THE WALK HOME

by Karen Dill, Spiritual Director

“SHE’S ASKING TO SEE YOU,” MY FRIEND’S HUSBAND SAID WHEN HE CALLED ME. “They’ve put her on in-home hospice. The doctor says she won’t last the week.”

My friend was losing a valiant battle with cancer. She began having disturbing symptoms nearly four years ago. At first she wasn’t worried; she liked her doctor and her prognosis was hopeful. I took her food and visited her in the hospital. We laughed together as we shared memories of our many escapades over the past thirty years: girl trips; birthdays; visits to a favorite spa. But when months passed and her condition deteriorated, I began to fear the next test result.

It took her a while to say the “C” word, but finally she admitted she was facing chemo. Sadly, this stage of her illness occurred about the time that COVID-19 came along to threaten all of us. When we visited on Facetime, I saw that she had lost a significant amount of weight and hair. Sometimes she was not up for a long chat. One day she said wistfully, “It’s times like this that I really miss my faith.”

I knew she had been raised Catholic but had quit attending Mass years ago when she married “outside the Church,” as she put it. “Your Church is still here for you,” I told her. I encouraged her to reach out to the priest in her neighborhood parish. Then the true healing began. When he visited her home a few days later, he explained the annulment process necessary for their marriage to be blessed. Her husband was enthusiastically supportive. Within a few weeks, the paperwork was finished and her sense of belonging was restored. Her body was weakening but her faith became stronger daily as she received the sacraments and dove deeper into her Catholic spirituality. By the time the pandemic was ending and we could meet in person again, I could see that her return to the Church was the spiritual medicine she needed the most.

When the phone call came, I made plans to visit the next day. I knew this would be our last conversation. As I drove to her house, I prayed that God would give me the words to say. I wasn’t prepared to see how much ground she had lost physically in the short time since I had last seen her. She was barely able to find the breath to complete a sentence. We didn’t waste those last precious moments together. We told each other what our friendship had meant to each of us. We thanked each other for the gifts our relationship had given us both. We prayed together. She assured me it was well with her soul. When she began to drift off to sleep, I couldn’t say good-bye. I just squeezed her hand and whispered I would see her later. By the end of the week, she was gone.

I thank God for the privilege of spending the last chapter of her life with my treasured friend. I think our time together was meaningful for her; I know it was for me. Always a classy lady, in those final months she showed me how to die with dignity and courage. Her peaceful acceptance of her mortality has helped me face my own as well. I have thought about her often in the months since then—when I encounter a mutual friend, when I run across a random photo of the two of us, when I visit a place that brings back memories. I look forward to seeing her again in a place where cancer doesn’t exist. I will always be grateful for the chance to walk her home.