Many years ago, I had a young colleague named Danielle. We worked on isolating virus cultures in a laboratory, side-by-side under sterile hoods; and often our conversation meandered to stories of our respective families. Danielle had recently become engaged and was enjoying the preliminaries to her wedding, which was still some months away. Danielle had one sister, and their elderly parents were happily married, healthy and enjoying their respective retirements in the small rural town where she was born. Mostly, Danielle talked about her fiancé and the plans they were making.
One afternoon she received a phone call from someone in her hometown. This was before the days of cellular phones, so all of us in the lab were privy to Danielle’s responses on the lab phone. “Yes, this is she.” A pause. “What!? I don’t understand what you are saying. Please speak more clearly and ask me again.” Another pause. Danielle’s pallor and her tone of voice told us something was terribly wrong. “No, I don’t know about this. On the radio? How–? Wh–? Okay. Good-bye. I must call my sister right away.” And she hung up.
“No, no, no, no, NO! This can’t be true!” Danielle quickly dug through her purse to find her sister’s phone number at work. “How can this be possible? Please, dear God, let it not be true! My folks’ neighbor says my parents have been in a horrible crash! She heard it on the local radio. This just can’t be true!” I moved to stand close to her.
Danielle reached her sister in her workplace. Between sobs she learned that the Highway Patrol had just made contact and indeed did confirm there had been an accident. At first, they said her dad was deceased and then, during the same call, they updated the report to add that his wife had also died on the way to the hospital. Apparently, Danielle’s father had been driving and veered off the road onto the shoulder. His pickup truck struck a parked car whose driver was changing a flat tire. Sadly, the wreck killed the other driver as well.
Of course, Danielle had many questions, but her sister had no answers. She told Danielle she would now leave work and make her way to the hospital where their parents had been transported. She would update Danielle as soon as possible and was not sure how best to make this connection. After some discussion, they agreed it would be best if Danielle were to go home and wait for her sister’s call.
Danielle called her fiancé Norman and briefly explained her tragic circumstances. Norman advised her not to drive in her state of upset. He would come as soon as possible, after wrapping up his current meeting, and pick her up from work. They agreed on an outdoor entrance point where he would meet her.
As Danielle started to gather her things and briefly update a co-worker on the current status of her daily work necessities, our boss gestured to me to follow him into his office.
“Julie, will you go sit with Danielle till Norman comes? I don’t think she should be alone right now.”
“Of course, I will.” I scurried to grab my jacket and accompany Danielle through the building to her rendezvous point. Once we had seated ourselves on a short barrier wall outside, the long wait began. It was well over two hours till Norman arrived. During that time, so many things went through Danielle’s mind, and she shared them with me, periodically thanking me for sitting with her.
Firstly, she thought of her parents. Her father always drove when the pair of them were in the truck. Though her mother was a licensed driver, she was nervous about driving on the highway or in the big city. Had her father fallen asleep? Had he suffered a medical event, such as a heart attack or stroke? Other than driving a bit more slowly than most of his passengers preferred, her dad had been a good driver with a clean record—no offenses.
Danielle talked about the various scenarios running through her mind and, as the first ninety minutes ticked by, she started wondering about Norman. Had something happened to him en route to the hospital? Her sister would be calling Danielle’s apartment, and she wasn’t there yet to answer. And what of the other accident victim? What about his family?
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear! How can this be true? This just can’t be happening to my folks! How can I ever accept this, Julie?”
With her comfort top of mind, I mostly echoed what she was telling me with one or the other of these:
“I hear you.
“Sometimes there are no answers.
“I understand.
“Of course, you feel this way.
“Norman’ll be here soon, after his meeting finishes.” And so on.
There were long periods of silence in our wait for Norman. Looking back now, I remember feeling very empathically “in synch” with Danielle, comfortable holding her and the space of her profound grief. It was a tragic way to bond, but I was aware that was exactly what I felt: closer to her than ever.
