6 Things Before You Die
Introduction
The Rev. Dr. Geoffrey Schmitt
Christmas was going to fall on Sunday. It was the Monday before and, Lily had been in the hospital with pneumonia for several days. When I stopped by for my evening visit she was watching a movie. A Guy Named Joe, it was the first take of a movie (Always) that was recently redone with Richard Dryfus. The move we had seen in the theater is about a forest fire fighter plane pilot. It’s a love story. The opening scenes establish that Dryfus’ character is passionately in love. Then he dies in a plane crash. The rest of the movie is about how he come to terms with leaving his love behind. He must do it so that she can live the rest of her life. The black and white original movie had the same plot in a different setting. In the first, the protagonist is a fighter pilot in WWII.
“Come sit and watch this with me,” Lily said as I entered the room.
I sat down on the bed and she filled me in on what I had missed.
I had cried in the movie theater. Tears filled my eyes in the hospital room. We both knew that sooner or later we too were likely to be separated.
When the movie was over Lily asked me to help her take a shower. It was shocking to see how weak she had become. She was breathing heavily, even with oxygen, as she walked to the bathroom. When her shower was finished it was time for me to go home.
“I’ll be better for Christmas Eve.” She said emphatically. “I’m going to be there. I may need this oxygen but I will be there.”
It was the last thing she ever said to me.
Here are the very last things to do before you die.
Make Peace
It was late in the 1970s the Episcopal Church was in the middle of a major revision of the Book of Common Prayer. Bishop Spears of Rochester, New York told about a note he had received from an irate church member. In the note she wrote, “If Jesus Christ knew what you were doing to his prayer book, he’d roll over in his grave.” One wonders if she took this resentment to her grave.
Ann told me about the burial a relative. The loved one was cremated. The ashes were placed in a niche with two other family urns. When the service was over one member of the family had a request for the funeral director. “Please move his urn away from _________ they never got along in this life, don’t put them together for eternity.
By contrast is the story of Martin and his son. They were estranged for many years after his divorce. But when the young man acquired AIDS, Martin set aside the hurt and built a new relationship with his son before he died. Martin gives us another example of making peace. I planned a little surprise for the congregation. During the sermon I passed the offering plate. It was filled with one dollar bills. Instead of taking up a collection, everyone was asked to take out a dollar bill. Each person was asked to use their “collection” in a creative way for the Gospel. Martin used his to purchase some special stationary and a stamp. He wrote a letter to his estranged brother. They hadn’t communicated in 17 years. They made peace. He came for a visit to attend the wedding of Martin’s younger son Jonathan.
Lily was a peacemaker, especially in her family of origin. Her older brother had been the proverbial “black sheep” for years. As is generally true, there were many sides to this story. There were many hurts, many missed opportunities for reconnecting. One party would be ready to reach out, just as the other was feeling especially sensitive. There was no peace.
Lily kept in touch with Steve as best she could. She emailed and wrote birthday or holiday cards when we had an address. Whenever we visited Rochester, she did her best to meet him face to face, if only for a few minutes. Unfortunately, Steve died of a heart attack in a parking lot. At the end he was all alone. Lily was ready to hop on the next plane. However, there was no funeral or memorial service.
We can’t force others to accept the peace we offer. So like the song we pray, “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.” When Lily died there were some who were not at peace with her. However, she made every effort to be at peace with herself. To be at peace with others she gave forgiveness. Sometimes this was easy. Often it was gut wrenching. Always it was worth it.
Forgive
This story begins in the middle; in September of 1984. Lily and I were attending the first Inter-Coastal Healing Seminar in Ogunquit, Maine. During the first break on the opening day of the conference we took a brief walk along The Marginal Way, a scenic walk by the ocean. To our surprise and pleasure the first beautiful things we saw were not the ocean and the sandy shore, but rows of fall flowers and a Monarch butterfly.
Monarchs are symbols of the Resurrection. They had always been a cause for joy for Lily and me. There it was this marvelous wonderful creature, the King of butterflies, in all its glory. The next best thing was that we had our cameras with us ready for taking pictures.
