dyke
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