The Boxes of Your Life
By Jhiss
“Why is it taking so long?”, I heard a pained voice coming from the hallway outside my office, “The doctor said it could be anytime, and that was six days ago! He hasn’t eaten, had anything to drink and he is not conscious. His mouth is open, his cheeks are hollowing and his eyes are closed. Maybe you should come, maybe he is waiting for you!” Ed, was a long-time resident at the nursing home. His daughter Sharon, was obviously completely overwhelmed with her father’s end of life journey. As the phone call back home to her husband ended, I began to hear sobbing. I ventured out of my office to see if I could help. Sharon looked at me and noticing my hospice badge began to voice her frustration and sadness. She was so confused over the path of her father’s journey. “How could he be hanging on so long, why could he be hanging on so long,” she asked. I decided to share with her, due to my experiences during 6 years in hospice, my view on what happens at the end of life.
“You see, Sharon, my thought is at the end of life, there is a table before us. On this table are white square boxes, about the size of a Kleenex cube. Behind the boxes are the tops, with a pretty red bow on top. How many boxes each of us has, depends on how we lived our life. What did we experience? What was our reaction to life’s issues? These boxes are filled with unfinished business. Our end of life work takes us through each box and it involves coming to terms with the contents. When peace is achieved with each box, the top, with the pretty red bow is placed and the box is closed. We go on to the next one.”
Sharon thought about this for a few minutes and finally shared that her father was a simple man, a Christian. She couldn’t imagine what the contents may be in any of the boxes he would have on his table. I asked her if she has ever seen her parents fight? “Of course,” she said, “but they always made a point to make up before they went to bed”. I suggested that perhaps in one of her father’s boxes were regrets over what some of the fighting was about. Was it his fault? Was he unkind? Did he totally forgive? “Is your father a Veteran”, I asked her. She replied that he was, however, he never talked about it-ever. All she knew was that he saw combat in WWII. “That box could take a while”, I replied. “Many Veterans of War carry tremendous guilt and regret. They have pictures in their minds they cannot erase. If he was unwilling or, more likely, unable to talk of his experiences in the war, there is sure to be things he tried very hard to forget.” Sharon, although more aware of what could be happening on her father’s journey, still couldn’t accept what was happening.
“Look at it like this, Sharon,” I said, “when you leave your house for a two-week vacation, before you leave you have a list of things to do; she agreed. I went on, “you want to make sure to pay any bills due during your absence, finish the laundry, clean the house, empty the refrigerator of perishables, call a neighbor to get your mail and papers, arrange for a pet sitter, pack your clothes, and the list goes on. I’m sure you have even heard people say it was so much work getting ready for vacation, it almost wasn’t worth it? However, when all these things are done and everything on your list is crossed off, you are able to walk out of your house, at peace, ready to enjoy your vacation knowing you have everything done. Now, imagine you are leaving this life. You want to make sure, before you go, you have everything done. Until you have the peace of knowing you have gotten it all done, you don’t feel like you can go anywhere.” Sharon started to cry. She finally understood what I had been sharing with her.
“Is there anything I can do to help my Dad”, Sharon asked. “Yes”, I told her, “you can tell him how much you love him, thank him for being a great father, recount some of the times you had with him that you treasure, and, of course, tell him it is ok to go. That you will be ok when he goes.” “Oh, I couldn’t do that”, said Sharon. “He will think he is dying!” “He knows he is dying”, I said, “he needs to hear that you know he is dying and it is ok for him to go. Hearing is the last to go Sharon, go talk to him now,” I told her. Sharon looked down, took a deep breath and started down the hall to her father’s room. A few hours later, I heard a knock on my office door. There stood Sharon. “I talked to him”, she said. “I asked his forgiveness for anytime I hurt him, I gave him forgiveness for anytime he hurt me. I told him I loved him and I told him it was ok to go.” She was sobbing, now, but she continued, “I took his hand and prayed with him. His breathing slowed down and his face softened. He looked so peaceful. I was still holding his hand when he took his last breath!” We both cried as we embraced. “It’s hard to lose your Dad Sharon, it’s hard, but you did great! You helped him to achieve the peace he needed to let go. Now, don’t lose the lesson-live your life so that you don’t have too many boxes on your table at the end. Deal with your mistakes, your regrets and your difficult times now. Ask for forgiveness, forgive others and yourself; say I’m sorry, say I love you, be kind always.” Sharon left my office that day with a newfound awareness and a peace she had never experienced. We still keep in touch and Sharon has shared this lesson many times with others. I’m sure her father is proud watching her pay it forward!
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