On the second afternoon during a break we returned to the campsite in Wells, where we were staying in the trailer a generous parishioner was letting us use. While Lily napped I took a walk in the nature preserve adjoining the campground. Again, with my Pentax K1000 at the ready there appeared not one, but two Monarch butterflies.
“Thank you, Jesus,” I thought. As I snapped some great close ups I hoped to myself, “Maybe I’ll see three or even more.” Then an accusing voice in my head spoke and said,
“That’s right Schmitt, never satisfied with what you’ve got.”
Yet, wonder of wonders, sometimes the Lord is gracious and determined to pour His love upon us regardless of our attitudes. There before me on the path were not just three Monarchs but so many I couldn’t count them. I wandered in the tall grass of the tidal inlet for an hour enjoying God’s creation and being recreated myself.
In the evening Francis MacNutt led us in a healing meditation on forgiveness. He used the Biblical story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet as his theme. After a brief talk Francis had us close our eyes and led us with our creative imagination to experience Jesus washing our feet. As I saw Jesus about to wash my feet I heard Francis say, “Now think of the person you need to ask forgiveness of.”
My mind went blank. Then several faces began to appear. I sensed these were just ‘smoke screens’ blocking something deeper. Then there he was….. and a blackness overshadowed me and I sobbed out loud… “Matthew.”
Here we go back to the beginning of the story. Matthew is the name Lily and I gave to the child we lost to a therapeutic abortion in the fall of 1979. The pregnancy came as a surprise. Although we were not using birth control, with all of Lily’s health problems and medication we didn’t expect she could get pregnant. Unable to expand due to the tightness of her skin and inner tissues as a result of the Scleroderma, Lily was in great pain. She was two months along and taking many doses of Percodan, a very strong narcotic, before we knew she was with child.
The choice seemed clear. Give up the child and save my wife. When the ‘operation’ was over the clear choice seemed muddied. Lily lay in her hospital bed screaming, “I want my baby.” There was no consoling her. From that time on I wondered if I had taken the wrong path. Had we decided too soon? Had I agreed to kill my son? It was the right decision. I knew it then and it still seems correct today. Yet, I was filled with guilt. Fr. Jack heard my confession. The sacrament helped but did not root out all my feelings of guilt.
So it was that I cried out his name, “Matthew,” during the meditation. “Matthew, can you forgive me?”
Then one of the most grace filled adventures of my life began. The darkness lifted and in my minds eye I could see myself back at the tidal inlet. Ahead of me sitting by the bank was a man and a young boy. They were fishing. When they turned in my direction there was no doubt in my mind. It was Matthew and Jesus. He ran to me and I picked him up, hugging him tightly in my arms. “Oh, Matthew forgive me,” I cried, as I set him down again. He held out both hands to me. In one was a Monarch. In the other was a tiny rainbow. He stroked my face and sad. “Daddy, I love you, and see, I’m alive.”
As the meditation continued I could not hear Francis’ voice. I was too busy playing in the field with Matthew and Jesus. Finally, as the meditation was coming to a close, Jesus took Matthew by the hand and walked away across the field. Lily and my friend George Larson were rubbing my back and consoling me.
After the conference the forgiveness and the healing continued. Lily had received her own healing and forgiveness at the conference. We went home feeling refreshed. I wrote a song to remember all that had happened.
My Little One
Matthew my little one, Matthew my son,
Forgive me I sing to you for all that I’ve done;
Abandoned and left alone before you were born,
It’s left us all broken, all shattered and torn.
With eyes closed and head bowed down
I prayer to the Lord.
“O Jesus, sweet Jesus, come heal with you word.”
And then in my mind’s eye, I plainly could see
My Jesus with Matthew and they seeing me.
I ran to my little one, I held. I held him so tight.
“Forgive me, forgive,” I cried, and Matthew just smiled,
He reached out and stroked my face and looked in my eyes
“O Daddy, I love you, and see I’m alive.
He reached out his right hand and gave me a gift
A butterfly to symbolize his heavenly bliss;
And then in his left hand, a tiny rainbow,
Its colors reminding me, have faith here below.
