I have a hunch you completed that particular passage from Psalm 23:4 in your head.

This particular one has been in my space lately. I have a hospice client who is now on morphine every 2-3 hours. Anyone who works in hospice knows that this is the official start to the end. My instinct tells me that he will pass sometime this week. I could be wrong. I don’t think I am. I’ve had enough hospice clients now to know what this transition to morphine indicates. I am sad. I am also grateful. Working with this particular husband & wife has been a beautiful journey. One that my heart feels fuller from. I was privileged to witness two people facing the hardest thing with grace and courage. I am in awe of them.

On Friday I had a client who, exactly one month prior, had a near death experience on an operating table. For a solid minute he was gone from cardiac arrest. Then, he came back. He found me a few weeks later and made a long distance drive to work with me for a two hour session. The most poignant part of his story was how alone he felt during this experience despite having a family.

When I was a teenager my grandfather went into cardiac arrest and was on life support for two weeks. When it was clear that he would not be coming back my grandmother and my father made the decision to take him off of life support so that he could pass. I was saddened by his death. I loved him very much. He was instrumental in my developing a love of antiquity at an early age. He would sing Frank Sinatra songs to my sisters and I. He was a gentleman through and through. He was my first experience of chivalry. He was a warm embrace. What upset me the most about his death was that after the decision was made to end life support my grandmother and my father left. The nurses removed the machines. He died not long after. Not surrounded by loved ones. No one to witness. No one to hold his hand. After his passing I made a promise to those whom I loved that I would be present at their deaths if I could. That I would not flinch when the time came. That I would be a grounding presence if needed.

My grandmother died a few years after. I wasn’t able to be there with her but my sister was. I am eternally grateful to her for this. She died peacefully after discovering uterine cancer a few months prior. My sister held her hand.

It wasn’t until 2017 that I would have the opportunity to be a witness to someone on their journey towards death. My first husband’s father was losing his 4 month battle against Graft V Host disease after receiving a bone marrow transplant from his other son about 6 months before. Only three of us remained in his last 36 hours. Myself, my first husband, and my father-in-law’s wife. Everyone else needed to leave. I get it and I wish that more people could understand the privilege it is to support someone in this transition. It is paradoxically the most important and most difficult journey we will make in our lifetime. He died on a Sunday. The Friday before was the official start of his journey into hospice care. Before he went on morphine he brought each of his family members into his room one by one. I think the words of the dying are some that stay with you forever. He told me that he’s watched me struggle for so long to find my path. That he wants to see me commit whole heartedly to something and follow it. Later on that evening, after he had spoken with everyone, I was able to give him massage in his hospital bed. I didn’t know it at the time but he was my first hospice client. I did what I could to help him start his journey through compassionate touch.

Six months after his death I renewed my commitment to my practice and started taking clients again after a two year pause in early motherhood. In 2020 just before lockdown I traveled to Hawaii to learn LomiLomi, an event that would forever change me. In 2021 I aligned myself with the Hand to Heart Project. One of my very first clients through H2H was a woman on hospice. I was able to get to her 12 hours before she passed. Her words to me upon my leaving were, “thank you, I can go in peace now.”

When I say that it is an honor to bear witness to someone’s experience with death I mean exactly that. I’m pretty sure that is what Psalm 23:4 is about, being witnessed in our walk towards death. What matters is that someone was there to know their story. My client on Friday entered my practice with many unanswered questions, a lot of anger, and a lot of unknowing. He left my practice feeling like he could live his life again. That he had been renewed. A few hours later I was informed of my hospice client’s change in status. To say that my heart went on a roller coaster ride is an understatement. And, this is a very real part of my work. I get to experience the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I will lose people. I accept that. I embrace the reality of what is. I savor the tiny moments of beauty that I bring to my clients lives. I am changed by every client I am privileged to work with, which after all, is how it should be.

Blessings.