Words of Comfort For the Dying

What do you say to someone who is dying? What words of comfort for the dying can you offer? And especially, how do we offer prayers for the dying?

A parent of friends of mine is currently in our local hospice. It’s sad to see that his deterioration has come so rapidly and particularly in that he has so clearly been fighting for survival. On Saturday, he was unconscious and it was thought that he would soon pass. But on Sunday morning, he was chatting with his wife and hospice staff. This is not unusual.

It’s a common occurrence to see people in the final hours of their lives, moving between a peaceful calm and an anxious state. There is clearly a struggle in their spirit to live. And it’s a fact that the strength of that spirit is undeniably tied to their struggle to remain on this earthly plain. Even though their physical bodies are failing and damaged beyond our ability to repair, the powerful spirit within that individual – that deep instinct to protect our human shell, fights to accept any kind of quality of life that is offered them.

Death is that moment of passing that comes as the spirit acknowledges that these mortal remains are no longer able to sustain its presence. And it is okay to acknowledge this, to accept it as yet another part of our journey. In fact, this is where the presence of family, friends and carers can often help most, with their words of comfort and prayers. The dying will come to accept the new journey that their spirit needs to take.

If you’re a family member, speak of the happy times you’ve shared together, the celebrations you’ve had, the joys you’ve experienced together and never forget to share how much you love them. Acknowledge that this is just an interval in time and that you will all be together again soon.

If you’ve had a spirited relationship with the person who’s dying, acknowledge that you’ve had your ‘ups and downs,’ but reaffirm the power of that love and ask them to forgive any transgression there may have been. Please, do not use this time to be accusatory or stating what your wishes may have been. This time is long past and by your presence and giving of yourself; you are providing the greatest blessing you could ever imagine – for both of you.

One of the greatest gifts you can provide, whether you’re a family member, friend, or professional carer is the gift of touch. Even when words can no longer be spoken, the gift of touch is a potent form of spiritual communication. I often rub the hands or feet of someone who is in transition. There are times when I stroke their hair. These gentle acts are no different than the loving embrace we receive as we come into this world.

And of course, there’s the power of prayer. Never underestimate the strength of that communication. As you offer your supplications, not only does God hear, but the living spiritual being you’re praying for hears as well. Acknowledging that it’s okay to let go, that there is life beyond is a form of blessing. And indeed, you too will be blessed.

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Heavenly Father

You have given us so much. Thank You for the gift of life, for all the treasures we received, through the wealth of those who’ve loved us and those whom we’ve loved.

This body You have given is frail and damaged. And now we ask You to grant us peace, as we begin our next journey, to a new life, free of pain and suffering. Ease the sorrow of those we leave behind, knowing that we will always live on in their heart.

Take my hand and lead me now, until that time when we shall meet again, on that day where there is no sunset and no dawn. Amen

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What Not to Say to Someone Dying

When it's Okay to Let Go

I'm Only Dying!

It's Life Jim, but Not as We Know It!

What's a Good Death?

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The Country Cemetery

I drove past a cemetery early this morning. I decided to turn around and pay a visit to this small community.

I parked my car and walked quietly through its swinging gates. The cemetery was waking to the new day; birds were singing and the flowers were beginning to open. Sitting on the old wall, which ran past the field, you could imagine the activity going on within.

Many people were doing errands and gossiping over gravestones, while their children went to school just across the way.

You could hear Uriah Cornfield, died 1753, talking excitedly with John McCormick, died 1804, about the great harvest coming soon and the possibility of a long Indian summer.

And you could see Maggie Turner, died 1821, sitting by the stream, cleaning the family’s clothes on the smooth stones, while her two young daughters were playing games, waiting for their mother to finish her chores.

On a sleeping country road in the midst of the Sussex countryside, the cemetery lived quietly from day to day, and every so often a car would pass by, not even glancing at the thriving community.

One man died at age eighty-seven. He was a self made man who often recalled stories of marauders who killed his parents. And next to him there lay a young boy who had seen only six short months of life, only to die a violent death, when smallpox hit the region in ‘29.

And there are many more, all lying patiently, living death to its best, thinking and waiting and celebrating with God.

Soon, when the living have forgotten, the men and women will be born again and out of death they will come, marching slowly, hand in hand.

It was sad for a time when everyone was alone, and then, methodically, one by one, they all put their feet into the marble world and have since been forgotten.

Now it seems to be much the same. All are alone in this hidden world and one by one they are dying to live.

Many were neglected by time, but slowly they’re coming back, to once again, complete the endless cycle of eternity.

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