Matthew, my little one, Matthew, my son,
I’ll see you again someday, We’ll have lots of fun,
We’ll play in God’s garden with flowers so bright;
While butterflies and rainbows dance, in Jesus’ Son light.
An added blessing came a few days later. Writing a more permanent copy, I notice the date when it was written. It was September 25th, St. Matthew’s Day. During the following weeks there were opportunities to share this story with many people. Not long after we were team members for a co-ed Cursillo weekend. It brought healing to a woman who had lost two children in separate accidents within days of each other. Yet God had not completed his healing work in me. One friend, who knew about Matthew, but not about our recent experience, sent us a poster. It has a white background and upon it is a rising sun. A monarch butterfly in orange and black is flying across the sun, and these words from John 8:36 proclaim “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.” I keep it in my office to this day.
The healing continued following the Cursillo weekend, it dawned on me that Lily and I were not the only ones to suffer a loss. My mother, who had come to comfort us during the abortion had lost a grandchild. I wrote her a letter that drew us closer than we had been in years. The next Sunday, the Lord continued his healing work. The sermon included a sharing of these events. There in the congregation on a surprise visit from Rochester to Webster, Mass. sat Lily’s mother and two sisters.
There is no end to stories of forgiveness and love. My prayer is this story will once more bring healing. Before you die be sure to reach out with forgiveness.
Wait Patiently
There is a service in the Book of Common Prayer for Near the Time of Death. Ideally it is to be used by those who are awaiting death along with their loved ones. Jan had been fighting cancer for over a year. She had been at home with hospice for about a month when I told her about the service. “When I’m ready,” she said, “I’d like to do this with my family.” A week later she called to say it was time. We gathered around the bed and opened our prayer books to the appropriate page. Everyone joined in. There was love, and peace present for all. Another week later I came back to visit. “I’m very angry,” she said. “I’m mad at God. I was all ready to go. We had the service. Why am I still here?”
About this time there was a new fast food place in Charlotte: Hot N Now. I gave them two chances. On both occasions it was cold and later. Like many people I hate to wait. However, there are Kairos moments in life. When it’s time, it’s time. Before is too soon. Later is not possible. It’s a hard lesson. Missionaries could teach us about waiting. On my trip to the Philippines I learned that 90% of the time is spent traveling and waiting for the 10% opportunity to share.
One of the best sermons I ever heard was delivered by The Rev. Gerry Kibarabara, of the First Borns congregations in Kenya. The whole sermon can be summed in one sentence. “When nothing is happening, God is working.” It’s easy to say; difficult to embrace.
Tuesday morning I got to the hospital about 11:00 am. Lily’s room was empty! Panicked, I rushed to the nurses’ station. “Where is my wife?”
“Didn’t they call you sir?”
At 2:00 am Lily aspirated and was rushed to ICU. In the confusion each of the staff thought another had made the call. We watched and waited over a week, hoping for some sign of recovery. However, her condition only worsened. Her long fight had finally worn her body down. One system after another began to fail. Finally, as I shared earlier, the doctors were asked to take her off life support systems.
Once the respirator was removed, Dr. Long said he thought it might take as little as thirty minutes or a couple of hours at most. That was Wednesday evening at 7:00 pm. Lily was still alive Thursday night. My friend Marty was having a retirement party. When every one there heard Lily had been moved out of ICU to a regular room they began leaving to come say good bye. It was a bitter sweet occasion as so many came to hold her hand, thank her for her part in their lives, and say good bye.
Lily’s siblings were there with me for most of the evening as was Brenda. Although we thought for sure she would die this night they all decided to let me have this special time with Lily alone. They left and I crawled into bed with her.
Sleep eluded me for most of the night. Eventually I slept only to awaken about 4 with a new song floating in my mind.
Safe in My Arms
Safe in my arms and finally free
Safe in my arms forever you’ll be
Safe in my arm all night and each day
Safe in my arms forever you’ll stay
Danger around, more danger within
Strange are the sounds and strange are the whims
Life’s winding journey full of surprise
Sometimes we’re foolish, sometimes we’re wise
Storms in the desert, storms in the sand
Storms on the sea shore, dust in our hand
Winds blow around us, clouds over hear
Death has come calling, soon we’ll be dead
Life lies in waiting shielded with love
Light in the darkness, music above
Heaven is calling now you can go
Cross over Jordon, finally let go.
