The Event of Dying: An Act of Intimacy

Initially penned 3 years ago; 2 years after my partner's death, this reflection signifies an emerging shift in seeking and attaining Universal truths. Our journey continues.

John: 2016

February, 2021

Friday marked the second year of the final act in the intimate event of John’s death. It has taken this ‘time’ to comprehend the depth of that intimacy, and with that knowledge comes the Divine gift of truth; an interdimensional relationship; an unconditional ongoing and present connection of love.

The closing finale; physically dying; the soul’s transition to the after-life, began for John, on Monday, Feb 4^th, 2019. I was summonsed inside by John’s service-desk type bell around 2.20pm, from the studio where my mother was readying herself for a medical appointment. He was motioning frantically with his pointer finger to his abdomen, panic rising from his eyes; unable to swallow; cough; spit out the saliva blocking his airways and filling his lungs.

We had recently had a trial run instigated during a visit by Catherine, John’s compassionate and astute palliative nurse. Me, injecting saline into John’s abdomen ... calmly; checking his comfort. It was reassurance for both of us that ‘we’ could do it, together and independently. We would need to, palliative nurses aren’t on call in regional areas.

In that instant I was no longer the under-study, John was motioning for a needle. Adrenalin was vibrating waves from my inner core to my hands. A foggy heaviness immediately and momentarily enveloped my mind; abating any panic, so I could manage it. First order of procedure completed. Never mind that I cut myself snapping the end the vial in opening it. I had been warned this might happen.

Second order of procedure; ring the GP. He would need to visit; check with John that it was time; assess and advise re doses and frequency of morphine. Enough for John to be present; enough to be comfortable. The act of managing the dying-at-home part had begun. John wanted and therefore needed to die at home. I shared his want, so I needed to cope. In each shared journey there are chapters we need to traverse alone. The process had been kick-started. Now I longed just to be present; to just be, with him.

Earlier that morning I had told him that it had been a privilege to look after and care for him. It was in a moment of agitation; the bloody Foxtel wasn’t working. The History channel had kept this avid reader and history buff good company, particularly in the months of increasing immobility. It was a Monday, and the weekend had seen John plummet. The agitation was masking an intuitive knowing. I told him how much I loved him. ‘I can’t bear to watch you suffer like this anymore’. The despair was evident and polished by tears. John’s ‘line in the sand’ over 17 months had kept shifting, because we weren’t ready to let go. Selfless acts of love and courage; our reciprocal gifts during his illness.

I had kept vigil since September. John, adhering to his recently completed end-of-life plan, had refuted the GP’s suggestion that he might consider a short stay in hospital to treat an incessant; dry, rasping, methodical cough. He was going to die at home. It was apparent by December John was slowly drowning. I would lie awake (in our lounge-room), on the hospital bed he couldn’t use. John would sleep in the recliner chair. Exhaustion; fear; terror; flash-forwards and anticipation of the moment ... will ... prevent any replenishing rest. John propped his head, supported by the one hand whose arm still worked. His neck had long lost its function. A final act of defiance and sheer will, that lone limb. What a courageous endurance. John’s other hand, fingers curled, had petrified into a permanent position of rigid swollenness. The vehicle for his existence in this realm had run out of juice.

I would kiss those atrophied parts of his body when I washed, dressed and moisturised him every day. I wanted MND to know I was no longer haunted by the daily taking. Seeing and feeling the desperate muscles as they flexed; pulsating, despairingly seeking to find the means to keep moving. He was stealthily robbed of his voice, and almost, his ability to smile. It couldn’t snatch from him his beautiful eyes and soul; our avenue of communication. I tossed and turned and watched all night, every night. Trying to imagine his discomfort, I would stare at his handsome face while he slept. How that one remaining functioning arm must have ached? He bore that bloody cross with such grace.

By about 7.30pm, on the night of Feb 4, the itinerant nurse, having charged the needles for the night, had just left. The calls I needed to make were had; managerial tasks all done, John and I were able to spend our last night together. We knew well enough it was his last night, John didn’t fuck around once he made a decision. We played and watched our favourite music, a palpable gift. I drank too much and danced around him, sang ‘our’ songs. They were about us; sung for us ... triggering a barrage of ‘remember when ...?’ Sharing snippets ... staccato ... our metronome set to prestissimo. Time doesn’t tick backwards. Memories; affirmations; a shared impression of our love. An enduring interpretation; the music lifted us to a pre-existing place:

Deep inside ... soul’s paradise,

Lover’s bodies, ecstatic delight.

Heart’s smiling gratitude, spirit’s tears embrace.

