by Patty Wudel
A friend has shared his awareness of the life transition toward dying and eventual death he finds himself in now. Big news for us all, and dare I say, “glorious” for the sense of awareness and wonder and something even deeper than acceptance—perhaps “welcome”—that I sense in him at a time when he is beginning to lose his life as he has always known it. What manner of loss is this? A big part of his loss, if I understand him well, includes a deeper sense of well-being than almost ever before in his life. Wow.
When he shared his truth, my fear of losing my mind, my fear of loss of control of my life, my fear of dying this way was lifted. A lot. Now I’m kind of curious: What might become possible for me when it’s my turn to lose the things that have defined me to myself and others all of my life? I’ve been giving this question a lot of thought.
And then Gordon died. At the gathering at the Potter’s House on the day he died, I heard someone share that as Gordon neared the end of his life he said, “I’m starting to enjoy this dying bit.” Hearing that, I thought to myself that Gordon could say, “I’m starting to enjoy this dying bit”—letting go of this life—because all his life, every day, in many, many different ways and situations, he had practiced letting go. Letting go and letting God. Wow.
Sometimes someone asks me if, in my work at Joseph’s House, I have learned something that will help me when it is my time to die. The question gives me pause. I was once with a man who was fierce in other circumstances; a man who had been greatly harmed, and who returned great harm and did not regret it. I was with this man when he died as gently as a sleepy baby falls asleep. I never heard him speak of anything he did within himself to make peace with his life, but he died in peace. Grace was present. The Holy Spirit was with him.
I was a privileged witness to a man who died reconciled to his daughter, whom he had not seen for 30 years, until he was dying of cancer and came out of prison, on compassionate release, to Joseph’s House. His bitterness was so deep and his fear so great that you could taste it in the air, standing at the door to his room. But his daughter, who had been with him only once before—as a 6-month-old baby when her mother took her to visit him in prison—was passionate about her own healing. After a lifetime of resentment that her father had abandoned her, when she heard that he was coming out of prison and was dying, she took leave from her job to care for her father as he died at Joseph’s House. She slept on a cot beside his bed. She helped him to the commode. She brought movies that they watched together. They soaked up each other’s presence. She told me after his death that they never did speak of the past. He never did say he was sorry. But he accepted her love. And she felt healed. Some healing must have happened for her father, too. Grace. The presence of the Holy Spirit.
On a recent Friday night a dying man asked me to dance. We had all finished dinner. As usual, the table was crowded with the men and women of Joseph’s House, their friends and families, staff and volunteers. We had been eating and talking and listening to music. Joey was there, too. He doesn’t eat much any more. He has liver cancer. He sleeps a lot. He gets pretty confused sometimes. Joey came to the table anyway because he has a place there whether he feels like eating or not. Al Green was singing in the background until Shana got up from the table and turned up the volume. Way Up! And right there, we had a party. I looked over at Joey and that music was taking him back to a timeless place. He looked like he was 16 years old, just sitting there feeling the music. Then he caught me watching him and he said, “C’mon, let’s dance, Baby.” We did and everybody did. Nobody wanted it to stop.
Thomas, who hadn’t been at the House more than a week, said, “There is trouble out there. Right now somewhere a woman is grabbing her kids and running out the door in fear. Here, we are singing and dancing, at ease. The world can be either way and someday people will see that this is the way to live. If I die today, I’ll die happy. I look forward to dying here, in this place.”
Peace, not as the world gives. So, in answer to that question I get asked sometimes, yes, at Joseph’s House I learn over and over again that it is possible that grace will be present when it’s my time to die, too. Why not?
Patty Wudel is the executive director of Joseph’s House, a home in Adams Morgan perched on the very edge of life and death. Both Joey and Thomas passed away gently a short time after the impromptu after-dinner party.
