Dearly Departed by Georgina Walker

able to heal both souls in a time of reconciliation, a time of restoration, yet ‘pride’ became the number-one killer.
    Unfortunately, when this opportunity is missed, later, upon reflection, these people sometimes return to the ICU to seek understanding, counselling and a listening ear. Unfortunately, the staff can’t turn back the clock—all they can do is gently refer them to a bereavement counsellor. The opportunity for reconciliation was lost in the moment of yesterday’s actions.
    What the dying person really needs is to feel unconditional love in an environment that fosters tranquillity and peace, where there exists opportunities to talk about their thoughts, fears and emotions around dying. They need people who will listen, sit with them and be at ease. It’s okay to give the suffering person permission to die, reassuring them that their loved ones will be waiting for them on the other side.

13
Sacred dying
    The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
    Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
    T here were wonderful endings and new beginnings which I also witnessed in the ICU. Let me tell you the story of one man and his sacred journey to the other side. I never knew his name. He was a large-framed gentleman, and he reminded me of a wise warrior, so for this story I will call him Solomon.
    Solomon came from Samoa. He had a mop of salt and pepper curly hair. He was a gentle giant—I imagine he’d have been a fine-looking man in his youth. The nurse told me he was 57 and had suffered a massive heart attack and was not expected to pull through. He was one of nine children, some living close by, all with large families. This did present a dilemma for the ward, because at times there could be up to twenty people wanting to visit Solomon, so they did it in shifts. Often I would catch up with some of the family members in the television room as we ate our meals together.
    They were an animated lot, full of conversation and stories— a family bound together by tradition, faith and belief in God. They were Seventh Day Adventists. They told me that Solomon had been placed on life support until his aged mother arrived in Australia from New Zealand to say her final goodbyes to her son. They believed Solomon should be experiencing life as though he was still at home with them. It was nothing to see them talking to him, singing hymns or native songs, joking, laughing and sometimes eating a snack or two as he lay there peacefully in his bed. His wife would brush his hair and talk to him as though his eyes were open and he understood each word.
    One morning I came in and there was a delicious smell of coconut oil filling the ICU. I then saw Solomon’s wife massaging his limbs with this fragrant oil, no doubt a familiar smell from their tropical home. She seemed to coo words of love and comfort as she tenderly stroked his arm and massaged his large biceps. He was being pampered, he was being loved. Nothing was held back.
    They even snuck in his grandchildren—although not allowed—to kiss him and have little conversations with their grandfather. They all knew it was a waiting game, until his mother arrived and the support system would be switched off.
    He was adored to the final moments. It has been scientifically proven that our hearing is the first sense in our mother’s womb to be developed and it is also our last sense to leave us, and quite fitting that Solomon would be sung to and talked to as the soul would hear and acknowledge the vibrations, the messages and the intent.
    There was such reverence and respect as they tended to his needs.
    His body and his soul were feeling the power of love through touch. It became a dialogue between