Are you getting it?

I witnessed my grandpa die last month.  I was blessed to be there the moment he drew his last breath and watched his pulse fade from the side of his neck in the hospital room.  As its now been over a month, I can already begin to feel the memories rearranging themself in my head with a more mundane order that I want to fight against.  My previous professional life refined my aptitude to remember facts, but forgets feelings and the spiritual and I don't think thats healthy.  I feel now I must write to force myself to recall the full spiritual essence of the experience not just for my own sake but also anybody else reading this and struggling like me with witnessing within themselves the unworthiness of receiving the Lord's promised comfort and grace given to those who mourn with Jesus. (Matthew 5:4)  

I struggle with that particular Bible verse and in a weird way get jealous of those non-believers who have to process deaths in a much more final way.   Its like I have accidentally been given a cheat-code for not experiencing the full depth of a terrifying, but beautiful human emotion of grief that the heathens have no choice but to bear the full force of.  I'm unworthy of comfort– my faith is too new– Grandpa deserves more tears.  Am I really that certain I fully believe what it is that now comforts me or am I just an unfeeling robot with a grotesque fascination in mortality and perverse enough to use my dieing Grandpa to force my own tears to provoke further spiritually waking up?

Regardless of these, special things did happen in the days around Grandpa's death in the hospital room to which I now want to forever commit to memory and bear witness to.

The first, is the manner of his death.  I had the privilege of arriving in Iowa Falls almost a week before he passed and had zero distractions, scheduled events, or other worldly obligations to balance against spending time in that hospital room.  So I decided it was obviously God's plan that I was meant to maximize time to give maximum opportunity for serendipity.  Grandpa wasn't able to have much conversation due to his failing voice, but he was 100% present and of sound mind when I first saw him in the hospital room and gave me the first of many, surprisingly strong, bear hugs from him over the next week as he slipped away.

I arrived by gifting his hospital room a little crucifix I bought from St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City while I was in Rome 2 years ago.  This crucifix was very special to me as its the first time in my entire life I bought with my own money an actual religious piece understanding what it was.   The cross started meaning more and more to me as I started to feel it coincided with a real turning point in myself.  I came to recognize that this was the point in time I noticed that a Christian faith was beginning to materialize in my thinking seemingly out of nowhere.   The crucifix was attached to my bicycle as I rode all over Europe for two years and as such served as my first public and unashamed profession of faith.  Many interesting conversations were started from strangers noticing it my travels.  I brought it with me on the flight from Portugal to Iowa out of a developed habit of bringing it on big trips.

I don't know why I left it with Grandpa in the hospital.  Maybe I wanted to make sure my public proclamation of faith presented on the roads of Europe made it to his ears too and that he might be proud.  I don't know if he knew about the change happening in me or if he even noticed I didn't have any real faith when growing up in Iowa Falls.  Its so easy to avoid those kinds of deep spiritual conversations growing up to keep everybody in the room comfortable.  Believers preferring ignorance over knowing for sure whether the people they love have faith and unbelievers feeling awkward or judged in having to perform their deception again to avoid breaking the hearts of the faithful for what they think is a silly reason they begrudgingly "tip toe" around.  

Its not a silly reason.  And I think we find out about this very clearly at end of life.  Grandpa would zone out of conversations in the room about worldly concerns like sports schedules of the grandchildren, beautiful things I've seen when travelling, details concerning his hospital care or really any of the conversations even if they were about him amongst his room visitors.  What lit him up was when the hospital chaplain came to talk and pray.  For that, he paid attention, and even expressed happily about "we could talk for hours" about things spiritual.  Grandpa, I wish we could have!  But I woke up so late in life!  

One of the mornings I found grandpa holding on to that crucifix as he slept.  I realized then this crucifix wasn't mine anymore.  It was his and was his all along.  I am convinced now the strange set of coincidences that encouraged me to spontaneously buy that crucifix at the most holy (accessible) Christian place on Earth over 2 years ago was earmarked for Grandpa all this time and had nothing to do with me.  I was just the delivery boy.   If it brought even 2 seconds of actual peace to a Christian man in his deathbed, that trumps all my sentimentality in having carried it.

In the days that followed, grandpa increasingly lost interest in about everything else worldly, including the shame of being naked as he kept wanting to pull off his clothes.   I felt I understood though, as whats the use in caring anymore about the social customs of the world you're leaving behind shortly.   I'm most comfortable naked too.  Although secular medicine had an explanation for this common phenomenon that uses words like metabolite buildup in the brain creating intense sensitivity to touch, its not an explanation that anybody in a hospital room should even pretend to care about.  Spiritual contemplation about it is much more fruitful to those of us no longer the in the target demographic of science and medicine major recruitment.   I'm planning on getting naked now on my deathbed too so that I cause anybody witnessing it to give me the benefit of the doubt a few more hours or days where they might wonder if I'm still Jesse and not just a dying human brain chemical reaction making people in the room uncomfortable.  Thanks Grandpa for the tip on clearing the room of anybody who falsely presumes I would ever remotely care about my dignity on my deathbed.

