Choosing A Time To Go
Some hospice carers have told us that residents seem instinctively to know they are nearing the end of life. ‘It’s almost like something has told them “You’re nearly there, just calm down because something is going to happen”,’ said one interviewee. ‘I think the people who are dying know right at the end that something is happening,’ said another nurse.
Towards the end, from being very agitated they may calm down and just lie there peacefully. Sometimes they will get a sudden burst of energy, so that they are able to talk to their family for the last time. You get times when people suddenly seem to perk up just before they die. They seem to get better – enough sometimes to say goodbye to relatives . . . It’s really strange, it’s like an extra energy that they’ve got just prior to them going right off. They become coherent . . . and then they seem to just go.
It certainly seems to be quite common for people to have some intimation of their own death, almost as though it is a decision they have made themselves. They may tell those close to them, quite matter-of-factly, that it’s time for them to go, that they won’t be there when their friend next comes to visit them. The following account describes Sylvia’s experience with her friend, Gwen, who was dying of cancer. Although Gwen was in great pain and often got very depressed, she was afraid to die and never wanted to talk about death. For the last two weeks of Gwen’s life, Sylvia and her husband visited her daily in her hospice.
Although she was over 70, Gwen was still very vain about her hair, which was jet black. She would agonize if she saw a single silver strand, and the visit of the hairdresser every Tuesday was the highlight of her week. On the evening of Monday, 6th July 1992, we talked to her. She was in some pain, but quite alert. I asked her if she was going to see the hairdresser in the morning. When she said ‘No’, I thought perhaps she was in too much pain, but she explained that she had seen ‘some people’ who had promised to take her out on Tuesday. She did not know where they were going, but they had promised to come for her.
The nurse assured us that no one had been to visit, and Gwen was not going anywhere. She explained that Gwen was on quite powerful medication and it was not unusual to be confused. But she did not seem at all confused to us. The next morning I rang the hospice, but the doctor advised me that Gwen needed to rest and would only fight the drugs if she had visitors; her family were coming later in the day. The following morning I rang again, already knowing what I was going to hear. Sure enough, Gwen had died peacefully on Tuesday evening, 7th July 1992.
It is clear that Gwen had the expectation that she was going to be collected and go ‘somewhere’. What is interesting is that this was not seen by her as in any way strange – even though she seemed not to know who ‘these people’ were.
This we have seen repeatedly in other accounts – even when the dying do not seem to know who is going to pick them up; the strangers hold no threat and the dying are happy to go with them.
A nurse told us the following incident which happened when she was on night duty at a Manchester hospital. An elderly couple had been involved in a car accident. The man had been badly injured but the woman suffered mainly from shock and bruising.
I went for my break at midnight and on my return I was told the gentleman had died from his injuries but his wife was not to be told yet. I went to her bedside and asked if she would like a cup of tea. She excitedly told me that her husband had just been to see her and told her he would come back at 4 a.m. and they would go home together. I thought that she was still affected by shock. Her blood pressure suddenly began to fall about 3.30 a.m. and the Staff Nurse sent for the doctor.
She was still watching the door intently, waiting for her husband. The doctor saw she was deteriorating fast and did all he could to save her. She was smiling and watching for someone before she passed quickly into spirit. Death was noted at 4 a.m.
Excerpt from The Art of Dying by Peter Fenwick
The Ministry of Angels
In the hospital I became familiar with death. I saw some die who welcomed death gladly as the deliverer from pain, grief, weariness and care; as the opener of the door through which, released from all physical infirmities, their spirits would pass to a broader, freer sphere of existence where they would realize the deepest longing of their souls. Others I saw die who, overcome by physical weakness and mental weariness, seemed incapable of either hope or fear, and awaited death utterly indifferent as to what might follow.
I witnessed some deaths that were calm and peaceful and as good to look upon as the falling asleep of a babe. And some I saw in which physical agony persisted until the last gasp, and they were dreadful to see. Still more appalling were the deaths of those who, realizing that their end was near, were terror-stricken by the fear of what might befall them afterwards and fought for life, clung to it, begged and prayed that they might be allowed to live. Happily such scenes were rare. Most of those whom I saw die passed away in a state of torpor, incapable, seemingly, of feeling or expressing any emotion.
