The Final Day

It is never easy to hear the news that a loved one has terminal cancer, so when the doctor told my brother, Peter, that very news, that he had only weeks to live, it was difficult to take. I sat with him in the hospital and we chatted. He was pragmatic about it and concerned to organise his affairs and finish his work as best as he was able. The pain had prevented him from working as he had wished and he was keen not to leave things undone.

My brother was not a spiritual man, in fact, he professed to be an atheist, but that didn’t stop me from offering some words from scripture that may have been a comfort or from playing with him.

“You can pray if you like, but I don’t pray.” He spoke gently and humoured me whilst I prayed for him in his hospital room. I shared with him some verses from John’s Gospel;

Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”

 John 14:1-4

He promised to read it and think about it. I don’t know if he did. I hope so.

The weeks passed quickly and I spent time visiting him at hospital, at my sister’s home, where he had lived for many years and eventually at the hospice where he spent his final three weeks. The amazing staff there made his final days comfortable and pain-free.

I got the call to come quickly, early on a Thursday morning. Peter had taken a turn for the worse overnight and the cancer was finally choking the life out of him. When my wife and I eventually arrived, my sister and her husband were already at his side.

“Not long now,” said the ward sister, “go and sit with him.” We sat by his side for four hours, taking turns to hold his hand, stroke his brow and whisper gently to him. His breathing was shallow, his eyes glazed, and he was not aware of his surroundings.

“You know that I love you,” I said quietly to him as I held his hand. I squeezed it, hoping he might respond. He didn’t. “Do you remember the time we…” I chatted away, trying to make this unreal situation feel normal.

Elaine, my sister, did the same, recalling memories, in the hope that Peter could still hear and be reminded that he was loved.

I whispered into his ear, a final prayer, you never know what God can do in those last moments of life. I hope Peter was able to hear it and that he wasn’t too upset with me.

As we sat holding his hands and watching him slowly slip away, his breathing faltered and his arm twitched. For a moment I thought he was coming round, but with a heart-breaking pain in my chest, I realised these were his final breaths. Tears welled up in my eyes, and the pain of heartbreak increased. I managed to ring the bell for the nurses. With such compassion, they checked his pulse and monitored his breathing, giving him dignity right to the end. His final breath was very shallow and almost went unnoticed. There as we held his hand our hearts broke. We were thankful that he was out of pain, but our pain of loss was just beginning. I allowed a tear to roll down my cheek and I took deep breaths to control my emotion. We sat in the room together in silence, the nurses left us to grieve, giving us the space we needed to say goodbye. We kissed him and spoke to him one more time and allowed whatever God or nature dictates to take place.

Peter lay at peace. As the nurses attended to him, they spoke kindly to him, explaining what they were doing, dignity to the end. They gently rearranged him on the bed, tidying him up, washing him and combing his hair. They placed a red rose on his pillow next to him. Respect.

Peter was not perfect, none of us is and those who profess to be are liars. He made mistakes in his life and he paid for them, as we all do. He had successes, and triumphs, he loved and lost love, and he was loved by many. Death is the great leveller, it comes to us all and our successes or failure on this earth only have meaning for those who grieve.

I love my brother dearly. We were not in each other’s pockets, we lived separate lives, but the bond of love was strong. We looked out for each other. I am already missing him and will continue to do so for a long time.

Peter was not a spiritual man; he did not believe that he was “passing on,” but I am and in my heart and my mind, I prayed so hard for him to “see the light.” The light is real, the light is Jesus, my prayer for my brother is that in those final moments, Jesus came to him and took him home.

God bless you, Peter.

xxx