She said we should help create a “holy space.”
The nurse who was charged with the dying had perhaps the best and worst job anywhere. On one hand, she helped families sort out the messy details of a loved one’s final days. There was the business side with Social Security administrators, Medicare and the purposefully obtuse word that everyone still understands -- “arrangements.”
But the good part of her job is that she's able to help families deal with the inevitable, a reality check that, yes, he was dying and it was time to say "goodbye."
But the good part of her job is that she's able to help families deal with the inevitable, a reality check that, yes, he was dying and it was time to say "goodbye."
I was surprised at her usage of the term, “holy space.” I don’t think of death as holy. Better words come to mind like "painful," "sad," or "emotional." But holy? She encouraged a creation of an environment of simple rest, of friends and family, of quiet laughter and joy. This she said, would usher in a holiness to the experience.
And why not? The dignified, gracious man desired a dignified, gracious end. The man who brought peace to so many deserved a little peace.
And why not? The dignified, gracious man desired a dignified, gracious end. The man who brought peace to so many deserved a little peace.
The big Norwegian with steel gray eyes looked a little different in his final days. Wrapped in a loose gown, the oversized bed frame made him seem so smaller. Frail.
He had little to say near the end, weakness choking off his vocal chords. But he always was a man of few words and when he did say something, it was slow and measured. He always contemplated the impact of words, not wishing for them to complicate a situation that could be resolved instead with a smile.
This man’s faith was so simple it frustrated the Pharisees in his life. When faced with life’s challenges – and we all remember them because we lived them – he was a rock. When the cupboards were bare, and the bills were due, and all looked lost, he would simply reassure us. “God will work it out.” And He did. And He still does.
The Redhead, 63 years by his side, was still there, stroking, touching, and giving her undying love. Her mind and body still active, she could have skipped on to her own life, instead choosing to care for him. More than anything, that's what I hope for in my life.
His heart was always with the open range of his childhood home in North Dakota. “Where never is heard, a discouraging word.” This was his life.
Amazingly, his wrinkles disappeared a little each day until his face was taut and tan like a young man. His pain was gone, almost as if he were being measured for his new body. His last words to me were mouthed, but I knew what he said. “I love you.” His twinkled eyes still full of admiration as he managed a weak smile.
That night, his systems shut down, one at a time, until he closed his eyes and never woke up.
And when it was over, it was strangely wonderful. We cried. And so did those who fed him and turned him and changed his sheets, because they saw the man he was. Yet, through the tears, we all smiled. This honest, genuine man finally at peace.
Yes, it was holy.
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Beautiful post, David.
And yes, it can.
A beautiful and faith-filled post, thank you. What a testimony to your Dad's life and example that you lean fully on the Lord for comfort, strength and peace through this difficult time. Prayers are with you and your family.
Oh David, my heart swells with love for you and your family during this time.
I, too, have never heard the encouragement to create a "holy space" but am certain it was, perhaps, the best advice of all. I'll be sharing this post with my cousins, whose mother is even now facing last days.
God doesn't waste any of our experiences, if we let Him. Thank you for choosing to say yes to this.
You and your father were fortunate to have a good life, to love each other, to say so at the end, and for you to be there when he died.
This was a holy moment. A moment you set aside so that it was clear this was not just any moment. And holy because of your shared faith.
Amen.
I feel that if I say something, I will bumble and crash through a holy moment created by these words...but if I don't, I will fail to acknowledge the moment and its power.
It seems pedestrian to comment and feel like removing my shoes to type these words. There is holiness present in these words, bearing witness as they do to a saint being ushered into eternity. Yes, the deathbed was holy because God was present there.
"This man's faith was so simple it frustrated the Pharisees in his life who wanted to complicate it." Thank you for sharing these words about your father.
This is a beautiful goodbye, indeed, a Holy one...until that wonderful greeting that goodbye will never be a part of. Bless you, David. Still praying for you and your family.
Wow. Thanks for your vulnerability here. Praying for you and your family, David.
