The Women Gathered
Our dear Sonja was transitioning. She had not consumed food or water for weeks, but she was holding on, and we were doing our best to listen and support her in her journey of letting go.
Her heart was still beating with rhythm and strength, but her breath was shifting daily. She had been on a long journey as her body greeted the many common friends of death. After these weeks of experiencing agitation, peace, pain, anger, laughter and release, she rested into active death and her consciousness faded away. We waited by her side for her spirit to depart from her body. We prayed, we lit candles, we read poetry to her, we played her favorite songs, and spoke love over her.
Sonja had been cared for beautifully by her daughter and daughter in law (whom was really know to Sonja as another daughter), alongside a couple different caregivers and myself. We had all come on different days at different times throughout her hospice journey, but this morning we all gathered together. It was a spontaneous decision to gather based on an intuition we felt to bathe her.
Five women gathered around her bed. We had prepared Sonjas body and the room for this intimate ceremony, placing a beautiful pink sheet over her body with a single flower resting on her chest. The room externally honored the depth of what was happening internally. As we all stood there together the sacredness was palpable. The end of Sonjas physical life was near, and we felt it.
We prepared a bucket of warm water and placed a few drops of oil in it. A drop of rose oil to honor her beauty, a drop of myrrh oil to honor her strength, and a drop of amber oil to honor her light. We talked about how this act we were about to join in was not a simple bath, but a ceremony in which each of us had the opportunity to lovingly care for Sonja by entering into the moment with our presence.
We moved together, not as five separate women, but as one. Someone gently washed her body, while someone held her, and another dried her skin. Her daughter spoke to her with comfort, watching for any signals she may give us of discomfort. Another brushed her hair, while another put lotion on her, and then we gently moved her body together to get her dressed.
There were moments of silence that revered the depth of the moment, moments of laughter as we shared some memories of Sonja, moments of pain as we were confronted with the weakness of her body, and moments of awe as we entered into the moment with open eyes and hearts.
To honor ones body at the end of life is to honor ones life’s journey. To honor the memories it holds, to honor the pain it has experienced, to honor the joy that has lived in its bones, to honor the scars that each tell a unique story, to honor the wrinkles that have been collected, and to honor the hands that have held more than anyone could ever know.
The beauty of this moment was indescribable. To watch a daughter hold her mothers body and comfort her with such love is both heartbreaking and beautiful. To gently wash a loved ones naked body is wildly vulnerable for both the one bathing and the one being bathed. To gently look death in the face and not turn away can be both awakening and disorienting.
After we washed dear Sonjas body we stood around her bed in awe of what we were just a part of.
We gathered in a circle and each placed a hand on her body thanking her for allowing us to be her caregivers, for entrusting us with her care. We then visualized love moving out from our hearts, through our arms, out of our palms, and into her body.
The last act of her bathing ceremony was soaking her in love.
We gazed around the room at each other and named that we were apart of something much larger than we could understand in that moment. Women have been gathering to honor life and make way for death for a very long time. What happened in that room was honoring to Sonja, but bigger than Sonja at the same time. It was divine movement that we got to join in.
Sonja rested deeply after her bath, and a few hours later she took three deep breaths and departed from her physical body. After a long journey she entered peacefully into the mystery of death that one day will greet us all.
Not every person will have the opportunity to experience a ritual like this at the end of life. Death greets us unbridled and wild, and some stories don’t end with loved ones gathered around. Some stories end alone, and without goodbyes. Some stories end with unfinished business and pain. Some stories end in tragedy. That being said it’s important to name that each ritual will be unique to each individual. Some rituals occur while a loved one is still alive, some rituals occur after they have died. Some rituals are full of love and wonder, others are full of complexity and pain, and most are filled with all of the above.
The purpose of sharing this story is not to say that every death “should” unfold in this way. It’s to invoke courage to enter into death spaces with presence, curiosity, and intent. I share this to remind us all that within our blood, within our bones as humans lies this tender invitation to help one another greet death. We don’t need more death doulas, we need more humans who are willing to gather and name the sacredness of both being and dying.
Sonja reminded me of this. We gathered by her bedside and as her spirit departed from her body, it was clear; this ritual was not only about gathering to honor the dying, but about gathering to awaken the living.