Henry the kitty died this morning in Terry's arms. Henry was a sweet, very elderly kitty in the kennel that has been with us for twenty-one days while his parents are out of the country. We were so hoping he would wait until they returned. He didn't. But he did wait for Terry. Terry heard his last breaths as he entered the kennel in the wee hours of the morning, and rushed to be with him so he wasn't alone as he passed. He purred as Terry stroked him, as he took his last breath. Sweet Henry, and sweet Terry.
Terry is my elderly cat whisperer. I love kittens. Terry loves the old guys. We balance each other. As I lay in my spare room on this dark, cool morning I reflect on the words, "Death have no mercy." O death, it is a mystery. When it is to happen it just does. There is rarely any sense to be made.
It brings me back to a night in nursing school I will never forget. It was my senior year, and my very last clinical experience. It was an internship so to speak. I worked the same schedule as another nurse for a few months (I think it was three, but I don't remember). I was very drawn to the Children's Oncology/Bone Marrow Transport Unit, so this was where I chose. Seems an odd choice for a twenty-one year old. Somehow I knew that working with children facing death on a day-to-day basis would change me. And it did.
There are so many stories that want to pour in from that time, but I will focus on just one. As my memories get harder to unlock the details of my life get more blurry. But the essence of that evening I will never forget. It was the beginning of a twelve hour night shift. At some point late in the evening a nurse from the unit across the hall came over and asked for a death packet. The words rang in my ears as I said, "What is a death packet?" She replied,"Paperwork for when a child has died. Come with me." I'll never forget the walk down the hallway. We said nothing. Before we entered she told me the child, age nine I think, had died of heart disease I believe. The parents had been there for hours and had just left. It was time to prepare the body with a final bath. We entered the room in quiet. The energy in the room was palpable. I looked at the young child's body. In an instant one could tell it was just flesh and bones -- the spirit seemingly had left. It was in the room though, at least it felt that way. But as the evening passed, that feeling passed too. The nurse gently showed me what to do as we went through the paperwork and lovingly bathed this child.
Years later when I was a nurse in labor and delivery I remembered this moment. When a child comes earth side and getting it's first bath in the wee hours of the night. The energy in the room, it is so similar. Cradle to cradle. Not much difference the midwifery on either side of the spectrum. It can be sweet and peaceful or a struggle. But regardless of what we do, if it is to happen it will. The baby will be born or the person will die. To try to make sense of why is pointless. It just is.
I came to that conclusion that night. The night that changed me. I reflected on so many life experiences. Growing up with lots of elderly around me that would pass. Working in a nursing home with a children's unit for children on ventilators, with tracheotomies and severe challenges changed me. Seeing children from infancy to young adulthood facing cancer head on with their families and enjoying moments along the way, changed me. That night it all came together though. I decided that death was just what it was. Not something to fear or run from, not something to try to make sense of, and not something you want to usher in, just something that is. From then on I wasn't saddened anymore by the challenges of some families. I just met them with presence and love.
Presence and love was all I could offer. I couldn't change what was happening. All I could do was be there. From that night in 1996 until now how I view O death has been with reverence and respect and a sense of peace. That is how I feel now in the wake of kitty Henry's passing. There is a sweet sadness and simultaneous peace.
As a parent and an adult with more life experience now, I do feel sadness when people and animals leave their bodies. I know they will be missed so greatly. Sometimes teenagers die, like in this community a teen just died in a car accident, and my heart aches for their family and friends. Or when a young child passes or a loved one is taken by cancer and the children are left behind. I am not without feelings. It is sad. But it also just is. There is nothing we can do to understand why. I find some peace there, in that space.
Remembering that night is healing to my heart right now. I am grateful for those moments that changed me forever.
Terry is my elderly cat whisperer. I love kittens. Terry loves the old guys. We balance each other. As I lay in my spare room on this dark, cool morning I reflect on the words, "Death have no mercy." O death, it is a mystery. When it is to happen it just does. There is rarely any sense to be made.
It brings me back to a night in nursing school I will never forget. It was my senior year, and my very last clinical experience. It was an internship so to speak. I worked the same schedule as another nurse for a few months (I think it was three, but I don't remember). I was very drawn to the Children's Oncology/Bone Marrow Transport Unit, so this was where I chose. Seems an odd choice for a twenty-one year old. Somehow I knew that working with children facing death on a day-to-day basis would change me. And it did.
There are so many stories that want to pour in from that time, but I will focus on just one. As my memories get harder to unlock the details of my life get more blurry. But the essence of that evening I will never forget. It was the beginning of a twelve hour night shift. At some point late in the evening a nurse from the unit across the hall came over and asked for a death packet. The words rang in my ears as I said, "What is a death packet?" She replied,"Paperwork for when a child has died. Come with me." I'll never forget the walk down the hallway. We said nothing. Before we entered she told me the child, age nine I think, had died of heart disease I believe. The parents had been there for hours and had just left. It was time to prepare the body with a final bath. We entered the room in quiet. The energy in the room was palpable. I looked at the young child's body. In an instant one could tell it was just flesh and bones -- the spirit seemingly had left. It was in the room though, at least it felt that way. But as the evening passed, that feeling passed too. The nurse gently showed me what to do as we went through the paperwork and lovingly bathed this child.
Years later when I was a nurse in labor and delivery I remembered this moment. When a child comes earth side and getting it's first bath in the wee hours of the night. The energy in the room, it is so similar. Cradle to cradle. Not much difference the midwifery on either side of the spectrum. It can be sweet and peaceful or a struggle. But regardless of what we do, if it is to happen it will. The baby will be born or the person will die. To try to make sense of why is pointless. It just is.
I came to that conclusion that night. The night that changed me. I reflected on so many life experiences. Growing up with lots of elderly around me that would pass. Working in a nursing home with a children's unit for children on ventilators, with tracheotomies and severe challenges changed me. Seeing children from infancy to young adulthood facing cancer head on with their families and enjoying moments along the way, changed me. That night it all came together though. I decided that death was just what it was. Not something to fear or run from, not something to try to make sense of, and not something you want to usher in, just something that is. From then on I wasn't saddened anymore by the challenges of some families. I just met them with presence and love.
Presence and love was all I could offer. I couldn't change what was happening. All I could do was be there. From that night in 1996 until now how I view O death has been with reverence and respect and a sense of peace. That is how I feel now in the wake of kitty Henry's passing. There is a sweet sadness and simultaneous peace.
As a parent and an adult with more life experience now, I do feel sadness when people and animals leave their bodies. I know they will be missed so greatly. Sometimes teenagers die, like in this community a teen just died in a car accident, and my heart aches for their family and friends. Or when a young child passes or a loved one is taken by cancer and the children are left behind. I am not without feelings. It is sad. But it also just is. There is nothing we can do to understand why. I find some peace there, in that space.
Remembering that night is healing to my heart right now. I am grateful for those moments that changed me forever.
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