It was like fire. The hospital had called and told us to get over there quick. My mother had had a relapse, and there was nothing to be done. She wouldn’t last the day. When we got there, we were put into a small ugly room with scuffed grey lino and buzzing fluoros. There wasn’t enough room for a chair each, so we stood around awkwardly or sat on the floor. An oxygen mask hissed and various monitors beeped, and Mum was distressingly awake and gasping for breath.
I find it very hard to convey how horrible it was. We were all exhausted from her years of illness, yet completely unprepared for her death. I felt shocked and panicky, and completely distraught. But the thing I most remember is that we were not alone. The room was on fire; it was radiant in there. Love filled the room like a pulsing sun that pushed at the walls and shot flames under the door into the corridor; we spent that long last day in a fierce and fiery circle of care. There was a presence in the room beyond us, beyond suffering, and I realised that somehow we would endure. And as strange as it seems, on that day and in those conditions, I sensed the surging power, the flowing and fullness, of joy.
Reflect: When have you been intensely aware of the Presence? Was it at a time of ease, or a time of difficulty? Think to some of the darkest moments of your life: were you ever then surprised by the Presence?
Emailed to Sanctuary on 18 October 2023 © Alison Sampson, 2023. Photo by Andy Watkins on Unsplash (alt’d).
Alison and the whale 