Death is not like the movies,
Sneaking up almost unexpected,
On a person who looks almost healthy
And communicates their last wishes up to the very moment of death.
But real death, from old age or disease,
The slow progression of loss of life–
THAT death is not like the movies.
As an infant does not spring forth in an instant from the womb
(And can I mention that neither is real childbirth like the movies?),
Neither does the soul dying a natural death spring forth in an instant from its body.
I have heard dying referred to as labor.
How appropriate that our lives should end much the way they began.
As the woman in labor births her baby
Two steps forward, one step back
Sometimes feeling as if the moment will never come…
Until finally, finally, it becomes clear that the time is now.
And the final stage of labor brings with it signs that the time is here.
We–the loved ones standing by–
We are the doulas of death.
Not hurrying the process,
But simply being present to ease the delivery
Of the soul exiting a body it no longer has permission to inhabit.
We watch, wait for the signs.
We pray, bring the laborer the strength and comfort it needs for the final stage of the journey.
The consciousness fades.
The breathing slows.
And then.
And then.
As we watch for the first breath,
As we watch for the last breath,
The work is complete.
The laborer can rest.