My longtime friend died this morning at 11:30 am. I arrived a little after eleven, and noticed her breathing was more labored than usual, the right hand clammy, the left hand quite warm. Yesterday I burned a CD of her favorite music, which she enjoyed during the afternoon and evening. The last thing she said to me was yesterday, when she mumbled "I know" in acknowledgement when I told her who the musician was. (He died last year, and she had known him well.)

This morning I noticed that the night nurse (not realizing its significance) had taken out the favorite CD and put on something else, so I took that out and put her favorite back in the CD player. Within minutes, she relaxed competely, her breathing slowed way down, and then the breathing began to stop intermittently for as long as ten seconds at a time. I called her son at work, and told him his mom was very close. Within a few minutes of that, her eyes (closed all day yesterday and today) suddenly opened. She stopped breathing (I kept holding her hand, telling her I loved her) and I could feel her erratic pulse dissolve into the tiniest little hints of a pulse (like barely perceptible tinglings of final electric activity). Her stare slowly faded as she met her peace.

I don't know whether this is an appropriate place to discuss such a thing, but I don't see why not. Ours is a society which too often relegates death to status resembling something hidden, something not talked about. That's a good enough reason for me to talk about it here. (Without names, of course.)

She's at rest.

I think a little rest would be a good thing for me right now too.

Whatever is going on (and there's always plenty!) can just wait.