Michael and Stephanie caressed Al's forehead and hands and arms, with all the tenderness of a mother for a newborn baby. When I finally had to leave Hospice Room 436 and walk down the quiet, shiny hallway to the elevators, I thought about what I'd seen. Death changes the conversation. It strips away cheap social conventions and calls us to either be silent or to speak from the heart. In that room, the only words that seemed appropriate were the kind that are deep and clear and true.
Death changes the calculation.
When you're in extremis, the most important thing, apart from being ready to meet God, is to be surrounded by people who love you. I walked out of the emergency room exit, the only one still open, praying for Al and Michael and Stephanie. And praying for myself. The essential skills in that moment will be to give and receive love. If we are to lead them, we need to learn the lessons of Hospice Room 436.