But I noticed that often, irrespective of the physical condition or frame of mind of the dying, just before the end came they would seem to recognize someone who was not of those at the bedside and was by the latter unseen. I have seen a woman who had been in a comatose state for hours, suddenly open her eyes with a look of glad surprise, stretch forth her hands as though to grasp invisible hands outstretched towards her, and then, with what seemed a sigh of relief, expire. I have seen a man who had been writhing in agony suddenly grow calm, fasten his eyes with an expression of joyful recognition on what to those observing him was only vacancy, and uttering a name in tones of glad greeting, breathe his last breath.
I recall the death of a woman who was the victim of that most dreadful disease, malignant cancer. Her sufferings were excruciating, and she prayed earnestly that death might speedily come to her and end her agony. Suddenly her sufferings appeared to cease; the expression of her face, which a moment before had been distorted by pain, changed to one of radiant joy. Gazing upwards, with a glad light in her eyes, she raised her hands and exclaimed: “Oh, mother dear, you have come to take me home. I am so glad!” And in another moment her physical life had ceased.
The memory of another death, which occurred about the same time, comes back to me. It was that of an old soldier who was in the last stages of tuberculosis, brought on by exposure while fighting his country’s battles. He was brave and patient but had frequent paroxysms of pain that were almost unendurable, and he longed for the relief which he knew death alone could bring him. One of these spasms had seized upon him, and his features were convulsed with agony as he fought for breath, when he suddenly grew calm. A smile lit up his face, and, looking upwards, he exclaimed, with a ring of joy in his voice, “Marion, my daughter!” Then the end came. His brother and sister were at the bedside. The sister said to the brother: “He saw Marion, his favorite daughter. She came and took him where he will suffer no more”, and she added fervently: “Thank God! He has found rest at last”.
That at such moments as I have described the dying really see some spirit form – someone who has come from the other world to welcome them on their birth into the new life – I never doubted. And the time came when, as will be told later (in the book), it was revealed to me that this is what they really do see. It is not, as some suppose, a phantom creation of their own imagination on which they gaze so gladly just before death occurs, but a ministering spirit, an angel, and more highly endowed with life and vitality than are those who have not yet undergone the change wrought by death.
Excerpt from The Ministry of Angels by Joy Snell
Secrets Of The Light
…… understanding: Deeply understanding and applying the power of love, combined with the spiritual protection of good cheer, is just about the wisest thing we can do for ourselves. When we commit to cheerfulness and to life lived in the loving expectation of goodness, the world becomes a beautiful reflection of these qualities. Dedicating ourselves to being the expression of love and good cheer, in all we do, guarantees our lives will become the direct image of Heaven on Earth. Our love for one another, put into action moment by moment, and used for the highest good of all, is most assuredly our sacred path on Earth. Each of us has a unique mission to accomplish in life. That mission is predicated solely upon the gifts and talents we chose to master, for the benefit of humanity, in loyal service to Spirit. However, in all instances, no matter what the immediate or ultimate goal might be, love is the unwavering path leading to its spiritual fulfillment. Love is the power, ever present and forever willing, to perform the miraculous deeds and unexplainable happenings destined to occur along the path to our success.
Lao Tsu, the great Chinese theosophist and author of the Tao Te Ching, said over twenty-five hundred years ago, ‘The only way to do is to be.’ Therefore, I believe that the only way to create love is to consciously be love. If there is to be peace on Earth, it must begin as a seed that first takes root within each of our hearts. We must become the dutiful spiritual emissaries of celestial harmony that we volunteered to be when we came here. All we need to do is acknowledge our essence as love and diligently use……..
