Today is a day of honoring the passing of life. Starting with final training at the Hospice of Western Reserve, and ending with a large family gathering in Temperance, Michigan in memory of the one year anniversary of the passing of my father. God is good, giving at all times. Leery of dramatics, aware of realities, various and changing, the overwhelming severity of a calling emerged within the hospice attending. I am convinced God wants me to tend to the dying the rest of my life, to give myself in service to Others. My life, one of artistic adventure, intellectual exploring, wandering and experiencing forefront, has trended toward the irreverent and irresponsible; the core of faith, hope and charity lost in the brutal burning of candles at all ends. My final years will be those of giving. God has laid a plan out clearly before me. Everything was crystal clear and concrete as I sat being prepared to be put into service by the Hospice of Western Reserve. I am so impressed with the professionalism and seriousness which the hospice tends to their business.

A seasoned volunteer approached me, designating a desire to work with me, to initially work under her tutelage. I am a keen observer of people, one adoring characters, the woman perks up my antennas in anticipation of the reflectively profound. I smiled when she remarked, to the group, she was really not that spiritual. One of the administrators was talking about preparing one’s self before presenting one’s self to a patient and their family. Those commenting spoke of prayers, spirituality, and practices aimed toward tuning to the Divine. The woman responded that she was not that spiritual. She simply recited some prayers, clearing her head, concentrating upon being fully aware and present for the patient, attentive and open to the needs of the individual. I liked her answer. Intuitively, I could feel her presence, her mature established faith. There was no need for her to convince others, in fact she saw it necessary to sidetrack others, divert their attention by throwing them a disarming bone by announcing she was not that spiritual. The woman is distinctive physically, standing around six foot two inches. She possess a large head, a pronounced skull making her seem even bigger in persona. She wears glasses, magnifying her eyes. When she approaches others she is direct, strong and assured, imposing in size and clarity. I think she took a liking to me, talking to me, seeking me out during breaks, watching me. I think her and the administrators observe the potential volunteers, seeking out a calling, something deeper than noble intent. I am speculating, yet I think this woman has determined I have a calling. It is constantly stressed that working so closely to death is not for everyone. I do not want to place too much importance upon initial premonitions, although I will state that I am convinced God is asking something of me. Let us see where God takes me.

I will state something odd, a stalking about I have taken to. I wear hiking boots now. I feel so strong in the boots. The fit is perfect, heel supporting, lacing up past my high ankles. The boots make me feel stout, spiritually sound, grounded and humble, powerful and purposeful. I attained the boots from Assumption Abbey. One of the monks retrieved the boots for me once I realized I brought no proper footwear for performing farm work. I tried the boots on, instantly amazed by their comfort and fit. I wear them everywhere now. I love them. They remind me of shoes I purchased from a thrift store when I first started seeing Ann. I was living at the halfway house, visiting Cleveland to spend time with her. I purchased the shoes for nothing; amazed with the quality, support, comfort, strong soles, and durability. I lost the shoes while being hospitalized for the last drinking binge of my life.

Now sixteen months later, God has steered my life into the burgeoning of great things, a pair of hiking boots from North Dakota adorning my stride. The consequence my steps have become robust, resilient, confident, intent upon holiness through the effort of acquiescing—servitude through compassion, obedience, and the supervised guiding of souls to heaven. Great and glorious God, enlighten the darkness of my heart. Give me true faith, certain hope, and perfect charity. Grace me with wisdom and understanding Lord so that I may carry out Thy holy and true commandments.

I would like to retell a story told by a spiritual counselor working for the hospice. The fact was stressed that intimacy to death would produce overwhelming powerful moments. Success, making the most of monumental opportunities, was a blessing. Those comprehending the wonder being offered would be effective. Those enduring, endearing, and persevering had to possess something more than a desire to do good. The emotion and drain was too difficult to sustain for casual participants. The volunteer who sought me out told me of a particular woman who seriously drained her. The antagonistic eighty year old confronted her time after time. One evening, the woman exploded in a tantrum, screaming at her. ‘What are you some kind of spinster? What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you get a life?’ She would play cards with the woman, winning more than the woman cared for, causing another insulting screaming fit, and eventually the acceptance of losing, ignoring the obvious cheating–storing of cards under her blankets the woman began resorting to. The woman had only a daughter out of town, alone during her final days. The loss of the woman was the hardest death she dealt with. Plus, she was placed in charge, with approval of the hospice, in handling funeral arraignments and proper burial. Here is the moving story I initially wanted to relate. The counselor’s intent was the assurance that if one gave properly, observing and opening themselves to the witnessing and providing of presence for others to ensure the holy passing of a soul into eternity, amazing things would be encountered.

The spiritual counselor was working with another eighty year old, the mother of many children. All the children were active in her dying except one. The missing child, Kevin, an artist, lived in Paris, an adventurous free spirit, the black sheep of the family throughout his life. The dying mother became obsessed with seeing her absent child. The other children contacted Kevin, however he kept making excuses putting his siblings off. Finally, he agreed to an Easter visit. When told of her son’s promise, the woman said she would not live that long. Kevin’s plan would not work. She insisted she must see her son. The others had to come together, financially assisting, bringing their brother home to see her. She would have it no other way. Finally matters were arraigned. The morning of Kevin’s evening flight into Cleveland, the woman’s health took an unexpectedly turn for the worse. Her children gathered in her room with the counselor. Looking past everyone, beyond into nothing, the old woman spoke to her missing son, “Yes Kevin I will come with you?” The other children commented negatively about their brother, making note of his selfish indulgent ways throughout his life. Their mother gasped and wheezed for an hour or so before finally conceding, passing away the morning Kevin would be arriving in the evening. Disparaging words were voiced about Kevin. The following morning, meeting with the family, the counselor instantly knew something beyond a mother’s passing was being dealt with. The dying woman’s children amazingly told him: ‘Kevin never made it to Cleveland. Transferring flights at LaGuardia airport in New York City, he suffered a critical heart attack. He died an hour before his mother passed away.’

This was a movie clip we watched during the training.  One of the administrators made the comment to look past the healthy good looks of the dying Emma Thompson.  She showed photos more accurate in what would be encountered. Emaciated, depressed, deflated, ugly people were shown facing death.