Paula was in her late eighties living alone in a studio apartment in a senior living facility.  She suffered from congestive heart failure, had a prognosis of less than six months to live, and was in hospice care.  I visited her weekly to do her laundry, change her sheets and offer companionship.  While her formal education was stunted due a long-undiagnosed case of dyslexia, her inner-wisdom was boundless.  One day during one of our visits she said “Oh, I remembered something this week and I wanted to share it with you.”  I asked her what it was, and she replied, “I remembered that I have always been, and I always will be.”  I told her that was quite profound and asked how remembering that made her feel.  She replied, “peaceful”.

During our times together, Paula shared several times that she was tired of living like she was (i.e., always on oxygen, unable to do the simplest tasks without getting exhausted).  She said she was ready to die.  I asked her what she thought happens when we die and she said, “I don’t know, but I’m looking forward to finding out”.

One day I arrived at her door and Paula looked exceptionally exhausted.  I said “Paula, you look very tired, are you OK?”.  She then recounted how at 2am she had gotten up to use the toilet and, in her tired, unsteady state, fell into her tub and couldn’t get herself out.  She said, “But people from the other side came”, to which I replied, “It must be nice to have neighbors who look out for you”.  She cocked her head as if to convey “Wake up and really listen to me Mike!” and then said “NO, from THE OTHER SIDE”.  I replied “Oh, sorry about that.  Did you recognize any of them?” and Paula said “Oh yes.  It was my sister, my mom and dad, and my ex-husband”.  I asked her if they said anything to her and she said “Yes, they said they will be there to welcome me over when I die”. And I replied “Wow, how do you feel about that?” and she said, “I feel very comforted.”   Paula died two weeks later.