Diary of a pandemic: when you can't hold their hand - Day 30#

WHEN YOU CAN'T HOLD THEIR HAND

I'm writing what's on my heart.
I'm taking a risk.

Within the Covid-19 'story' one area of particular anguish relates to the many situations in which people cannot be with their loved ones in their last hours. For many the powerlessness and frustration they feel at the thought of their loved one dying alone, however caring and kind the nursing staff are, adds horribly to the pain of loss and grief.

What I share with you here is not intended to  minimise the enormity of this forced separation from loved ones when everything in you cries out for connection. Instead I hope that what follows will provide a way of actively supporting your dying relative or friend  or congregant - even though at a distance.

In the early years of aged-care chaplaincy, I used to agonize over how long to stay with a dying resident. Sadly, it wasn't uncommon for there to be no family to keep vigil, and I used to worry about the person dying alone when staff were stretched with caring for so many. But something changed:

I had been sitting with a dying woman whose adult children were all overseas. I'd been called in  by staff at 8pm, and by 11pm, I had very reluctantly decided to go home because I knew that if I didn't get some sleep I would be little use to anyone the following morning.As I got up to leave, the thought came: 'She won't be alone, you know. I am here.'

Wishful thinking? A self-comforting thought to assuage my guilt?
I choose to believe that it was the Spirit of Jesus  gently reminding me of what I knew in my heart, but had overlaid with worry. So when I found myself in similar situations in the future, this reminder helped me trust that the dying person was being accompanied by Someone who had already walked through 'the valley of the shadow of death'.

We are made in the image of God. [Genesis 1:27]
God is Spirit. God is Love. [John 4:24; 1 John 4:16a]

Many of us have said something like 'I'll be with you in spirit', when unable to attend an important event such as a funeral. In saying that, did we simply mean that we'd  be thinking about the gathering  and nothing more? Or were we attempting to express something we find hard to put into words, something like,  'My love is reaching out to you across the miles. Know you are not alone.'?

If we've felt the reality of such support from other people's long-distance loving, imagine what it would be like for the receptive spirit of the dying person, if their loved ones intentionally gathered, even if it had to be by Zoom. Imagine we - spouse, family, friends or minister, entering a time of communal quietness, sitting in that stillness of gathered experience and shared emotion. Imagine  bringing our beloved to mind, opening the doors of our hearts so Love may flow and reach the spirit of the one for whom we are, in effect, keeping a virtual vigil.

If we truly believe that  'nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus'  [Romans 8] then, does it not follow that, even if we are separated from our dying loved one physically by the constraints of Covid-19, Love will still find a way to meet our beloved at their point of need?

It may be that Love will connect the dying with images of those whom they have loved in this life, or the comforting awareness of someone they've loved who died many years ago. Love might take the form of Jesus, holding out his hand; Love may  manifest as Light or a beautiful fragrance gradually filling the room, or as a sense of Peace enfolding the spirit,

Although we who have gathered for this holy purpose may not know how Love touched our dear one in their dying, we will know we have been connected with our beloved in a way that  is neither sentimental nor superficial.  When waves of grief threaten to submerge us, as they will, this memory can help us to find our feet on the solid ground of a Love which is stronger than death.

And, in time, we may come to see ourselves as  partners in the mysterious work of a deeply compassionate God.