The other thing Grandpa did a lot in those last days was look around the room as if tracking something we couldn't see.  He did manage to tell us once what he was seeing in the room.  He said it was "light", which was like a mic-drop moment for me and everybody in the room understood the significance without commenting.  I wish I would have had more courage and wit to know how to respond, but I think I was as dumbstruck as everyone else at that moment.  I kind of wish an unbeliever would have been present to witness and process that, but I don't think any were.  This was Iowa Falls Iowa, not Portland Oregon.

The last few days Grandpa didn't have much more to do with his crucifix, though it was always on the bed's tray table.  I started playing a game to break up passing time where I would stand it up whenever I noticed it had fallen over.  It would always fall over easily at the slightest movement.  I'd stand it up when leaving the hospital room for the night and it would always be fallen over in the morning.  It was a reassuring indicator that the nurses had done some tending during the night on his bedside while we slept.   It would also fall randomly during the day, and in the spiritually mystic state I allowed myself to reside in while there, I'd try to see if I could read it for a sign of God's disapproval for a thought I was just having the moment it fell over.    I feel this was a healthy spiritual game and humility exercise, as there is always some way to imagine a way our perfect Lord may have disagreed with any random thought of us lowly human worms.  Sometimes I'd even half anticipate it falling down as I'd catch myself thinking a very criticizable thought and it wouldn't fall over.  Then I'd change my thinking into acknowledging His great mercy and ponder about the nature of grace.  We all started participating in the game of putting Jesus on his crucifix back up on the table, but I didn't ever explain how I was interpreting it for myself to others until just now here.  

I don't want to forget that moment.  I realized part of the plan God had for Grandpa's life was playing out in the conversations, silences, and spiritual ruminations the people around his deathbed were having and that was no a small thing.  If, on my deathbed, if something my dying brain does randomly moves even one person in the room an inch closer to accepting Jesus, my soul would rejoice.

The last days were rough though.  Grandpa starting calling for help constantly.  He had no energy, it was obvious, but he'd muster up with all his feeble strength these exasperated pleas for help.  To say this was difficult to hear is an understatement.  This is a part of his story however I find myself most in danger of forgetting and I curse myself for it.  Death is the real deal and must not be sugar coated so I resolve to commit these days to memory most as I find most spiritual fruit in the uncomfortable.

We all tried in our own ways to make his calls for help to stop.  The nurse would come in and as gently as she knew how would explain to Grandpa that he wasn't going to get better and that he was going to die.  This conversation would repeat, each time starting with Grandpa getting the nurse's attention, the nurse asking if he was hungry or thirsty (to which he usually said no), and then reexplaining that he wasn't going home and each time we'd see his spirits collapse upon hearing that news, the same way, over and over.  He had a hard time expressing much vocally with his weak voice, but the way he flopped his arms and face told the same story.

I, only once, worked up the courage for a try and held his hand explaining that modern medicine has failed you and run out of ways to fix your health.  He was often very convinced that the nurses were conspiring against him, which must have been difficult in a way I can scarcely comprehend for the nurses to hear.  In so many words, I encouraged him that there was nobody on Earth left to help him but there was hope still in the other kingdom.  I don't know why it felt awkward saying this kind of stuff aloud to Grandpa on his deathbed– I don't feel like I had any authority to speak like that, so in regret for having spoken went back to another chair in the room and in my confusion, accidentally left my heart to harden against hearing those cries for help, I still haven't fully accepted the shame of letting them blend into the background for hours.  

He sometimes added "Mom" to his calls for help.  I didn't know if this he was calling out for Grandma or his own Mom, whom I obviously never met.   Again, I want to write on the full weight of the moment.   Considering a 92 year old man calling out for his mother on his deathbed is heart wrenching to consider, but I have no doubt there are depths of despair we reach near death that seem unimaginable to us who are still healthy.  My (temporarily) hardened heart did not even allow this to register at the time.  Secular medicine, of course, would have a clinical answer to this "normal phase in the process of dieing" that I have absolutely no interest in and would probably roll my eyes in the hearing of that take on whats happening with Grandpa in exactly the same way as devout atheists would hear a Catholic priest's take.

The last 2 days Grandpa didn't really speak or interact.  We, in the room, mostly sat in silence too as idle conversation also lost attraction.  We'd count the seconds between breaths.  I found a spot to fixate attention on his jugular to monitor his pulse.  While others in the room had their anxiety peak in the long pauses inbetween breaths, I remained steadfast and had an easier time of it since I had a better view and could always still see his heart beating in his neck from my chair.  The nurse called this "guppy breathing", and the way his head, mouth, and brow was furrowed would have been traumatic for anybody other than loved ones and nurses to witness and not leave the room terrified.   I personally remember walking the hallways of a hospital years ago and accidentally seeing an old dying stranger the exact same way, remembering the horror, and now having the unfortunate recognition of the same scene but now with my own Grandpa.

