The Priviledge of the Invisible

I've had the exhausting and daunting task recently of, along with my family, aiding my grandmother on her journey to the next world. She is a believer which makes that journey easier on US, but she's suffering horribly now and that's obviously hard on HER. I was "on watch" all night last night, taking a turn as family members do in times like these, staying up with her for the night and holding her hand, giving her her meds, etc. She's completely incoherent now, and we're using hospice and their philosophy of minimal intervention which is FABULOUS. As in giving birth, THE BODY KNOWS WHAT ITS DOING. We know how to live, and as much as we don't want to hear it we also know how to die. It's been a priviledge this week to be with my grandmother as she takes these last steps into eternity, watching her withdraw and go inward, watching her begin to "see" lost loved ones from the past, even "see" Jesus as she mumbled to us this morning. I'm struck with memories of being in labor with Hannah, so focused on the inward workings of my body and so unconcerned with anything going on around me; so it is with the dying, who may look sweaty or curled up on a pillow uncomfortably but who actually don't even realize it. I was chewing on this notion this morning in the wee hours, realizing that those who die are also birthing: when we birth babies we're birthing new life, and when as Christians our mortal bodies begin to separate from their spirit we also are birthing new life. It really is miraculous, and I've been struck these days of how "un-morbid" it is. It is terrible seeing her in pain, and with the help of hospice we're doing everything possible to make her comfortable. Fortunately it really is almost over, and in the meantime I've been allowed to watch someone take their first steps into the realm of the invisible world. Pretty cool actually.