Lucid dreams, silent minds create.

Love, Soul’s eternal light.

I collapsed in a slumber around 1am, not drunk enough to not realise what was ahead of us in the new and last day of Feb 5. I ached to be suspended in this stuporous last night. It was mystical; the energy that embraced us. We were in a timeless moment of gratitude and grace; backstories and nuances ... love; laughter; forgiveness and everything in-between. I surrendered to sleep from that bubble of peace; presence. Our last night was as intimate as any other... lovers:

Deep inside ... heart’s swelling ache,

Fluttering tingles, tantalise and vibrate.

Gushing landslides of love escalate,

Where hearts & soul’s minds congregate.

An enthralling embrace.

We hadn’t discussed what the day of the death-event would look like. John had been reticent, in September, when we visited the GP in ‘formalising’ his end-of-life wishes. I thought that to persist in probing would be self-indulgent and reek of my own fear. I rendered it futile; the moment the abstract becomes apparent. How does one emotionally prepare?

The following morning, Feb 5, family and friends had announced their intended arrival times; no asking; no discussion. Intention bathed in love and support, for which I am grateful. However, I was internally resisting; I didn’t want the intimacy disturbed. I really don’t know exactly what-if further thought John had given it, so they came. This was John’s journey; I wanted him to know how much he was loved by them, and in turn, how they were loved. So, I resisted the urge to want to be alone with him. His transition was his sole endeavour of our shared journey. Still, I didn’t want to share his death, because death is an act of intimacy.

I administered John’s final injection at 7.50pm. Those present were milling around the kitchen bench. The background babble and laughter was somewhat surreal from where I was sitting, alone with John, only 3 metres away. “I’m just topping you up mate”, I whispered in his ear; a moment of intimacy ... distracted. An itinerant nurse was among the throng, sitting aside whilst dutifully charging the needles John would supposedly need for the night. A morphine driver had been attached earlier in the day by a team of palliative nurses.

John’s breathing became irregular; people gathered. I hovered over him ... distracted. I kissed him, whispered, “Send me a sign that you’re ok ... take your Mum’s hand, she’ll grab you ... you’ll be able to talk to your Dad and Uncles, about all you have read, and history ... I love you”. I thanked him ... distracted. I retreated a moment after his peaceful; final breath at 8.17pm, to ring the GP so he could visit in his duty to declare John dead. Distracted ... Broken ... Bereft ... Distracted ... Exhausted ... Anxious ... Contained ... Distracted. All over ... All too soon ... All 28 years.

Our bodies are a learning device for our souls in this incarnation; receiving messages of consciousness through intuitive feelings. I felt compelled to wash John. Finally his body was able to lay down. Finally, I was able to lie down next to him; bury my face and kiss his chest; his face; his lips; inhale his scent. Place my hands, as his lover, once again on his body, like a musician on an instrument; muscle memory ... gently trace my fingers over his ribs for the last time. Honour the vessel ... let go.

In the two years since the intimate act of the event of John’s death I continue to respect grief and the gifts she has bestowed on John and I. Gifts of gratitude and grace; of love; of guidance; of protection. I have come to know, recognise and understand the dense energy of unconditional love that embraced us; blended as one on our last night on this earth realm and our ongoing interdimensional energy connections. We are practising; honing our skills; enacting new lessons. Love is truth and hence incapable of asking for anything:

Deep inside ... a sacred den of passion ignites,

Baptising flames of luscious intimacy.

Flyways of spinning orbs in reciprocal, sensual flight,

Pulsating rituals of purification, a blissful surrender as one.

Love ... The Eternal Gift.

Time is now for me to stop sharing John’s death, for the intimate act of the event of John’s death precedes the date of Feb 5^th. I can indeed celebrate our last stanza; in meditation; in the quiet calm where the body grounds so the mind can illuminate; open; ascend and access the portals where our energies merge ... dance again ... as one.

The Eternal Gift

Deep inside ... soul’s paradise,

Lover’s bodies, ecstatic delight.

Heart’s smiling gratitude, spirit’s tears embrace.

Lucid dreams, silent minds create.

Love, soul’s eternal light.

Deep inside ... heart’s swelling ache,

Fluttering tingles, tantalise & vibrate.

Gushing landslides of love escalate,

Where hearts & soul’s minds congregate.

An enthralling embrace.

Deep inside ... a sacred den of passion ignites,

Baptising flames of luscious intimacy.

Flyways of spinning orbs in reciprocal, sensual flight,

Pulsating rituals of purification, a blissful surrender as one.

Love, the Eternal Gift.