by Julia Gauvin

It was midwinter, almost Christmas —an especially cold December, with roads full of snow and ice, and bare, gray trees. It was the night before a full moon. My friend Larry had been lying in his bed for two days, unable to move. He was slowly dying.

For a day now, he had been peaceful, as in a deep sleep, breathing rhythmically and waiting for a change of life to come. Like a caterpillar in a chrysalis, just about to break through.

Larry was my brother’s classmate, just over 70, with much life left to live. He had traveled the world, served in multiple careers, and loved his wife and extended family deeply. She had been taken by cancer five years ago, leaving him alone and housebound in his childhood home. His dreams and possessions were then taken from him, piece by piece, leaving a few friends, his books, and God. We were with him now, as God took back the last gifts, and called his soul home.

His niece had watched with me for days, thinking each would be the last.  Larry hung on, not fighting, but allowing life to take its own natural process. He had let go long ago and was waiting only for this body to let go of him. We were so aware how little control we had over anything. Life was taking my friend through a period of unstoppable change, with a timeline known only to God. We were privileged to be at his side and watch this change occur. The cycle of death, so feared and avoided by us all, was happening in the most natural, simple way. There was nothing wrong or awful about it at all; it was just the time for this to happen. After sitting with him for hours, I left, knowing he might not be there tomorrow, but gently reassured Larry that I would be back in the morning.

The next day, Larry was still lying there, just as if he had waited for me, surrounded by a couple of patient watchers. I joined their company and sat in the expectant light of spirit, waiting to receive our brother. After a couple of hours, his breaths became slower and less frequent. His eyes were slightly open as if he was looking out towards something we could not see. Then in the most natural quiet way, without notice, his breath stopped. His eyes closed for just a moment, and two small tears fell from the corner. And then he was gone.

We cried, each in our turn, and held his quickly cooling hands – as if to grasp him back into our world, unwilling to accept that such things do and must occur. A healing grace fell on all of us. We were cleansed in the shower of light that had taken him away. We did our prayers and rituals around his bed. They were more for ourselves who could not accept this natural change. The sentence of his life had ended, and another was about to begin.

I left, aware of all I held on to, all the time wasted. The passing things on which I had placed such an importance suddenly seemed empty, like Larry’s body devoid of life and blood. It was if the passion for things and possessions had been burned through by the sight of his last breath. I knew now by that, that they were all temporary.  Gifts on loan from God, not to be hoarded but to bring joy to others.

As my brother was freed from his suffering body, I was freed of the burden of so much I had grasped. Free to begin again, just as Larry had done. Free to find new life in God. I did not have to die to let go and start again.

We left his room that day to walk out into the community area filled with the life of laughter and bingo games, like walking out of an intense movie into the bright day – a world that was unaware my friend’s whole precious life had just ended. Larry had just passed over into another life, one that awaits us all. It was nothing strange or scary about it at all. Just as the leaves must fall from the trees, and the new leaves sprout again. The husk of his body, no longer needed, was picked up and carried away. Larry had stepped on into arms waiting for him and new clothing already fashioned. We cried and hugged each other, and reminisced on days past, forgetting that our brother had already moved on into a beautiful new life.

Looking back for a moment, he blessed us on his way and showed us the path that one day we would travel, too.