Letter to a Dying Person

One year ago today, Mr. Elmer Wetenkamp passed away. I remember the weeks before he died.... helping the family with his care, keeping him fed and clean, sitting by his side trying to calm him as his life was coming to an end. There's never been anything in my life that I've held in the realms of high privilege like this experience.

Day after day, we wondered, "will this be the one?" The last Sunday he was alive, his family gathered around him and wept as they said their good-byes to him. What an honour to be part of that moment, as the realization that the end was coming began to permeate the room. His lovely wife of 65 years, Mary Jane, by his side.... she rarely left his side...... and his children and grandchildren gathered around.

I can recall being up with him in the middle of the last night he was alive. Mary Jane had gone out to use the bathroom and I heard this faint whisper from Elmer's mouth...... "I love you, Mary Jane." Those were the last words he spoke. I've never told her that. I wonder if I should.

Caring for someone in that position is the most incredible, loving thing you could do. The raw vulerability of it all completely takes my breath away when I think about it. Unable to move, unable to speak, unable to bathe or use the bathroom on their own..... wishing they could speak, but surrendering to silence.

I have a new found admiration for hospice workers all over the world. I think perhaps the greatest gift you could give another human is to be the one who sits by their side as their life becomes a misty existence, and eventually fades away.

One day, when Elmer was in his last hours, I felt this overwhelming emotional surge, and this is what came out.....


LETTER TO A DYING PERSON

Dear Friend,

How I wish you could understand the words I write in this letter. How I wish I could talk to you and tell you what I’m thinking.

My friend, you are dying. You are on a journey that no one ever wants to go on, nevertheless, it’s a journey which we must all take. You were talking for a while, and then one day, your words turned to mumbles, and soon after that, your mumbles turned to moans.

I want you to know that as you try desperately within your mind to make your mouth form words, that I am on the other side trying desperately to understand you. As you slowly move your hands and arms to try in some way to signal what you need, I am on the other side watching intensely in an attempt to interpret your movements.

I want you to know that as you decline, and as your body shuts down, I am working diligently to make sure you are comfortable, and not experiencing any pain. I will be as careful as I can when I clean you, making sure the water is warm and you don’t get too chilled as you lay there.

I want you to know that I understand you are very vulnerable right now. I will be as gentle as humanly possible with every area of your body, and when the time comes for you to be cleaned when your body rids itself of waste, I will do everything I can to preserve your dignity.

You are still every bit a person, and you will always be exactly who God made you to be, no matter what condition your body is in. I will always keep that in the front of my mind. I am here. I am watching, listening and guarding to protect you and keep you safe from harm.

It is my honour and privilege to help you, my friend, as I know you would do the same for me. I pray your journey is painless and peaceful. Know that I will be by your side as much as I can until you take your last breath.

All my love and more....