Excerpt from Secrets of the Light by Dannion Brinkley (hospice caregiver)
Way Of Life
In my line of work death is a way of life. When I first started in hospice care I was quite young and sensitive but after a while I started to feel more comfortable around the dying, and one of the reasons for my more relaxed approach was an experience I had the very first month I started work. I’d been involved in the care of a lady I will call Judith. She wasn’t an easy patient, always complaining, and a lot of the staff didn’t like spending much time with her. She never had any visitors, and, being young and earnest, I thought I could make a difference and sat with her as often as I could during visitor hours. She was having none of it and told me to leave her be. After a few days of this she realized that I wasn’t going anywhere, so she quieted down a bit. Sometimes the two of us would just sit in silence together. One afternoon as I was coming in to check on Judith, she grabbed my hand and told me that I didn’t need to sit with her anymore because they were with her now. I asked her what she meant and she said that her sisters and brothers – she came from a family of eight and all had passed except her – were taking good care of her. Then she touched my face and thanked me. It was the first sign of tenderness I had ever known from her. I just smiled and told her I would check in on her later that evening. A few hours later I came back to see Judith and she was quietly asleep, breathing deeply. I gave her room a little tidy-up but then I felt this sudden and strange stillness wash all over me. Hard to say, but everything went quiet – eerily quiet. I couldn’t even hear or feel my own heartbeat. Then I noticed that Judith was suddenly sitting up in her bed with her arms stretched towards the back wall. I wanted to go over to her but I couldn’t move. My feet were rooted to the spot. I saw this shaft of bright light fall over her bed. The light made her face glitter and she looked radiant. The light got brighter and brighter and at one point was so intense that I had to shield my eyes. When I looked again everything was back to normal and Judith was lying in her bed again. I went over to her and, from the silent, peaceful expression on her face I knew that she had gone.
This was not an isolated incident. About six months later something very similar happened when I was present at the death of a man I will call Jacob, only this time I saw swirling lights and heard the sound of flapping wings. I would say that on average I witnessed something magical like this about twice a year and the experience has become so familiar that I don’t even question it any more. Whenever it happens I know that one of the residents will die but it doesn’t fill me with dread. Quite the contrary – it makes me feel incredibly comforted and privileged. When I feel it will bring comfort to grieving loved ones I do try to tell them what I have seen happen at the point of death. Reactions vary. Some people are deeply moved, whereas others think I am one sandwich short of a picnic. It’s up to them what they think. I see myself as the messenger. I never asked to be able to see what I see, but it happens all the same.
Excerpt from The Afterlife is Real by Theresa Cheung
The Final Visit
In the last moments of our lives, we are never alone. Someone who has gone before will always come to collect us, whether it’s a grandparent, a parent, a partner, a child or a good friend. If you have ever sat with someone who is dying, you will know that an incredible calmness comes over them because they have seen or heard the person they love coming for them. Many, many people have described this to me and I know we will all go through it one day. There is nothing to fear at that moment, and the dying know it. All will be well.
To illustrate this, I’m including a story I heard from a doctor about an end-of-life and after-life experience he had. One evening I was called out to the home of a fifty-four-year-old woman who had a history of heart problems. When I walked into her bedroom I was surprised to see so many people there and asked them to leave so I could examine my patient in peace. Her husband and two daughters left the room, but a man and a woman still stood in the corner, smiling. ‘Would you mind stepping out for a moment?’ I asked, getting irritated, but all they did was smile. My patient was very weak but she managed to say: “It’s only you and me in the room, doctor. The lady and gentleman you can see are my parents and they’ve come for me because it’s my time to die.” “Nonsense,” I said. “You’re not going to die if I’ve got anything to do with it.” But when I did my examination, I realized her heart was very weak and that she must have had another heart attack. I called an ambulance and waited with her until it came. “My mother died at forty-seven,” she told me, “and my dad took his own life a year later. They haven’t appeared to me since then – until now. That’s why I know I’m going to die and they will take me over.”
The family went with her to the hospital and I popped in later to find them all sitting round her bedside as she got weaker and weaker. She told them that she had left letters for all of them that they were to read after she died. They talked about her funeral requests. Then, two hours later, she passed away with a beautiful smile on her face. Just after that, I heard her voice in my head. “You are free now; free to look after the ones you love.” The words were clear and unmistakable and they made me stop in my tracks. I was so moved by the whole experience that it changed my whole approach to medicine.
Now, when I am with a dying patient, I know they are about to be set free from suffering, and I know that they will go on to an afterlife. I have no doubt about it anymore, having actually heard from a patient of mine after her death.”
Excerpt from An Angel Set Me Free by Dorothy Chitty.