Client R. G.,

While some might feel called to work with clients with alzheimer’s disease or the like, mine appears to be with the dying. I was called to a client who was dying and did not want to die. He had been angry with everyone, fighting death.

Pulling up at the closed gate, I felt nervous and again nerved myself to simply move with the flow, minute to minute. Much to my dismay the gate was locked. It was a while before a woman came and opened the gate for me. Driving up, I saw another woman with long straight black hair. As I parked the care, both of them disappeared. I saw another woman and guessed her to be the night caregiver. We introduced ourselves.

She pointed to the client and told me that was our client. I looked at him and choked. He looked like dying. I was told he was dying, what I did not realize was that he was in an active state of dying. He looked so sick. I controlled myself, told myself to be professional and pushed aside the feeling. In that moment, I feel my spirit going out from me reaching him, connecting with him. He sat, head down, head almost touching his chest and sleeping.

I sat near him and read the notes on him. He stirred, moving restlessly. I reached out and held his hand. He calmed down and slept again. All I wanted to do during that shift was held his hand and stay in meditation. I had taken care of my mother when we thought she was dying and knew even though he appeared to be sleeping and not conscious, he could be going all over the place in his mind or sleep. It happened with my mother, to this day she believed I was with her when she roamed the jungle. In vain did I tell her she was at the hospital and was having vivid dreams. I knew also dying is a lonely scary journey, that if I held his hand, he would know he was not alone. From the way he gripped my hand every now and then I knew he appreciated it.

The woman who opened the gate introduced herself to me as his sister. When it was 8 am, time for his medication, she suggested I called his wife and wished me luck. She would not do it, she had been there before and, she would not want to call the wife. I went, and knocked on the door. When the door finally opened, a fat dog walked out. I got on my haunches and petted him; nothing like petting a dog to gain good graces of the dog’s mistress. It worked like a charm. I apologized for disturbing her. She told me no trouble and was very nice. When it was time to give him a change of clothes, I meant to ask her for a basin, she understood me to ask her how it is done and showed me. Together, we wiped him cleaned and got him changed. She was very loving with him and altogether very nice though I could tell she could get difficult.

I wanted to stay with the client only, he was dying and nothing mattered to me. I sat next to him and when he moved, reached to hold his hand. I read it helped them feel they are not alone. He went still and gripped hold of my hand. I did that most of the time. Whenever he became agitated, I would hold his hand and assured him it is alright and he would quiet down. Several times, my eyes teared. I asked Jesus, why is it so hard to die? He was suffering so much and hanging on.

Mid morning, the wife told me other caregivers work around the place. I did tell her to let me know what I could do around the house. She showed me the clothes in the laundry. I did that and took care of the dishes in the dishwasher and washed some pots and pans. After that, mostly I stayed with the client, moving aside when the family wanted to be with him.

His family would approach, saw he was sleeping and moved away, the nurse came, checked him and left him to sleep, the pastor came and seeing he was sleeping moved to talk to his family. I remained at his side. Every time he woke up, knowing how precious those moments are, I went to get his family who would hurry over to greet him, or talk to him. The moment he fell asleep, they left again.

My shift was ending when his young daughter drew near. I told her, every time her father moved restlessly and greatly agitated, I would hold his hand tightly, placing my other hand on his shoulder and assured him it was alright, and he would calm down. I went on to tell her, from the way he would tighten his grip on my hand, I knew he felt it. “How sweet,” the young girl told me and moved to hold her father’s hand. Not for my mother, I might have believed the same, that because he was sleeping he was oblivious to everything. It was not so. He passed away a couple of days later. It was one shift but a beautiful moving experience for me.