There were several different hospice nurses who visited Grandpa and the room during the times of my visiting.  I personally struggled with the ethics of giving Grandpa morphine and vallium when he presented and reported 0's on the 0-10 pain scale he'd be asked.  When he took vallium, it was basically the sign of conversations are now over time, as he'd get very sleepy and disinterested.  I worried if God's plan for Grandpa's death included some very important conversations and experiences that needed to happen for both souls sakes that excess Vallium would have undermined or prevented altogether.  I hope everybody got the experience they and Grandpa needed in those last days, because I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at least a little concerned some people (or Grandpa) had more that needed said but the vallium or morphine robbed the opportunity.  I'm similarly worried about my persistant presence too that last week– it comes to me just now a worry that I should have given more opportunity for my own Dad to be in the room alone with Grandpa.  I may have been too desperate and selfish to have discerned the proper timing of when I needed to step out.

The day it finally happened there was a miracle that generated in me the entire impetus to write this.  This I have no danger of forgetting but I cherish opportunities to tell the story thinking it may help to inspire someone's faith now or plant a seed of it for their future.  The morning of the day of his death, the hospice nurse was asked by my dad if it would have been possible for the chaplain to come since that was something that always lifted Grandpa's spirits.  Nobody knew how close Grandpa was to death as we'd been told it could have been any hour for almost 4 days.  By the time the chaplain came in the afternoon of May 27th, we were well in the 2nd day of counting seconds between breaths in silence while Grandpa had been entirely unresponsive.  Nobody was asking for the medical opinion of whether he was actually still "there" in the head or just unconscious as, frankly, it was irrelevant.  I can say that although his eyes were open, he was not blinking or looking around anymore and was not moving but still breathing strongly, but with pauses.  

When the chaplain came, we all kind of knew he was too late to be of much interest anymore to Grandpa.  Even still, he sat with us in silence for what seemed like over an hour.  To me, this was such a refreshing distinction from the secular medicine and hospice nurses that had the certifiably valuable and practical hospice skills but obviously not much use to Grandpa anymore.  He arrived not with an agenda and he did not exude the busybody aura of the nursing staff's  "lets do something so I can get back to maximizing productivity".  He just sat with us and it was perfect and refreshingly, not awkward.   I think he was also reading the room in the unique way the best and most gentle Christian evangelists do to sense if there are unbelievers present broadcasting their disagreement or unbelief of God's power.  Luckily, none of us exuded that that day.

After awhile, my Dad asked for the chaplain to lead a prayer and we all held hands with Grandpa.  He started with "Lord..." and paused.  It was quite a long pause, but I recognized what was happening (a little later) from a Bible verse "The Holy Spirit will give you the words to say at the moment when you need them". Luke 12:12. I wish I remembered more specifically what he said, but it was basically a plea for Jesus to enter the room.  And that He did.  Almost immediately Grandpa's breathing got noticably calmer.  We commented on that and felt reassured.  I noticed something strange though and it looked like coinciding with the moment of calmer breathing his pulse switched from one side of his neck to the other.  Over the next 30 seconds though, I noticed something wrong– the pulse over on that side was noticeably fading.  He died not less than 5 minutes after that prayer.  

The next hour at the hospital are still a blur, but one thing I remember feeling strangely inspired to do was open the blinds to let the sun back into the room.  In the previous Googling I had done in an effort to understand Grandpa's desire to take off his clothes had also suggested making the room darker which we almost immediately did.  When advice comes to us under the auspices of smart men of science, we instinctively obey.  As I thought about it though, and knowing how quickly uninspired those "smart men of science" become in the case of lost causes where death is inevitable, I started to have doubts about the internet's advice.  I don't know about others, but I feel God's presence more in the sun than in the dark and I would probably prefer myself to die in the light than the dark, even if its the light of god thats provoking me to get naked and make everybody else in the room feel awkward.

In the spiritually delirious state I was in I find my new mind works overdrive noticing little things and miracles.  I realize its a dangerous thing to resolve to try to notice coincidental seeming things in the world as noncoincidental, but I say, its such a more delightful use of idle creativity.  The introspection can be sanctifying as long as you don't let yourself slide into the depravity of paganism, idol worship or occult infected cultures and religion.  Its easy to accidentally regress a burgeoning new Christian faith in god backwards in sophistication 3000 years and rediscover another of the 1000 dead belief systems of pagan mysticism.  Nevertheless, I remember pulling into my Dad's driveway on the way home from the hospital and commenting on the absurdly perfect timing of the last breath with the prayer in the hospital room.  I mentioned something along the lines of that it must have been a demonstration put on for one/all of us.  Maybe someone needed reminding of God's power and He wanted to test us to see if we were paying close enough attention to the details to notice Him.  

My Dad has a radio playing constantly in the background in his garage and as we were walking into the door from the hospital, the song playing was Def Leppard's 1987 rock song "Armageddon it" at the lyrics proclaimed at the exact moment, as if God's answer to my question:

"Are you getting it?"

"Really getting it?"

"Give me all of your loving, for the best is yet to come"

That sounds like a divine response, request, and promise!   That album its from also happens to be the first tape I ever listened to as a kid.   I was a big fan.