Great tribute. David. Continue to celebrate his life through the grief.
So beautifully written, with such depth of feeling. Blessings!
Again, just. No words, David.
You've created holy space for each of us...
Right here.
Today.
Thanks so much for sharing this...
Thanks for sharing these thoughts about your Dad.
My Dad died at home; that’s where he wanted to be.
On the day when death seemed imminent, many family members gathered and sat, almost as spectators, as he lived his last hours. Finally everyone gave up and left. My son and I were left. We were the ones who provided the primary care in his last weeks. We started making plans of what we would do the next day. My son then says, “I think he’s gone.” I checked and yes, he was gone; he had slipped away quietly.
It was a blessing to care for him those last weeks and an even greater gift to be there when he left his body and joined Jesus in Heaven.
It too was a holy place.
My thoughts are with you.
And your telling of it? Holy.
I don't know what else to say. This was just ... so beautiful.
Sacred words, yours.
I have come to a holy space. This.
Beautiful, David.
And indeed holy.
Beyond that, words fail. Might you sense His close holding.
Our hearts and prayers are with you, David. Though I didn't know Gordon well, I will always remember what a kind and gentle man he was. His very presence was peaceful, and I am happy that his passing was as well.
Beautiful. Thank you for this. And thank you for the shout out on HCB.
Really liked how "holiness" is a big part it makes Heaven again so
much of what's next. Beautifully written
Thanks for sharing this, David.
Dignified, gracious, simple faith...
Yes, you carry his namesake in a worthy manner.
God comfort you, David.
Beautifully said. Thank you for sharing such an intimate experience.
Death is glorious, holy, for the Christian.
I added myself to follow your blog. You are more than welcome to visit mine and become a follower if you want to.
God Bless You :-)
~Ron
forwarded this to a friend going thru
the exact same thing
thanks for sharing it and being open and honest
Oh David, I am so sorry for your loss. And yes, I understand this holy place, I do. Grateful for God in your midst.
I think I can come across as insensitive about death exactly because I do see it as both sacred and quite ordinary, in the same way as birth.
It is ordinary because it is an experience in life common to every one of us, just as eating and sleeping and being born. But anyone who has witnessed the quite ordinary event of birth knows how very sacred it is to witness life miraculously transformed from darkness to light, from confinement to freedom, from unseen to face-to-face.
Death is all these and more. We see this familiar place as our home. But it is only a temporary place, where we begin as something very small and are formed into something fit for eternity.
You have honored your father. I look forward to meeting him.
So sorry David. I haven't been through this yet. I was choking up reading this as my own father turns 80 next week. I think it's beautiful the way you have honored your father here.
I didn't grow up in a traditional church, but I now attend a church that celebrated "All Saints Sunday" last week. It is really a beautiful and "holy" experience to remember those who have gone before us in a formal setting. My pastor was speaking of his own father's recent passing, and he talked about the whole concept of those who are "asleep" -- that God is holding them in his arms, like a sleeping baby, until Jesus returns and we are all united again. I thought that was pretty cool.
Thanks for sharing your dad's story.
It is so hard to lose a parent. Your words minister greatly to one who has walked this path. What a privilege to read such loving words from a son. Thank you for sharing.
David - you are blessed because someone's eyes twinkled when you walked into the room. The men who have been parented, fathered like you are rare. It is why you have so much to offer. This was a tribute from a son who has received 'the blessing'. Truly poetical prose.
David,
might I offer you some words I wrote for Emily's blog about death. I think you might like them.
http://canvaschild.blogspot.com/2010/09/guest-post-by-deb-talk-at-table.html
Providing healthcare, as well as during the loss of loved ones, I have been present several times as the temporal has met with the eternal. It is indeed profoundly holy. Thank you for sharing your experience and your father's testimony. What a wonderful way to honor him.
David, thanks for linking your recent comment on my blog back to this post. I really liked the way you described him as a man not wanting to complicate with words what a smile could better accomplish. Beautiful.
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