Reflections

These are a series of reflections on moments in life, shared from time to time, through out the year.

5 November 2005

I was supposed to go to the opera this afternoon, Verdi's The Force of Destiny. Destiny, however, was not sitting at Verdi's doorstop, but rather at death's. That is especially appropriate at this time of the year, 4 days from All Saints' Day, 3 days from All Soul's Day, with the lower sun casting sharp shadows of leaves newly fallen to the sidewalk. The birdbath in the front yard is full of leaves - and the earth is quiet.

My friend Tom's partner, David, is attending to the death of his sister, and so there was an available ticket for the opera. It was a performance that would begin at noon, so I took my time with the New York Times and the San Francisco Chronicle at Citizen Cake. Arthur is usually at the gym on Saturday mornings, and so these are times for slow newspapers, or shopping at the Ferry Plaza.

I had two calls on my cell phone - from a "no number", so as I walked to my car, I finally got a call from "no number". It was Tom. His very good friend, and my former neighbor and friend Peggy was dying. Having been diagnosed with a brain tumor some months ago, this was not unexpected. But even the expected has a way of dashing into the calmness of life. The force of destiny had overridden Joe Green.

Of course, I went to join Tom, and Peggy, and Larry her husband, and Yvonne a friend. For Tom I had wanted to come as a friend and pastor and priest - and that was how I was received. Yvonne has known me from the "Blessing of the Fields" up at Tom and David's home in Sabastopol, so there was some role there. Peggy and Larry would be the problem. Friends and former neighbors, they had also known me as some one with priestly duties and vocation. They knew that well being a former priest and nun. And that is precisely where the difficulty lies. One makes no assumptions when walking into the spiritual world of another. So I came as "Michael" and kept my prayers, my songs, and my anointing to myself.

As Yvonne anointed Peggy's lips and face with oil and balm, I silently said the prayers at the Commendation of the Dying. I found them remarkably soothing to my soul. Larry kept his own silent vigil - and I interrupted it to ask how he was doing. "I'm surviving," he said - literally, "I'm living beyond". Such words these are. I asked if there was anything he wanted me to do. He indicated that he was just happy that I was there - presence, an underrated commodity. And I went on with my silent vigil, as I suspect Larry did - uttering his own prayers, anointing, and songs from an on-board Rituale Romanorum. And so it was two priests, and our acolyte, Yvonne - keeping watch.

And what was it for which we were watching. The last breath? A faltering pulse? Peggy was having none of that. She moved, she fidgeted, she opened her eyes to survey each of us in the room, she accepted Yvonne's ministrations, she was alive. Usually there is a monitor to give you clues - "Oh, they're quietly slipping away." None of that here. Peggy's breath was truly life - and it was intense and closely held. It was the one thing over which she seemed to have control. I wondered what was going on inside. What was failing? What was continuing on in an autonomic sort of way - just doing what it always did, unaware of the eventuality? I was reminded of a comment my dear friend Betty Kretzmann made to me on her own death bed, as she turned her head to face me and said, "This dying is a hard business." And a private one. My friend Tom told me the story of his David's mother's death, who as friends and family struggled to get into see her , died between visitors. This had happened with my friend Tucker, who was in a coma. When we told him quietly that we were leaving for a moment, and that at 5:00 we were going to come back and with prayers and good byes turn off the respirator, died defiantly and individually, while we were gone. "It's my death!"

Simeon's prayer seems to work, at least for me:

Now, Lord, you can let your servant go in peace,

Your word has been fulfilled,

My own eyes have seen your salvation

Which you have declared to all people

A light to lighten the gentiles,

And the glory of your people Israel.

"Receive O Lord, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming..."

This was my business - the business of praying, of being in the background. This dying and letting go was something of Peggy's and Larry's. I didn't need to be a stander-by. So I left to think my own thoughts and to continue my own praying and attending at a distance. As I left, Yvonne and Tom took me aside. It seems that Peggy, after acknowledging Yvonne's various anointings and other ablutions looked at Yvonne, and whispered as best she could, "I will live!"

Return to Home Page

MTH 11/5/05