Death Becomes Her

"How do you feel, honey?"

No response.

I squeezed her hand even harder and glanced at my watch........2:30 pm.

"James, maybe she needs more morphine".

I pushed the button on the device that dispensed the pain killer through an I.V. into Brendi's arm. Her face was expressionless. I pushed it a couple extra times for good measure.

Here it was...January 16, 2006. This was our third day at hospice. Marina and I were with her pretty much 24/7 watching as our loved one slipped away. Just the three of us. Except for the occasional doctor and nurse, we didn't allow anyone else to see Brendi. That's what she would have wanted.

I remember thinking to myself that any minute now she would snap out of this. She would open her eyes, sit up, pull all the tubes out of her arms, and say: "I feel great...let's go get a sandwich". Instead, nothing.

By now her breathing had become extremely labored. The nerves in her face would occasionally contort it into unusual expressions. I wondered what the hell was going on inside her head. Could she hear us talking to her, or were these just signs of her body continuing to shut down.

God I felt helpless. Death was not new to me. In the past I had been directly and indirectly responsible for taking it. Almost like God, himself. However, it was different now. This was a loved one. The one time I wished I had a say in whether someone lived or died I was powerless. Now, I was just a spectator in a game I was not qualified to play in. Watch and wait. That's all I could do.

I remember looking at my watch again....2:59 pm. It was a digital. It said exactly 2:59. I looked at Marina sitting across the bed. Poor lady. She had already lost her husband to a blood disorder 6 years earlier, then lost her only other child to a sudden stroke 2 years ago. She would soon be on her own. I, of course, would stay in touch with her. But as far as family went, Brendi was all she had left.

I looked at Brendi's face, then at Marina.

We started talking about something. Maybe it was about nothing. I'm not really sure anymore.

I glanced down as my Casio shifted from 2:59 to 3:00.

Whatever Marina and I were talking about was interrupted by three short, but deep breaths by Brendi. These weren't so much intakes of air as they were a final expulsion of life from our girl. Three and done. Then nothing.....Silence.

I remember leaning over Brendi's face and repeating over and over how proud I was of her and how much I loved her. I caressed her face and ran my fingers through her hair. She was more beautiful now then ever before. Finally, at peace. Marina got up from her chair and joined me. The three of us stayed together for just a few minutes before I hit the button to summon the nurse.


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Now, I'm not exactly sure who "They" are, but "They" say the number "3" carries significant meaning. In my case, we spent THREE days at the hospice, THREE people were in the room when Brendi died, this was the THIRD member of Marina's family to pass away, and the time of death was THREE in the afternoon.

Maybe somehow all these occurrences are tied to the Trinity in the Bible.....you know; the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I don't know.

All of this is not for me to understand at this time, but something happened in the hospice room that winter afternoon that may eventually bring a perspective to my life like nothing else could have. Yes, I lost Brendi, but I found something much more significant. I firmly believe what I witnessed that day was a sacrifice. One that Brendi had been orchestrating for a long time.