Crossing Over

I walked out of the airport and into Dickie’s arms. I pulled back to look at his face and saw my sadness and fatigue mirrored in his beautiful blue eyes. “How is he?” I asked. “Do you think it’s too late to go see him?”

“Aw, Robin…you’re tired. I’m tired. We can see him in the morning. Unless you want to go now. Do you want to?”

“Yes”, I replied. “I need to go now”.

We walked into the hospice room and I went straight to Richard's bed. He was lying quietly, staring off into space. I leaned over him, gently embracing his shockingly thin shoulders. I put my cheek next to his and whispered in his ear “So, this is what happens when I leave town for a few days?”. He gave me a ghost of a smile and asked if I had a good time. Embarrassed by my tears (I should be at least as strong as he), it took me a minute to come up with a smartass answer.

We spoke of things both trivial and monumental. We spoke of doctors and soup and Last Wishes. His effort to remain strong and stoic was remarkable. The only crack in his tired armor came when he spoke of his loves – Vicky and Michelle. We laughed about his hiccups. I hugged him goodbye and told him I would see him ‘tomorrow’.

Eight hours later we got the call that he was fading quickly.

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There is nothing more sacred than being present during the passing of a loved one. For whatever reasons, I have spent more last moments with loved ones than I care to count. It has happened so often that my brother lovingly calls me the ‘angel of death’.

Letting go of someone you love is never easy. The finality of that last goodbye - our last physical connection with someone who has shared our lives - is heartbreakingly sad. Every single time. There is that human part of us that never fails to confuse dying with the finality of death. There is always that momentary blindness in our cloud of grief that forgets dying is nothing more than a transition into a deeper form of life and a more perfect way of living.

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His eyes were mostly closed, his breathing pattern erratic and slowed. I kissed him on the cheek and told him I loved him. He squeezed my hand and rasped his love in return. I thanked him for being my friend. I told him that today seemed like a good day to go to Heaven. I asked if he would talk to Jesus about sending some rain our way. I’m selfish like that.

Moments later, we gathered around Richard as he rested peacefully in the whirlpool. The lights were dimmed, the bubbling of the water calming and tranquil. It took me a few moments to hear the music playing softly in the background. It was a song that had carried me through some of my hardest days…a song of hope and grace. I gently placed my hand on Richard’s chest, feeling his precious heartbeat as I softly sang along…

Amazing grace
How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I'm found
Was blind, but now I see

His pulse beneath my hand grew fainter and I knew I was standing in the presence of sacredness. My tears overflowed as I celebrated Richard’s arrival in heaven.

They say our hearing is the last sense lost. With one foot in a hospice whirlpool and one foot in heaven, these were the words that sang Richard home...

My chains are gone
I've been set free
My God, my Savior has ransomed me
And like a flood His mercy rains
Unending love, Amazing grace

Rich...I know you've already found your Little Piece of Heaven on the other side and are no doubt fishing. Just a reminder - after you pull in a few big ones - don't forget to check on that rain for me, friend.

Richard Wallace
6/28/1951 - 8/22/2011