Sacred space

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The image on Gregory’s door and on the walls of the hallway outside his room signifying his transitioning.

Gregory, a very dear old friend, died today, just a few minutes after noon. Diagnosed 12 years ago with early onset Alzheimers, this centered, gifted, and creative man has slowly lost the smooth and easy functioning of his graceful body, mind, and language, all the while sustaining his calm and gentle and awesome spirit. I received a call Thursday from Michael, his partner of 40 years, that Gregory was ill and then on Friday learned that he was literally dying. Michael and Gregory decided years ago that if Gregory were to get seriously ill, there would be a DNR (Do not Resuscitate)—no IV, no antibiotics.

At school on Friday, just after I learned of Gregory’s status, I was obviously very distracted. I had one more class to go and I was impatient with the students. It seemed as if they were asking too many questions and needed a lot more coaxing and pushing than my reserves were able to sustain. I rushed from school, picked up my husband, and went to see Gregory at the nursing facility he has been at for the last two years. He was quiet, some rasping, oxygen tube in his nose. Hospice had made him as comfortable as possible. He was sleeping. We all slowed down. Rubbing his arms, talking to him, feeling sad, we sat with him and said our tearful goodbyes.

Saturday he had a breathing cup over his nose and mouth to give some moisture to his throat, which was dry and causing him to cough. A little morphine under his tongue also relieved the coughing. After a half an hour it was taken off. We had another opportunity to visit, another opportunity to say goodbye. It struck me that the model of living Gregory had been all his life, he was now demonstrating with his death— slowly deliberate, patiently intent, exquisitely graceful, and calm.

Today we arrived only moments after he had died. His body was still warm. I realized that over these past few days, Gregory had made sacred space for us all to dip into. Gregory pulled us here and held us close. His slow dying allowed everyone to find the time to come and say their goodbyes. It allowed us to learn to not be afraid. It allowed us to open ourselves to the impermanence of the universe. To touch someone you love, as they are moving from one realm to the next, is excruciating yet beautiful, full of sorrow yet full of awe, nearly unbearable yet wholly bearable. A sacred space, indeed. Such a graceful and hallowed departing.

Over the years my friend Gregory has given me many gifts, but his dying may be the most profound—patiently unwinding, organically reorganizing, slowly deliberate, he has transitioned to the next place/non-place. Gregory, I am forever grateful.

This entry was posted in aging, Alzheimers, death, transformation, transition and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Sacred space

  1. Jerome Bloom says:

    Thanks
    for putting into words
    what we all are feeling

    The love
    The grace
    Of Gregory

    Namaste

  2. Laurie says:

    Not surprising that Gregory would die with grace . Not surprising that those who loved him would see many blessings in his life and in his death.

  3. Lar Bowe says:

    Thank you.

  4. As always your love and your articulate, eloquent words tap the essence of what was and what is and points to what will be. I love you more than words can express.

  5. Colleen Maire says:

    Beautiful, just like Greg. He knew how to love, he knew how to live and he knew how to die. May we all be so fortunate.

  6. Linda Mayor says:

    So beautiful and from the heart. Thank you for sharing.

  7. Barbara Hanson Dennis says:

    Loving memories of Gregory from when he was just a bump inhis mom’s tummy to one who loved Michael his dear one even when they both had Alzheimer’s.

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