When a Heart Stops

F was one of the elderly people I came to know as a caregiver, a job I took on a few years ago to supplement my income. She was my third client and up until her passing at midnight this morning, the one I worked with the longest. When we caregivers first began with F, she lived in the home she had shared with her husband before his passing years earlier. Her mind was clear and her body strong. She could out-stand me at the table where she worked on 500+ piece jigsaw puzzles, a hobby I came to adopt because of her. Using her walker as support the two of us worked outside in her rose garden, her pride and joy, where she instructed on how to properly trim, water, and fertilize the many different varieties and colors. I took some of the cuttings meant for the trash bin, dipped them in root powder and planted them in my own garden where three of the dozen I brought home survive, a reminder for years to come of my time with a beautiful soul who has now left the earth.

As one of her caregivers I came to know F well: her family history, her biological needs, her likes and dislikes. Being in her presence from her strong years to her eventual decline has been a profound experience and one I will cherish. It was a delight two years ago to share her 95^th birthday lunch at her favorite restaurant, to do small Polka dance steps with her as we watched Mollie B’s Polka Party every Saturday night, and to see her happiness when I arranged a FaceTime chat with her 99-year-old brother whom she hadn’t seen in years. He passed away two months after that video visit.

            F went peacefully and beautifully into her eternal sleep, but the weeks before this transition was a difficult one, both for F and for those of us whose job it was to care for her. At times it was excruciatingly painful to watch her discomfort and fear. Truthfully, I personally wished for her suffering to end long before it did.

But as I looked down upon her cold, prone body lying in her bed in the home she was fortunate enough to have stayed in, dressed in her favorite deep green dress, time-worn hands folded with a bouquet of lavender tucked in them, her skin no longer lined and freshly cleaned, I saw how beautiful death is. I can only recount that it touched me deeply.

F’s heart has stopped in the physical realm, but for the many she touched in her 97 years will remember her in their own still-beating hearts. Rest in Peace, F. Thank you.

As a novice caregiver the few clients I have been privileged to care for have given me amazing experiences. Each client is different in how they are cared for when it is time to invite strangers into their lives and homes to see to their safety and well-being. In talking to caregivers I’ve worked with, I hear amazing stories about their experiences and that of their clients. As a writer and historian, I wish to document and share those experiences. I see it as a project along the lines of “Call the Midwife,” only the content will deal with the end-of-life experience rather than with one’s entrance into this world.

            We all will face the moment when our loved ones and ourselves will reach that final destination. With this forthcoming project I hope to show just how beautiful this human experience is.