Death Doula: "Being" beside the bed

I spent the weekend in Dunblane, visiting Christine mostly.  She is dying and it was a privilege to be at her bedside for several hours on both Saturday and Sunday but it was also poignant, sad, and surreal.

The last time i saw Christine was in May last year when she came to our wedding.  She arrived for the afternoon and i have a wonderful memory of seeing her arrive and of being enveloped in the most wonderful hug, quickly joined by Caitlin and then Arwen too.

Throughout my visit Christine drifted in and out of sleep, in and out of conversation, recalling memories, sharing insights.

The following are mere fragments of my time with her:

Christine's father, in the very late stages of heart failure, remarked to his daughter that nobody had told him how difficult it would be to die.  Recalling it now, Christine understands exactly what he meant.  She is ready to go, even eager to go but feels the many tugs that come with having lived a full life.  She wants to be given permission to die, needs to find ways of loosening ties, breaking (perhaps even severing) cords, untying threads and reworking them to another, not-yet-dying friend whose tapestry is still developing.

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers... Wordsworth

With tears slowly falling on to her pillow she tells me that she longs for the peace and quiet of Strowan Woodland Cemetery, where Alison is already buried.  Then she recites some William Soutar, in full, in a thin, slightly reedy whisper that is a shadow of her hale and hearty voice so familiar to many:

"Song" 1935

Whaur yon broken brig hings owre;
Whaur yon water make nae spun';
Babylon blaws by in stour:
Gang doun wi' a sang, gang doun

Deep, owre deep, for onie drouth;
Wan eneuch an ye wud droun:
Sout, or seelfu', for the mouth;
Gang doun wi' a song, gang doun

Babylon blaws by in stour
Whaur yon water makes nae soun':
Darkness is your only door;
Gang doun wi' a sang, gang doun.

That was on Saturday.  I didn't know what the poem was but i spoke with Iona when she and a few other crones came over to spend time with me.  She suggested that it was probably Soutar and thought that it would be "Song".  Christine confirmed this on Sunday morning.  And i will write about that in my next post.