Unfinished business

Sometimes we have a patient who is declining, declining, declining, declining or actively dying, but, somehow, just keeps on going. We wait. We watch. We stand vigil. Well, really, we sit vigil.

At hospice rounds someone asks, "How is it that Mrs. S. is still with us?" or someone comments: "Mr. G. really needs to go to heaven."

We don't have an answer. As a chaplain, I get to say that matters of life and death are in God's hands, not ours. And I believe that. Because we really don't have an answer. Some people begin their process of active dying and are gone in a few hours or a day, or two. Others last and linger and fade and get more and more gaunt, but they don't die. It has nothing to do with medication. They can be on heavy doses of morphine to control their pain; they can be on minimal medication with no indications of pain.

We hold their hands. We play soothing music. We let them know that they are not alone. The family asks "when?" and "how long?" We don't have an answer. But sometimes we get a hint. Mrs. S. is talking to people we don't see. Mr. G. is apologizing for something, we don't know for what. One is calling out "I love you."

And we get a hint that there is some unfinished business; a lost connection, something that wasn't said or done, something that still holds them here while their body is doing everything it can to leave. Sometimes we help bring someone in and that is the business that is holding someone here. A lot of times, though, we don't know why someone is still here. Or "how long." So we sit vigil. And hold hands. And say "I love you." Sometimes that is enough.