November 25, 2002
My next door neighbor, Clara, died last week, alone in her small apartment, with only her cat to witness the second most crucial moment of her life. When a friend couldn’t rouse her on the phone, the next day she stopped by and found her. Dead.
A small woman with a round, pleasant face, Clara always smiled but rarely spoke. When she did, it was in an almost whisper – tentative and shy. Every once in a while I would see her in the hallways with her walker, going to get her mail. Once, her cat got out, and I coaxed it back into her apartment. Last summer, I found her on the floor just inside the doorway of her apartment after I went to investigate an odd hammering sound coming from that direction. She had been banging on the door with her walker, trying to get someone’s attention. I knew that she had just returned from having surgery, and I didn’t want to take the chance of trying to lift her up myself. I called 911.
I think of her dying, alone, in her small apartment, with only her cat to witness the second most crucial moment of her life. I wish that she had been able to make a sound that I would have gone to investigate. I would have sat with her, held her hand, fed her cat. I am not afraid of death or dying (my father was an undertaker). I just don't want to die alone, with only my cat as witness to the second most crucial moment of my life.
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Old Comments (3)
Shelley on 25 Nov 2002
Elaine, you shouldn't let this trouble you. What was more important is that Clara had a friend who cared enough about her to check the very next day when she didn't answer the phone. And neighbors who would take the time to help return a cat. And even the company of the cat, providing soft furry rubs and purrs on a cool night.
Instead of being in her apartment, she could have been in an impersonal nursing home, surrounded by strangers. Personally, I would rather die alone.
You're never alone when you die if you die content with the life you lived.
Elaine of Kalilily on 25 Nov 2002
Ah. An excellent reminder, Shelley. I need to be reminded of that a lot.
jeneane on 26 Nov 2002
It's so frightening to be ill - to be on that brink where death is waiting. At least it was for me. But maybe not so for everyone, especially one who has lived a long full life. Still Elaine, I empathize. I have always done just that with my animals--sat with them and petted them when their time came, usually in the vet's office after an illness where the pain was too great for them. There is something to it--sharing that moment and making it easier for the spirit to pass, whether an animal or a human in my opinion--that enriches your own life. Like you, Elaine, I don't want to die alone. I used to imagine my mother holding my hand. Then my husband holding my hand. Now I imagine Jenna holding my hand. I'm not sure any of those will happen, but like you, I'd like to pass with someone else's eyes and soft words to help me across.