When I was 17, a junior in high school, I worked on weekends as a nurse’s aide in a small midwestern hospital. One day the head nurse told me to go sit with a patient and tell her when she was dead.
Talk about being scared! The only previous experience I had with death was seeing my grandfather in a dark, scary funeral home. I was 14 and had been told I wasn’t old enough to go to the funeral. BUT they said it was okay to see him in the dark Victorian mansion of a funeral home in a room lit only by a candle. Big mistake! I can still see, all these years later, that dark room and his head slightly raised above the rim of the casket. Need I say, as a result of that experience, death became very frightening to me.
Anyway, being the good nurse’s aide that I tried to be, I did what I was told and went into the room at the end of the hall. I stood at the door, as far away from the woman as I could and watched her. She was laying there, as if asleep, but breathing in a way I found to be “funny.”
I stayed by the door, actually holding onto the door frame behind me. I don’t know how long I stayed and watched the woman. At some point she stopped breathing, but I stayed there a little longer. Finally I decided she must have died. I left the room and told the head nurse I thought she was dead.
That was it. Everyone went about their business. No one asked me how I felt, no one saw me crying in the bathroom. No one realized, including me, what a profound effect being with that woman had on the rest of my life.
As a freshman in nursing school, my student supervisor told me a lady in one of the rooms had just died. I was to go into the room (alone) and bathe her body. Being the good student nurse that I was, I did what I was told. I got a pan of water and began washing this woman’s body. I was close to her, touching her, doing one of the most personal tasks a person can do — bathing another. Needless to say, this was just as scary as my first two encounters with death.
Those experiences left a lasting mark. When I was 34 and my other grandfather died, I went to the visitation, but wouldn’t go into the room where everyone was gathering. I stayed out in the hall.
How in the world did I ever become involved in end of life work?
I think it was the search for meaning in life, the search for self-awareness, the “what is life about” journey I had in my 30s and 40s that brought me to where I am today. Perhaps those early experiences with dying and death laid the groundwork for my recognizing the fear most people carry around the end of life.
I remember one day during my daily meditation I said “I want to be of service. Use me as You will”. A part of me believes that prayer was directed and answered.
Something more…
Facing the end of life is often filled with fear simply because we don’t know what to expect. The Approaching Death Support Kit was created to bring clarity, reassurance, and guidance during this sacred time. It helps families and caregivers understand the physical, emotional, and spiritual changes that occur as death nears — so no one has to feel unprepared or alone. If you or someone you love is walking this journey, this kit offers calm, practical support when it’s needed most.
