She appeared ever so frail when transferred from the intensive care unit. “She is comfort measures only (. . .) nothing to do tonight,” the transferring physician affirmed. She was dying, but she did not know it. Medical attempts to treat her multiorgan failure proved meaningless, and her battered body was evidence of this. I entered her vacant room to see her lying in bed breathing intermittently. She did appear comfortable, but the room seemed so big, so empty, so alone. “She will likely pass tonight; would you like to come be with her?” “No,” her sister's shaky voice stated over the phone, “It is a 20-mile drive to the hospital, and I won't be able to make it tonight.” Left alone in her room, the patient passed away a few hours later.
Across the hall, another woman was dying, and although resolutely fighting off this feeling, she knew it. She was admitted that afternoon from the oncology clinic with worsening failure to thrive. With her husband by her side, while her body belied her, she presented herself as so strong, so resilient. Retaining hopes of never having to let go, her husband grasped her fragile hand. He had such a look of adoration and longing in his eyes. His countenance already communicated he had begun grieving the loss of his wife. “Will you also be needing a bed to sleep on tonight?” “Absolutely,” her husband stated, “I am not leaving this place.” They spent the next few days together in the hospital. He only left her side to get a quick bite to eat or to get something she desired. She was ultimately discharged with home hospice, and soon after she passed away.
After the death of his wife, C.S. Lewis wrote in A Grief Observed:
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep swallowing.
The first woman's sister seemed so distant, and at the time of our initial conversation, I was taken aback by her response. My first internal reaction was, wouldn't she want to be with her sister who is dying? Later, as I talked with her after the passing of her sister, I realized that she had already begun the grieving process weeks before our initial discussion. Although there was not a loved one at the first woman's side, she did die peacefully.
The second woman knew she was dying, but she appeared so at peace with her husband by her side. I was thoroughly struck by the stalwart devotion her husband had for his wife. He was by his wife's side at every moment. He had such dedication, such love, but rightly so, he appeared so afraid. He feared the loss of his closest friend. He had begun the grieving process, and despite having such fear, he revealed such love exhibited by his suffering with her.
Death is always unsettling. At the end of the night, I had so many questions: questions about the fleeting nature of life, about the various ways of coping with death and disease, and concerning what it means to love. I was uncertain which way of dying was more disquieting for me. Although one can never fully place him or herself into another individual's situation, I wondered how I would respond in the face of death, especially with my loved ones. So as to accept the inevitability of death and to begin grieving, would I distance myself physically or emotionally from the one(s) I love who are dying? Or would I look them in the eye and, although being filled with fear, say, “I am not leaving this place.”
