Last year I spent time with a friend who was dying of an aggressive brain tumour. This was a very sudden and unexpected diagnosis, and my friend died within four months of receiving it. In her last two months alive, I spent two mornings with her, the final one being two weeks before she died. Driving out to see her on both occasions I was worried I would be overcome by my grief about losing her and wouldn’t be able to keep a conversation together. I reminded myself to be fully and utterly present. I banished any thoughts of what I was losing and told myself to not go too far ahead into the future. I focused on being in the moment, to be there with her and for her. On these two mornings we had two most extraordinary conversations which were filled with pragmatism, laughter, and honesty.
In our first conversation, we talked about the treatment options, and what she might do if they didn’t work. By being consciously present, I stayed in the conversation, letting it go where she wanted to, and giving her space and acceptance to talk. This included her naming her anger toward the tumour and it potentially cutting her life shorter than she hoped. I left her house energised and enriched, grateful for the time spent with her and not overwhelmed by my own loss.
Three weeks later we had our final conversation. She was now in bed most of the time looking out over her beautiful garden and sleeping. She was still able to enjoy the chocolate éclair and fresh orange juice that we shared together. In this conversation we talked about her dying, how she might know, her plans for her body, and her life reflection in which she shared she had no large regrets and felt she had lived her life well. We again laughed a lot, and I went with the flow of her spiritual enquiry, as we talked of her dying as ‘going home’. She was tiring and needed the bathroom, so I got up to leave. I stayed firmly in the moment, as we had a hug goodbye, and she walked slowly to the bathroom. She then turned and said, “Is this the last time I’ll see you?’ and I said, “Let’s see where the journey goes”, and she nodded and closed the bathroom door. Over the next ten days she drifted further into sleep, and then died peacefully at home.
The power of presence kept us in conversation right to the end, and it helped me not get lost in my grief. Being present keeps us in relationship, and alive and alert to life. It stops our minds running too far back and too far forward. It reinforces the importance of making time just to be, and to look up from technology, and step into connection when it presents. Being present with someone means we are fully hearing and appreciating, and this is so enriching for us as well. Being present means time doesn’t slip away from us but unfolds in front of us. We can welcome each moment to be one to fully live. Being present silences rumination and eases worry. The past is done, the future yet to be, but right here, right now, that is available to be fully lived.
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