Once it was written down, I sang it softly into her ear. Then remembering that sometimes people need to be alone to let go I decided to leave her for a while.
I was in the steam room in the hospital health club when they came to tell me she had died. Returning to the floor I asked what time she died. “She stopped breathing at about 5:50 sir. However, the doctor hasn’t arrived to officially pronounce the time of death.”
After kissing her goodbye, I waited in the hall for the doctor. He recognized me from a recent visit we made to the ER. He spoke with me briefly and went into her room. Returning in moments, he was shaking his head. “I’m sorry sir. She isn’t breathing but there is still a faint heart beat. I’ll come back again in a while.”
Lily’s weak, yet stubborn; heart beat for 45 minutes after she had stopped breathing.
I tried to understand for days why she would take so long to die. Her faith was strong. She had no fear of death. As I prayed about this question, I felt the Lord telling me, “She knew where she was going. She knew it would be for eternity. She waited as long as possible to die because she wanted to savor every precious moment of life.
Let Go
Have you heard the one about the fellow who has lost his way on a dark night? As he stumbles around he trips and falls off a cliff. On the way down he manages to grab a root breaking his fall. Hanging of for dear life, he can neither see the bottom below nor the top above. His grip weakening he calls out, “Is there anyone up there who can help me?” There is no response. Again he calls even louder. “Is there anyone up there who can help me?” A third time he cries out, “Is there anyone up there who can help me?” Finally he hears a deep voice calling down to him.
“Trust in me and let go.”
He thinks a moment and calls out again. “Is there anyone else up there who can help me?”
Bud called to say his aunt was near death. I headed over to the house to find the whole family gathered in her bedroom. Taking turns they were speaking words of comfort and encouragement. “It’s ok you can go now.”
“Come on grandma, you can do it.”
“We love, you but it’s alright to go.”
Somehow this bizaar cheering squad seemed to be the perfect gift. After a few minutes she breathed her last.
It was the winter of 1976, preparations for Bi-Centennial celebrations were in full swing. We were in Burlington, Vermont where I was serving as Chaplain Intern at the University. Saturday was laundry day. We were at the Laundromat. Watching Lily put dimes into the dryer I was shocked with confusion and concern. She was holding a dime between the thumb and index finger of her right hand. Using her other fingers she “walked” her hand up to the coin slot and dropped in the dime. Before she could repeat this strange behavior I stepped behind her, took both her arms; raised them in the air and said. “I’m going to let go. Can you keep your arms up here?” I let go. He arms dropped to her sides. She had let go of using the muscles in her upper arms without even noticing.
Lily had half a life time of letting go. It was never easy. One day, a year and a half into her illness, she was cooking at the stove. I was in the bed room. I don’t know what frustrated her. There was a wailing scream and a clanging of pots and pans. Rushing into the room I grabbed her from behind to protect her from getting burned. She let go of using the back burners.
While we were in Charlotte, she found it more and more difficult to walk distances. Thank God for good insurance and everyone who gives a dime to Gerry’s Kids. MDA helped her get a scooter. She let go of walking long distance, using the scooter for shopping and traveling through airports and over paved hiking trails.
In the May before her death we downsized from a large house to a small two bedroom apartment. She had to let go of extra space it was too far to walk from the bedroom to the door. In November she gave in and acquired a walker. She let go walking unassisted.
Sooner or later we have to let go. Life gives us opportunity to practice. We must let go of homes when we move, or jobs that we lose.
More importantly we need to let go of negative emotions. As I said earlier, we need to make peace. Some dreams must die so new ones can rise up. If we are blessed we have time to consciously let go of this life and prepare ourselves for the next.
The same year of the stove episode Lily was sure she was going to die. Initially the doctors had given her only three years and time was almost up. One by one she invited her siblings to our student apartment at the seminary. Some thought it a morbid exercise and resisted. In retrospect, after another 27 years I think they appreciated it. Lily also took time to set out her wishes for her funeral. It would be revised several times over the years. Yet, in looking forward to eternal life she was able to let go of what was more and more impossible in this one. Paradoxically this letting go helped her hold on to the things she need not yet release.
