Last Moments

Last Moments

My husband and I were out walking our dog. Now that we are finally having summer weather, we have switched to wearing shorts for our walks. A few days ago I had bought David a new pair of shorts to try on. He liked them and earlier that day went to buy another pair.

"Probably the last Cargo shorts I'll ever buy," David said as we stepped outside with our dog Sophie.

It was a funny thing to say. But, how many pairs of Cargo shorts does anyone really need in a lifetime?

This made me think about the last of other things. My husband and I flew to Fiji for a dive vacation many years ago. On the day of our eighteenth anniversary we visited a small village on one of the islands. As we arrived by boat the people from the village greeted us on the shore with song and a Fijian lei. I wore a sarong as did both the women and men in our group. The women from the village wore bright, multi-colored skirts and the boys wore grass skirts. The villagers were glowing, their smiles as bright as the sunshine. One young woman took my hand as she led me to the building where we would join them for the traditional Kava ceremony.

When it was finally time to say goodbye, we climbed aboard the skiff and donned life preservers. As the sun was setting, the villagers stood on the shore once again and sang, clapping to the music. As the boat made its way out of the little harbor, we waved goodbye to these beautiful and happy people from Fiji. I had tears in my eyes as I held David's hand and waved until we could no longer hear them. Despite how lovely a vacation it was we knew then that this would be the last time we would ever go to Fiji.

The last time I saw my dad, I kissed him on the cheek to say goodbye when we left the Assisted Living where he lived. I knew then that it would be the last time I would ever see him. I was not in the room when my father died a few weeks later, although my brother Jim was. I am thankful that Jim was there holding his hand, telling him it was okay to let go. Jim will always have the memory that he was there for Dad at the end. That I wasn't in the room when he died was okay. I have my own memories of my father eating McDonalds in the park on a Saturday morning soaking up the sunshine and watching the bald eagles fly over the river or talking with people fishing along the Chippewa River.

The mother of a very dear friend of mine recently passed away. Her mother was a very spiritual, generous and delightful woman. Years ago my friend having a vibrant and independent single life in Seattle, made the sacrifice to move back to Denver to have her mother live with her. It was getting hard for her mom to take care of her home by herself.

Having one of our parents live with us can be a challenge not to be underestimated. It requires sacrifice, deep patience and everlasting lovingkindness, no matter how good our relationship is with our parent. Not only do our parents change as they get older, we change as well. On our own we have a chance to drop old habits and develop new and better ones. We are able to refine our emotional responses in a way that when we are back "home" this becomes complicated, difficult and seemingly impossible.

I know this only from a distance. When my brother and I moved my father up to Wisconsin late in his life, I drove out to visit him ninety miles away every weekend for several weeks. Over those ninety miles, I transformed back to my old self and had to transform myself back again by the time I reached home.

My friend was also not in the room when her mom died, having left the hospice a short time before to get some much needed sleep. Her two sisters stayed and then called her to come back as their mom took her last breath and then took no more. My friend had a special connection and closeness with her mother that could not be understood by either of her two sisters. In a very real way, my friend and her mother had become almost inseparable with a deep emotional connection to each other. Neither were far from each other's thoughts no matter what they were doing or when or where they were.

Earlier in the hospice room in meditation the three daughters lifted their mother up in spirit, encouraging her to let go. At the height of the meditation, both an interior door and an exterior one flew open with a gust of wind. But still, even if her spirit departed at that moment, her physical form clung on. It was only when my friend, utterly exhausted finally left to rest that her mother was able to detach completely and finally from this earthly existence.

Leaving the hospice room was almost like granting permission for them both to let go of the bond they had for so many years. My friend shared nearly a decade of evening laughter, lively discourse and morning reflections with her mom that neither of her other sisters had experienced in the same way.

The day to day intimacy and companionship we have with anyone we live with is hard to explain to others that only come for visits. It is in the quiet, relaxed moments when we are at home with no guests to attend to that we are really ourselves and allow others to share in who we are - the good and the bad, our dreams and our hopes. Because we never really know that something is ever really the last, even if we may think we do, every moment we share with others is precious.