Page 100 - Vol. VI #1

The Dying Kind (continued from preceding page )
the last drag and then ran tap water over the “Did you know that there was this doctor who smoldering joint. measured the weight of people who were dying?
“Death just makes things easier sometimes. That’s all I’m saying.”
He found an unexplainable weight loss of a little less than an ounce in all the patients he tested,” Sheila said. “That’s the soul, leaving the body. And it only does so when it is ready, when all its work on earth is done.”
Sheila slowly nodded her head. “It certainly does for me. Looks like I’m going to come into some money.”
“Her work is done, trust me,” he said. “All she does now is hold on out of stubbornness.”
“Yeah, well, so would I, unless this damn hospice care eats up all of her savings. We’ve already had to take a reverse mortgage out on the house. Any of your patients ever ask you to hurry up the process?”
Sheila wanted him to understand the power and the peace within that moment of natural death. The slow building of a desire within the patient to detach from this world grew into a crescendo of rebirth. The patients labored to depart, like snakes shedding skins. This was particularly true of the devout Christians. She’d never had any patients or clients who weren’t Christian, so she didn’t know if it was the same for people of other faiths.
She picked up the stack of clean plates she’d left on the ivory Formica countertop when Randall arrived, and put them into the cupboard with a clatter. Her hands were trembling, and her heart pounded in rhythm with her head. She glanced at Randall out of the corner of her eye, and saw he was staring at her, unsmiling, his head tilted slightly and to one side. The thick lock of hair fell forward to cover one of his eyes.
“That same doctor, he believed that the soul gave off a light when it left the body. I thought I saw
it once. It was like a golden shimmer in the air. Gone in a moment.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t go in for that spiritual stuff. When you’re dead, you’re dead. A piece of meat.”
“It’s normal to feel that way, Randall. But people die on their own timetables, when they’re ready. Just like trees do.”
“Shh,” Sheila said. She worried irrationally that such talk would disturb Mrs. Harper. She peeked back out into the living room, and saw that the old woman had raised her arm and was clawing at the air.
“Don’t give me the brochure crap,” he said. “And we’re going to cut that tree down.”
Sheila thought about the moments before death,
when the breathing rattled and rasped, and some-
times paused for long stretches before starting up
again. She remembered her patient who was dying
of kidney cancer. He had taken a long, shuddering
breath, then fixed his eyes on the ceiling. A wide
smile grew on his face, so joyous that Sheila could
only imagine he was seeing heaven. She wondered
what her father saw when he died. She wouldn’t
have been surprised if he saw the devil himself. But
more likely, her ever-faithful mother argued for his
entry to heaven with St. Peter, protecting him in the “Mrs. Harper.” afterlife as she did on this earth.
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She heard Randall’s footsteps on the carpet be-
“What is it, Mrs. Harper? What do you need?”
She walked over to the hospital bed and saw the woman’s eyes fly open. For a moment, she lay there, blinking, before touching her index finger to the heart-shaped charm on the gold necklace she wore. Her glare was like a cold shower for Sheila. Her head stopped pounding and the anxi- ety in her stomach deadened.