Blog 7 - Jessica Quinn - Good-bye sweet friend

Finally, things were settling down. I sat at my desk in my home office with a fresh glass of wine, ready to write…and then the phone rang. Normally, I would dread a call like this, but after the week we’d all had caring for our sweet friend, she was finally at peace and there was no more pain or fear. She was gone. However, I could tell by the tone of my sister’s voice that she needed us there as soon as possible.

My husband, Dan, and I walked into the Hospice twenty minutes later and already we could feel the peace of this place, as opposed to what we’d been experiencing all week in the frantic hospital corridors. Getting off of the elevator on the 6th floor, we were immediately hit with the smell of homemade chocolate chip cookies. It felt as if we’d entered an odd, peace-filled dimension we weren’t quite ready to experience. It was instantly comforting, but we weren’t ready to embrace it just yet. She’d only arrived here less than an hour before. It wasn’t supposed to be this fast.

Entering the room, again, the difference between this hallowed place and the hospital was shocking to the senses. The far wall of the room was almost all windows showcasing green trees in multiple shades all swaying together in the breeze. Again, the comfort came. Most shocking, though, was the absence of things. No loud machines assuring breath, no monitors occasionally beeping, no tubes, no…anything. She just lay there in the bed perfectly still. And I mean perfectly. She was so at peace that I kept waiting to see her chest rise and fall, or hear her labored breathing we’d come to pity over the past week, or even see her foot twitch. Nothing. Only the overwhelming smell now of Chick-fil-A, causing a disturbing sense of nausea to rise in my throat. It didn’t belong. Food belonged to life. This was death.

Her mother sat motionless at her bedside holding her hand. My sister quietly welcomed us in and we all marveled at how fast it had come. Was it only a week ago we all raced to manage her care and set up the 24/7 bedside vigil? No one wants to die alone.

I walked to her mom and hugged her gently. Her father was on his way back, he’d just left to run errands. We just didn’t expect it this fast and we all felt so bad for him. Her mother looked up with tears in her eyes, but there was a peace there as well. It was better like this, and in this place—much better than the hospital. We all agreed on that miracle. The hospice nurses checked in on us. They even seemed surprised at how fast this occurred.

Before her dad arrived, I knew it was time to say my good-bye. I’d never been in the room with a loved one who wasn’t alive—without them being in a casket. This was unchartered territory. I asked her mother if I could touch her and she said of course. I cupped her sweet face and brushed her hair back from her forehead as I’d done on several occasions as she was in the hospital and feverish and begging for cold clothes to be rubbed on her face and forehead—anything to ward off the pain of the fever. It was so bittersweet. I was so glad her suffering was over, but so sad she was gone now. I have a comfort that I’ll see her again someday, but an overwhelming sadness of missing her on this earth.

Her fever was gone and even in the short time since she’d passed, her skin had already started to cool. It was all happening so fast. I kept wanting to put balm on her chapped lips, again, as I had done all week, but that didn’t matter anymore. They had gone from a natural, envied deep burgundy to a stale, crusty purple. We all remarked about the semi-smile on her lips. It was sweet to see. We knew she was seeing people dressed in white and blue standing at the foot of her bed as she’d worsened. We all decided she must have been smiling at the angels who came to meet her. My sister said the night before she’d begged them to go ahead and take her with them. There is an unspeakable comfort in that. Thankfully, for her sake, they came back the next day. Good-bye sweet, Tricia. We’ll see you on the other side.