Reaching the Other Side

The weather was typical for a March day—cold, rainy, and gray. The day was anything but typical, however, in every other way. I woke up to the sound of the ringing telephone. That’s rarely a good thing, but especially so when you have a terminally ill family member. With trepidation, I answered the phone and my fears were confirmed. My father had taken a turn for the worse during the night, and my sister thought I should come to the house as soon as possible.

My entire immediate family was all gathered in the living room of the house my father called home for the better part of his life. As his wish was to die in that house, and not in some cold institution, Hospice had come several days previously to set up a bed in the living room so he could spend his remaining time in the heart of the house, instead of being cloistered away in his bedroom.

We took turns holding my father’s hand while he slipped in and out of sleep. The rest sat off to the side and talked quietly amongst themselves or with the select visitors who came to say their parting words. The first several times my father awoke that morning, he engaged in quiet conversation with whomever was holding his hand, and then would drift back to sleep.

As the day wore on, he became weaker, and his breathing shallow. We gathered around his bed, each touching him, somewhere. He stopped breathing – I think we all stopped breathing. Then he drew a breath and became quite agitated. He flung his arms in the air, looked around and muttered, “I was almost there.” Then he would drift back to sleep. This cycle occurred several times, with utterances of “I almost made it that time,” or “I was almost there” being made each time.

Finally he took his last gasp, and we all held our breath and hoped that this time he would indeed “make it there.” I’ve always been a Christian, so for me this was confirmation of my faith and beliefs. But if I had ever had any doubts about an afterlife before this day, they would have been put to rest then and there.