Eventually, Norman arrived and the two of them left for her home to await further news, details about the tragedy, plans to be made, and so forth.
The funeral was very well attended, as the retired couple was well-known and respected in their small community. Everyone in my lab, save one who stayed behind to “man” it, attended and were quite touched by the many fond memories shared.
As the weeks went by after their deaths, Danielle’s life returned to normalcy, as much as might be expected. She and Norman married, and her parents’ physical absence was tearfully noted, amidst many joyful and celebratory tributes, on that special day. It was a happy-sad time for Danielle.
Back in our lab at work, I noticed a new level of ease and comfort between us. Often Danielle would share about her mom or dad: a memory from her past or a “missed” future event, and she usually did this when she and I were the only ones in the room. One day she told me I was just about the only person she could talk to without “editing” her thoughts about her mom and dad. Her sister said that Danielle’s talk made her sadder. “Please stop bringing them up to me,” she admonished Danielle. “It’s too much to bear.”
Danielle didn’t feel that way. She wanted to speak of her parents, and thankfully her newlywed husband didn’t scold her for that. However, she didn’t want to speak to him “too often” of her sadness. She would tell him about happy memories and keep the other feelings to herself. I told Danielle she could share with me anytime. And she continued to do so.
After a couple of years, I left my job at the lab and moved to a different city. Danielle and I lost touch over time, but I think of her sometimes and credit her with my own first adult opportunity to “be-with” a grieving individual.
The ability to be-with another in a time of grief or at the end of life, is a skill we can all put to good use at some point in our lifetime. The more prepared we are to do so, the better. Sitting, waiting, listening, reflecting, all with no expectations: these are what it means to be-with. As time has gone by, I’ve had multiple opportunities.
Being-with my 95-yr-old grandfather as he neared his dying time was a uniquely meaningful time for me. I remember one afternoon, each of us wiping a tear from the other’s face after sharing from the heart, a very precious memory. He was ready to die when the time came.
Being-with my father at several significant times in the last chapter of his life, including in his dying moments, was one of the most transformative and valuable experiences of my life. I described the experience in my short grief memoir (2013) entitled Daddy, this is it. Being-with My Dying Dad. My father used his last days and hours to create a lasting bridge of peace and love with each of his closest family members. His was a conscious dying experience if I could ever imagine one! I hope I can have such an end of life as he did.
Being-with my beloved husband, as his caretaker and companion, through the thick and thin of pancreatic cancer, is still very fresh in memory. He died a year ago. We spoke often about our undying love and our intention to look for each other in a next life. We shared twelve wonderful years together, and I speak of him often with friends and family who receptively listen and support me. Thankfully, no one attempts to “shut me down” when I do want to share about him. His presence is still keenly felt, and I cannot imagine it ever being otherwise. In a most generous spirit, he proclaimed to me several times before he died, “Julie, you will have a wonderful life. You’ll see.” I’m doing my best to make that my daily destiny.
For me, living a wonderful life is to embrace the full spectrum of feelings, thoughts and memories, the unedited essence of being human. Doing so, I learn more with each passing day how best to be-with, and especially how to be-with me.
~ Julie Saeger Nierenberg, March 2019
Julie Saeger Nierenberg is a freelance writer and editor, lifelong educator and artist, a proud parent and "grand-partner." Julie lives in Canada. Inspired by the experience of her father’s dying and death, Julie published a short memoir about her family’s grief and loss. Daddy, this is it. Being-with My Dying Dad launched a true journey of connection and transformation, as Julie reached out to share it with those who assist the dying and bereaved. Following that memoir's publication, Julie received numerous end-of-life perspectives from others, some of which are available in Journey's End: Death, Dying and the End of Life. Writing and publishing in this heart-led direction, Julie hopes to contribute to a cultural shift in how we prepare and support others in the final chapter of life. Julie also enjoys writing and editing legacy writing, fiction and nonfiction works; she feels privileged to help other writers succeed.