Prayers for the dying

During the week of February 21st, my family and I knew that my father was dying.   He passed away in the early morning hours of Monday, February 27, exactly one week ago today.  In the last week, then, we have been attending to funeral arrangements, an obituary, visits, a wake, a funeral, and finally a burial. 

During the first few days of the week which we knew would be his last, we sought to make my father comfortable.  I tried to reassure him that we would remain with him, and would make sure that he had everything he could possibly need.  He seemed comforted by this reassurance and he seemed to enjoy the presence of his wife and various, shifting combinations of his six children in his room.  It was a level of company and activity which had once been normal for him but rare in recent years. 

After those few days, he slept more and seemed to recede from us.  Although I occasionally tried to offer the same reassurances, they no longer felt right.  He no longer seemed there to receive them.  My speaking directly to him seemed, in fact, almost to agitate him, as though I were calling him away from a task he needed to complete, from a direction in which he needed to go. 

At that point, however, I still had a need to speak.  And so I turned at last to the religious tradition in which we had all been raised.   I found some Catholic prayers for the dying and took them to my father's room.   In the afternoon, I placed my hand on his unconscious shoulder and read:  

I commend you, dear Daniel, to the almighty God.
I give you over to the care of Him whose creature you are.

A bit further on, the prayer continued: 

When, therefore, your soul shall depart from your body,
May the glorious armies of the Angels meet you.
May the court of the Apostles receive you.
May the triumphant band of glorious Martyrs come out to welcome you.
May the splendid company of Confessors clad in their white robes surround you.
May you meet with a blessed rest in the embrace of the Patriarchs.

Near the end, the prayer continued:   

Let the heavens be opened to him.
Let the angels rejoice with him.
Let the archangel St Michael conduct him,
          for you have appointed him chief of the heavenly host.
Let the holy Angels come out to meet him.
Let them bring him to the city of the heavenly Jerusalem. 

The final words were these:

Into your hands, Lord, we commit the spirit of your servant Daniel. (Luke 23.4)

O Lord Jesus Christ, receive his spirit (Acts 7.59)

Holy Mary, Mother of grace, Mother of mercy, defend him from the enemy and receive him at the hour of death.

These were the words and thoughts in which my father had been schooled from his earliest days, as indeed I had been myself. They seemed just right for the solemn occasion on which I recited them. If my father was able to hear them, I am sure they comforted him. Whatever my belief, or even the state of my belief, I have to say that they comforted me as well.

I hope that the heavens were opened to him, that the Archangel Michael conducted him, and that the Angels brought my father to the city of the heavenly Jerusalem.

 

Comments

[loren]

Sorry to hear of your loss.

I'm not fond of ritual, myself, but I appreciate its power to help us through life's most difficult situations.

Take care of your self.

[am]

Sending love to you and your family in these early days after your father's passing. I'm deeply moved by your post today, Keara -- that those heartening words could be with your father as he let go.

[Keara]

Thank you, Loren. Not long ago I was talking with an Episcopal priest who pointed out that Americans are spiritually impoverished as a nation. I agree with that. My prayers at my father's bedside, as he lay dying, were my effort to address that lack on that day, at that time.

[Keara]

AM, thank you so very much. I appreciate your kind words, as always. As I was writing this very personal post, I found myself thinking often of you and Richard, and your own experience in losing him. All of us who have lost someone are, I think, brothers and sisters in our grief.

[Marsha Calhoun]

I hope as you hope. My condolences, and as one who has gone on this path, I wish to tell you that I believe your impressions and behaviors were accurate and appropriate and loving.