The Three Wise Women

Life lessons from the last days

At fifteen, I set my heart upon learning.
At thirty, I had planted my feet firm upon the ground.
At forty, I no longer suffered from perplexities.
At fifty, I knew what were the biddings of Heaven.
At sixty, I heard them with a docile ear.
At seventy, I could follow the dictates of my own heart; for what I desired no longer overstepped the boundaries of right.

―Confucius

A message on Lake Michigan.

Four months ago I started a part-time role as a hospice chaplain after eighteen months as a volunteer hospice companion. While I’m still relatively new to it and I have this sense that it will be a while before I understand the comprehensive impact this work is having on me, I can say this clearly:

Every day I walk on holy ground.

Being a provider of spiritual care for the dying means that I get to enter spaces that are filled with people whose lives are very much hidden from the world. In many cases, the patients I accompany no longer have any family or friends. They are the forgotten.

But, here’s the thing: that’s not all they are. Again and again, as I visit with my patients, they turn into spiritual teachers right in front of me.

So this week, I want to pass on the wisdom that three dying women recently shared with me (I’ve changed their names to protect their identities). I offer their teachings without commentary or interpretation, so these simple truths can meet you wherever you are at.

Today.

Wendy is dying of a number of cancers. She is 81. and completely bedridden. Usually when she talks she doesn’t make a lot of sense―and the fact that she has no teeth makes it even harder to understand her.

But the other day, she squeezed my hand and got this clarity in her eyes as she announced with her sweet southern drawl:

“Tomorrow is tomorrow. Today is my favorite. Even though I’m sick and things are horrible… I’m okay. Today is my favorite.”

Speech.

97 year-old Beatrice, who is usually actively wheeling around the hallways, was just transferred to my care. She has a form of dementia, but to my surprise, she was quite interactive.

I introduced myself and told her I was there to talk with her and see how she was doing. She was a bit confused at first and wondering who I was.

“What have you been up to today?” I asked.

“I’ve just been trying to keep my big mouth shut,” and then she motioned to zip her lips before adding, “because this thing has gotten me into a lot of trouble in my life.”

She was being playful and so I started to laugh a little. But then she said,

“Some people think this is funny but I’ve been working at this for a really long time.”

Joy.

Louisa is in her nineties. She had a successful, decorated career in the military and in medicine. She traveled the world. She also experienced loneliness and loss―the love of her life died years ago.

She often repeated the same stories when I visited her, often multiple times in the same visit, like she was on a 15-minute loop. Inevitably, after she recalled both good memories and stories of struggle, she would conclude:

“It was a joy.”

*For more lessons from my hospice work, follow me on TikTok and check out my Secrets of the Dying series (yes, I’m ambivalent about all forms of social media, but did you know authors are not just writers but have to be their own marketers, social media content creators, networkers, and a whole lot more that my friend Kaitlin captures here?)

**Wait, I’m an author? Why, yes! Order your copy of my new book The Way Home: Discovering the Hero’s Journey to Wholeness at Midlife. Publishers Weekly said about it, “This inspires.” If you’ve already red it, would you please rate and review on Amazon?

***This post is dedicated to LK. RIP. It was a joy to meet you.