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Blogs by Stephanie S. Sawyer
Death at the Door Step 2/8/2008 6:03:36 AM
I know that the spirit of the dying person is still alive. Thirty six hours ago, my great-aunt and Godmother died. She was 98 years old.
I was at Aunt Blanche's side in the last hour's of her life, and although it was very difficult for me to watch her in this state, I could not bear for her to be alone. I took my small book of psalms with the New Testament and read to her. The nurse stated to me that there was definitely a countenance change. I knew that Aunt Blanche was receiving me and my words of comfort to her.
It saddened me deeply to consider those on that hospice floor who were left to die alone. Nurses stated to me that it was usual. And yet, I know that the spirit of the dying person is still alive. I can state for a fact that the hearing of the dying is still intact. Not only did the nurses tell me so, but I have experienced continual hearing when I was in post-ictal phases from generalized seizures although my body was limp and totally unresponsive. The last time that happened, years ago, I was comforted by a woman who read psalms to me as I lay on the floor from that seizure. I was completely unable in any way to respond, my brain blown to bits from excessive electrical activity. And yet, my hearing took all in, and my spirit was comforted.
There is hardship in my family members in extension. It would be and has been easy for me to focus on this in my time of sadness, of grief. And then, I got caught off guard, (Praise God!), by rmembering my own story "The Frog Reigns" included in IMPRINTS. It reveals the power of choice. At that moment my mind turned to all the wonderful moments I had with Aunt Blanche. And so, at her bedside, in her final moments, I thanked her for what she gave me. Anyone who knows my fairly prevalent feminine side has Aunt Blanche to thank. There are gifts she gave me as a child, a young girl, that urged me forward in enjoying that girlish side of me. There is no boyish side of me whatsoever.
Aunt Blanche was a second generation Houstonion, raised in the Heights. Most of my family was bred in the Houston Heights. If I ever move back to Houston, it will certainly be to the Heights. She was a very proud woman who kept tight inside. She lived in a time when the code of life was utterly different from me. Martin Luther King had not had his power. Aunt Blanche was born in 1909. It is rare for a person to live to that age, I suppose it's in the genes. My grandfather, her brother, died only a few months ago. An entire generation has gone before my eyes.
There is a heritage gone. It is a heritage of parties, the matriarchy of longreaching family parties. That ceased a number of years ago. But I remember growing up in it. It saddens me deeply because I sense the loss of heritage. My children do not know despite my attempts the long standing heritage from which they have come. They honestly don't know that clan. There was no long extension of get togethers for them. My heart is so heavy.
I bought myself a gift yesterday for remembrance of Aunt Blanche, and I will think of her always when I view it. She gave me one just like it when I was a child. I can't imagine what I did with it.....It was in my daughter's room for years, and now it is gone. But my gift to myself will be my keepsake, and Aunt Blanche's picture here in my bedroom in the silver heart frame will keep her close to me for a years to come.
