I Danced With Death


I danced with death today….
Death led. I had to follow.

I held the hand of a man I never knew as his heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped breathing. His eyes wide open, staring at the unseen.

All I know of him is that his name is Bill. That he didn’t want us to tell his family he was in the hospital, even the ICU. He asked this week for postcards to write them to tell. He didn’t look like a Bill, he looked like Kris Kringle, white hair, long beard. He died almost alone; with twenty people around his bed. I know that to those who dance with death every day that I must seem silly or naive, misty-eyed holding the hand of a naked man on a bed as they all pack up their tools for giving life. But what kind of life can you give without holding someone as they journey from life through death to the life beyond? Brian came to the other side of the bed as his heart rate dropped to forty, thirty, ten, nothing. He too felt the sadness, and held the shoulder of Kris Kringle as the world moved on.

As I typed the last few lines, I heard from Death again. “Roy is gone.” My patient just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer three days ago unexpectedly went into renal failure. And now he’s gone. I hang up the phone, I put my scrubs back on and get in the car with wet hair to go cry more tears. I hold more hands. This time with one already dead, and with those left behind. Left with the shock and emptiness. Left with an empty pillow tonight as she sleeps. Left without Grandpa’s knee to play on. Left without the father so dearly loved. I fell in love with Roy these past few days. Not in living, but in dying. Musician, tender heart, lover of green chili and tortillas, father, brother. Rough around the edges, known and loved. I had to go back to the hospital for myself as much as for the family. I could cry here by myself, or cry with them. I had to say goodbye. To Roy, to these intimate strangers. I had to say hello to Death. Again.

So how do you learn to dance these steps? What do you do when someone dies? I cried. I asked a stranger for a hug. She said she doesn’t “do hugs,” but that she’d make an exception today. I ate a piece of chocolate. Two. I told my husband, Jeremy, that we needed to have some chocolate around the house since these latter days have been hard ones. Good thing. I needed a little chocolate love tonight. I’m finding myself showering all the time just like my surgeon husband. Now I get it. It’s a literal washing off of the hospital film, but also a spiritual symbol. There’s something to cleansing your soul in that hot water. Tonight it’s two showers. But there’s not enough heat, not enough water to wash off these tears. I search for the fuzziest pajamas I might own. I even put on my big cozy slippers, seeking some comfort. This is new. And of course, not enough.

I’m thinking tomorrow of asking the doctors how to dance with death. But I don’t know if they can tell me. It’s hard enough to show someone how to dance with life.

Roy’s wife held my hand and told me to stay soft. To keep compassion.

I will fight for it.
I will fight too for life.

I will fight in pregnant patience as I wait for the day death will die.

Someday we will dance upon death. We will lead. Death will follow.

- Caroline Hedges