I am not alone.

I’m in a room, I am not alone.  Across the small room someone is dying.  There’s stillness here, as though every sound breaks into it like a knife.  I can say that I feel others here, although I do not see them. My job is to make sure she does not die alone.   The room is dimly lit, I do not know why as she has already closed her eyes for the last time.  She is now breathing slowly, occasionally stopping, and then beginning again.

This is not my first death, or will it be my last.  I find this extremely spiritual.  To share this moment with someone can only be expressed as a very deep, calm moment, like that moment before a major storm.  I believe angels are here.  They have come to take her home.  They are waiting until she has finished her last moments.

Her room is beautiful, finely decorated with the things she loved.  I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing her long before this moment.  But she was elegant as the room.  Emily never did say why she had a picture of a young girl and I never asked.  I move the picture onto her chest and take a frail hand and lay it across holding it next to her heart.  She never said, but I am sure this is her daughter.

I find it sad that family is not present.  This is for a variety of reasons.  Some no longer have family alive anymore.  Some for whatever reason have not come to an understanding that life is short and you can’t say goodbye and ask for forgiveness when they are gone.  Some can’t handle death, it scares them.  Regardless, I am here. 

I hold her other hand and gently caress it, speaking in soft tones about how beautiful she looks, how I bet she can’t wait to see God.  She only responds with a soft release of her breath, it is her last. The flap of a butterfly wing, she is gone.  I stay very still for a moment, let the others greet her and take her home.  Then, getting up I begin to care for her with careful movements giving love to the moment I find so sacred.