Dear Friends,

I have felt compelled to share a profound "near death" experience when the story felt ready and the timing was right. But I've been asked by a friend to share it now. 

Nine days ago I went to the hospital to be with that friend whose grandfather had been admitted days earlier. I thought I would spend some relaxed time with her, maybe take her to lunch in the cafeteria. Maybe color with artist-quality pencils I was packing. Maybe just sit and talk. 

But when I arrived, I discovered that the situation was far more serious and intense than I expected. The details are complicated and personal to others, so I will keep them private and move forward to that evening, when I had the profound "near death" experience I felt I must share.  

By "near death" I mean being intimately near the dying of a 93-year-old man I had met for the first time earlier in the day.

By "near death" I mean what I saw and felt shortly before he took his last breath.

Before that final exhale, I had the privilege of being at his bedside for an hour or so. I sat as close as I possibly could to hold his hand, with my arm reaching over the bed rail. Occasionally I stood to allow my arm to move while I touched his forehead with my other hand to assure him he was not alone.  

His warm hand held on to mine as much as I held his.  I don’t know how well he could hear my words, but I felt certain he received the affirmations of his goodness, the assurances that he is loved, and the encouragement to let go of fear and go with peace.

Perhaps because I didn’t know the man, I could be fully present and caring, but in a detached way.

And then, something changed. He was no longer a 93-year-old man who was dying. He was Charles, a fellow human being. I felt love for him. 

Shortly after that, his eyes shot wide open. They were clear, not at all rheumy, and focused on something he saw overhead. His bright blue eyes moved to the left. Then, ever so slowly, they scanned to the right. To me, it appeared he was taking in a wondrous scene, a vision. I watched with awe. I don’t know what Charles saw overhead, but whatever it was, his eyes and face held an expression of beauty, peace, and love. And something else, like the wonderment on the innocent face of a young child seeing snow falling for the first time, fireworks, or a rainbow. And something more. Not quite joy or bliss, but I felt that was coming.  

Charles then closed his eyes. He seemed to move into a stage of readiness. I noticed a slight change in his breathing. It was labored, yet also more relaxed. My own inhales and exhales slowed. In some automatic way, I wanted my breathing to be in sync with his. Several times I thought he was gone, but there would be a slight movement on his face. And his hand still held mine.

And then he let go.
 

Thank you, Charles, for the opportunity to be with you as you passed from this world.

With reverence for whatever you saw and with gratitude for my being with you to witness your awe, I am sharing this story with the hope and intention that it will soothe grief and soften the fear of dying for someone who may need it.   

With faith, hope, and love,
Charlene

  THE FIFTH GIFT IS HOPE.    

Through each passage and season

may you trust the goodness of life.  

THE ELEVENTH GIFT IS LOVE.

It will grow each time you give it away.

THE TWELFTH GIFT IS FAITH.  

May you believe.
- from THE TWELVE GIFTS OF BIRTH