“We are so lightly here…” — Leonard Cohen
By: Ann Litts
Tags: Transitions, Life, Grief, Death, Nursing

Photo by Craig Whitehead on Unsplash

I love Leonard Cohen. One day I’ll tell him so. But until then — I’m here and he’s … well… not gone, but he’s not here. That’s the way I describe Death.

I’ve been aware of Death as our end game for a very long time.

When your mother dies around your twelfth birthday, the knowledge of the vacuum left behind as a life ends is something you carry in your heart always. Because you know for a fact, Death doesn’t just happen to other people. You learn to come to terms with Death as part of Life — everyone’s Life because The Universe has left you no out. Grief has become your constant companion.

You have to process Death and somehow incorporate its reality into your day to day existence.

Then you grow up and chose to become a nurse, you are still processing — you just don’t realize it. ICU nursing draws you because of the tech, at least that’s what you tell yourself. But it’s not. You become The Nurse. The Nurse who is so good at family conferences you become the preferred nurse they assign to this task.

You lose track of all the hands of the dying you hold as life support is withdrawn and souls are released. You know the right things to say because you know there are no right things to say to families who are going through this particular hell.

You have not only processed grief, but you have also embraced Death. It has become your calling.

Later in your career, in the OR — your charge nurse relieves you in your own cases to have you go to the room where a patient has died “on the table”. Because you know all the procedures to care for a ‘body’. You know the way to wrap it, the paperwork to fill out, where the morgue is. You have done this so many times, it is easier for you — you came from the ICU. It takes you less time to do the whole process than to talk someone else through it.

And someone else isn’t you. They don’t understand Death. They don’t realize what the vessel held might still be in the room, needing a chat, a goodbye from a someone. So you go. You chat, you wash the vessel, you do the paperwork, you wrap, and you bid the soul safe travels.

It has always been my philosophy that a human should not die alone. There should be a witness there for their transition out of this life, as there is a witness there for their entrance. When The Universe has blessed me with such an opportunity — I have felt the honor to my very core. To care for the dying and be with them in their last moments.

I once had an Angel Oracle Card reading done a few years ago. The woman doing the reading pulled from three different decks and the same card came up three times in a row. Azrael — The Angel of Death. The One Whom God Helps. She blanched a bit and finally asked me, “What in the world do you do?” I replied, “I cut cancer out of people.” She looked a little calmer after that as she explained who the Archangel Azrael represents.

I just smiled. I have waited in countless hospital rooms for Death to arrive over the years. One day The Universe will send her to bring me home as well. And that’s the way it’s supposed to be. Death and I are old friends.

Namaste.

“A sip of wine, a cigarette, and then it’s time to go.” — Leonard Cohen — Boogie Street

Addendum: I am recycling this post in honor of the Late Great Leonard Cohen, who left us to return to Boogie Street on 11/7/16.