Reflections by Rev. Joanne Anquist

I was off between Christmas Eve and January 6th.  There were 5 services between the two sites on Christmas Eve, I was at 3.  Christmas Day was quiet with a turkey dinner ordered in to take to my parents house.  We had a family fondue night, and watched Wicked on New Years Eve.  I even did a 1000 piece puzzle!  Lots of quiet time and sleeping in and watching movies.  Just what I needed to recharge.

Then on January 2nd, my husband received a call that his sister, Janet, had been taken to hospital and was not expected to make it through the day.  It's a strange thing when you receive such shattering news without anticipation.  I’m a minister, so I deal with death all the time, can help families through the process and remain detached enough to ensure all are well.  But it’s different when it’s your family.

We got to Medicine Hat about 4:30 in the afternoon.  By that time Janet had plateaued and they believed she might make it to the next day.  The family asked me if I could say some prayers, a kind of last rights as they are Roman Catholic.  So we gathered around Janet, with our hands gently laid on her failing body.  There in that emergency room, with tap water in a plastic cup, I sprinkled each one as we each remembered our baptism.  We marked Janet’s forehead with the sign of the cross to signify that she was indeed Christ’s own.  Then we prayed that God would deliver her into what is to come, just as God had delivered Jesus and so many other suffering ones.  It took no more than 5 minutes, but they are minutes I will always remember.  Marking the movement from life to death to life again is a sacred, eternal moment that leaves an indelible mark. 

They moved her out of emergency up to a bed on a floor where we would all be more comfortable.  Somehow I ended up next to her, so I began stroking her head and singing to her that song from More Voices: “Don’t be afraid, My love is stronger, My love is stronger than your fear – and I have promised, promised to be always near.”  Her breathing seemed to stop, and she would gasp when touched.  And then, so gently and quietly, she was gone.  It was 6 pm.

The love that was in that room flowed out with tears, and sorrow, and hugs and grief and relief. Her suffering was over.  She was surrounded by love and light.  But it was way too soon, and so unexpected.  We were all in a kind of shock.  

One and a half hours was all we had with her.

There are moments in life where time stops – where all the plans you’ve made, all your expectations, everything on your “to do” list loses its urgency.  In that space, Eternity reaches to us and we are in a moment beyond time.  I always tell families, when they are upset because they weren’t there at the end, that they actually were.  Because in the Eternal Now, past, present and future merge.  I like to think that all the moments you shared that were marked on the hearts of those you love are relived in their dying breaths.  A great cloud of witnesses accompanies each of us as we breathe our last. Love never dies.

The next day, we helped clean out Janet’s room, visited a bit with Dave’s mom, and went back home.  Barely 24 hours later, our timeline resumed.  But that sacred pause, where all our love and energy went into loving Janet while she lay dying, is a moment that will transcend time and stay with me until I breathe my last.

A prayer from the Iona Community:

Trinity of Love, You have been with us at the world’s beginning,

Be with us till the world’s end.

You have been with us at our life’s shaping,

Be with us at our life’s end.

You were with us at the sun’s rising,

Be with us till the day’s end. Amen.