Celebrate Life
Lilies and Limburger Cheese
A year full of laughter and tears
Let us celebrate now
So we’ll always know how
Sing hip, hip hooray, and three cheers
Not long after Lily’s first hospitalization was our first wedding anniversary. That year and most years following I wrote her a song for an anniversary gift. This first one was a recollection of significant events throughout our first year of marriage. Lily had lilies of the valley as her bridal bouquet. Bob put limburger cheese on the engine block of our Maverick. We never did get the smell out of that car. However, we did take every opportunity to “celebrate now.”
Each month we would at least say “happy anniversary” not only on the 25th, the day of our wedding but also on the 11th, the day we met. Our trip to the Holy Land came in 1983, two years short of our 10th anniversary. We bought gold wedding rings at the Haifa diamond exchange and wore them on our right hands. On our 25th we bought new silver bands and our hands were full of celebratory rings.
Each May 25th Lily would take out her wedding dress and wear it to dinner. When she gained weight, she let it out. When she lost weight she took it in. When it turned yellow she died it blue. Here we are in May of 1978.
In some ways the disease was a gift. I never thought I’d be able to say this. It was our incentive to squeeze every ounce of joy out of the time that was not filled with pain and discomfort. We lived more, did more, than many couples with twice the life span. One summer we camped out across the Four Corners area of Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico. We visited every Anstasi ruin we could get to in three weeks. Another summer we traveled to California to see the Sequoia forest. We’ve been to Israel and Egypt. We’ve stood at the top of Mount Masada and the sat at foot of the Sphinx. We canoed down the Saco River in Maine and cruised to Bermuda. We roughed it in tents and taken it easy in Time Shares. We’ve looked down at Niagara Falls from a private plane and up at Multnomah Falls from a public parking lot. We’ve seen the inside of a dozen museums and the outside of a hundred parks. We’ve ridden old time railroads in five states and roller coasters in as many amusement parks. All in all it was a grand ride.
Say I Love You
(I love you) Don’t You Forget it
Music by Henri Mancini Words by Hal Stillman © 1963
Recorded by Perry Como
I love you and don’t you forget it.
I love you and don’t you forget it.
I love you and don’t you forget it, baby.
I love you and don’t you forget it.
There, that’s one more time that I’ve said it.
I don’t see how your could forget it now.
I love you in the spring time.
I love you in the fall.
I love you at a party.
We always have a ball.
But when you’re in my arms dear,
I love you most of all.
In morning or in the evening
Or when it’s cloudy or clear
I’m in love with you
So in love with you ev’ry day of the year…..
This was our theme song. Hardly a week would go by without us singing it together. We sang it on happy occasions, on the way home fun a particularly fun party. We sang it in the difficult times holding each other tight; choking back the tears.
When I got to the ICU it seemed like Lily was wired to everything. She was heavily sedated to keep her from thrashing about and fighting with the respirator. Weaving my way through all the tubes and wires I managed to get my arms around her in something of a hug and say, “I love you.” She relaxed “safe in my arms” again. It was the last time I felt she really responded to my voice.
We had lots of ways to say “I love you.” If we were across a room we would wave our hand with a quick American Sign for “I” “L” and then point. We learned to write love letters on a Marriage Encounter Weekend in 1978. Sometimes when conflict threatened to draw us apart we would write what was difficult to say. Writing letters with special messages of love is a part of Cursillo and other three day weekends. When Lily no longer had the energy to be on a team and present for the weekend, she would write me a special letter for each day. When we were separated twice for a month during my trips to Guatemala and The Philippines she wrote me a letter for each day and hid them in my suitcase before I left. Whenever I was away for a weekend, a week or more she would greet me at the airport with a helium balloon and a single red rose. I wrote her anniversary songs and bought her flowers. A day never went by without us saying the words, “I love you.”
All these things are important when you are about to die. Lily was “about to die” for close to 30 years. We had reason to be ready. But so do you.
