Don’t Ever Think It’s Easy

(Found here)

“Hospice means ‘a place of rest for weary pilgrims.’ Brice, four years old, had traveled a long and arduous road through half of his life, battling a brain tumor. He didn’t seem all that weary, but his family desperately needed the rest that hospice can provide.

Brice’s presence captivated me instantly. This strikingly handsome man-child radiated peace. His head pulled to the left against his shoulder and his voice was very soft; these were his only outward signs of illness.

During the admission process, Brice said, ‘I’m going to play. . .right now.’ Then he had a grand mal seizure. Seizures are always frightening to observe, but watching and waiting for the medicine to work was almost unbearable. When he came around, his grandmother asked, ‘Have you been playing?’ ‘Yes,’ he answered with a smile. ‘Jesus swings me in a swing.’

His grandmother pulled me aside and told me that Brice had been in a coma for six weeks after his first brain surgery. Months later he had asked her, ‘Grandma, do you remember when I couldn’t walk and I couldn’t talk, and Jesus played with me every day?’ She said the seizures were very hard on the family, but for Brice it seemed as if he had been taken away to another place, to frolick with his friend Jesus.

The hospice team was able to get Brice’s seizures under control, but as he neared death, every so often he would have a mini-seizure. One particular night, it seemed to me that he was approaching his homecoming. By that time, he’d lost use of his right arm, and it curled up, lifeless, on his chest. Every time he had a mini-seizure, he reached for his grandmother’s hand with his good one.

His grandmother coached him beautifully through the night. He seemed very close to leaving, so we tried to keep the room still. I even encouraged his Grandmother to close her eyes so he wouldn’t focus so much on her.

. . . Sensing that he needed help letting go, his grandmother told him, ‘Next time you have a seizure, don’t take my hand. Take Jesus’ hand.’

When the next seizure began, he raised his lifeless right arm straight up in the air, with his fingers curved as if holding an unseen hand. When it ended, he asked, ‘Is it really okay for me to go with him?’

‘Yes, Brice. It’s really okay,’ his grandmother assured him, again and again.

Finally, he told her, ‘I’ll go, if you go with me.’

‘I can’t go with you,’ she said. ‘But I’ll be there in a little while.’

. . . Several hours had passed since Brice looked at anyone with recognition. Suddenly, he locked eyes with his mother, his grandmother, and his grandfather, each in turn. Then a look flashed across his face that said, ‘No! I can’t leave them!’ His grandmother whispered, ‘Go on, Brice. We’ll all be there in a little while.’

It seemed to me that the room swelled with prayer, as Brice squinted his eyes at a light we couldn’t see. Ever so gently, Brice’s spirit left his body. We all held our breath and didn’t dare speak or touch him, so as not to call him back.

Almost immediately, I saw lightning. The local paper called it ‘an electrical storm of the highest magnitude,’ and it lasted for three hours. . . .”
~Kathy Kalina (from Midwife for Souls: Spiritual Care for the Dying)