Tuesday with Tori

On Tuesday, I got the privilege of spending the rest of Tori’s life with her. My boss was in the middle of admitting the 90-year-old woman into our hospice program when she realized she wasn’t going to make it. She sent an urgent message asking if I could get to the nursing home before it was too late. Due to the closures caused by the COVID-19 pandemic, Tori was alone. Her family, who once saw her regularly, hadn’t seen her in five months. Now that she was dying, they could say their goodbyes but were hours away and wouldn’t make it in time.

My always overly organized plans that day were dropped. I threw myself together and rushed to her side. Little Ms. Tori lay peacefully in her bed. Having been given morphine for her chronic pain, she was now enjoying the time she had left. Tori, a retired nurse, had helped so many people with their ailments and aches. It was now her time to have the favor returned.  

Tori was in a room in between two women who were both watching Jerry Springer. One of them had her TV blasting. Women on the show were talking graphically about their sexual escapades with their friends’ men and fist fighting. Since I was unable to do my usual spiritual assessment, all I knew about Tori was that she was listed in her facility’s chart as Baptist.

I thought to myself, This is not how Tori is going to go out. This sweet little old Baptist lady is not going to die to Jerry Springer. I nicely asked her roommates to turn down their TVs. One woman muted hers. The other lowered the volume but, since she was very hard of hearing, it was still so loud that the other woman could keep watching without sound. I asked her if she could turn it down more and she kindly turned it off altogether.

“Hello Tori. I’m Chaplain Adrienne. I’m a minister who does home visits to people who aren’t able to get out to church.”

This is my standard introduction. Many people associate chaplains with the end-of-life. I never want to frighten anyone even when that is the case. I also always talk to people like they are awake and can hear me even when they are not conscious. They may not be able to open their eyes but it doesn’t mean their ears aren’t opened. The hearing is the last to go.  Sometimes people can’t give you a physical sign that they hear you, but sometimes they can. When Ms. Tori let out a big yawn, it seemed like she was waking up from a nice nap even though her eyes remained closed.

I prayed with Tori, thanking God for our opportunity to fellowship and for dying for us so that we can live forever in His Kingdom where there will be no more viruses, isolation, pain, inabilities and death. Not knowing how strong her faith was, I didn’t assume she was looking forward to this journey so I address death indirectly.

“Tori, I’d like to read to you some of my favorite Bible scriptures. These lift me up, put things into perspective and remind me that I have nothing to fear.”

I read the words of Jesus from the Book of John which, by the way, is the best book for the end of life or the beginning of a new one. Jesus says those who believe in Him and have accepted His gift of forgiveness will not face judgment. He already faced it for us and paid the ultimate penalty for our sins. Jesus said those of us who believe in Him will never die. I have been with people who have described heaven to me before they took their last breaths. I believe our souls are securely in heaven before our hearts stop here.

Not knowing if Tori was actively walking with God, I tell her the story I tell all non-practicing Christians and non-believers who welcome it in the end. It’s the story I told my father on his death bed – The Thief on the Cross. The man led the life of a criminal, spent his final hours hurling insults at Jesus and was never baptized. But in the very end, he recognized Jesus as God and asked to be remembered when He entered into His Kingdom. Jesus told him He would meet up with him in heaven that day.  

I played some of my favorite hymns, which I grew to love thanks to my Baptist seminary professor Dr. Jim Smith. I don’t think anyone can listen to I’ll Fly Away and Take My Hand, Precious Lord and not get excited about heaven. I prefer the versions by the late and great Joey Feek, who recorded them when she was dying. Tori’s roommate joined me in singing to her.

I counted Tori’s breaths. I learned this from my mom’s hospice nurse when she was dying. It’s an easy vital for a layperson to measure without touching the patient. Tori’s breaths were 20 per minute when my boss left her. They were now at 15 per minute and decreasing. With my body covered in a plastic gown, my face masked and my hands gloved, I leaned over Tori’s bed, caressed her head and told her the things all dying people want to hear:

1) You are loved.

2) You are forgiven. (Forgive me.)

3) Thank you. Your life and contributions mattered. You are appreciated.

4) You will not be forgotten.

5) You will be missed, but;

6) Everyone will be okay, so;

7) It’s okay for you to go.

“Tori, thank you for your service to the world as an RN. It will carry on through the people you helped and will not be forgotten. Your service to God here is now complete. It’s okay to go. Your family loves you and will miss you, but they will be okay because you have equipped them. Well done good and faithful servant of God. Enter into His Kingdom. And say hello to our savior for me.”

With that, Tori took her last breaths and let go.

Thank you for spending the rest of your life with me Tori. It was an honor. I will not forget you and look forward to seeing you again when you greet me in heaven.

Your chaplain, Adrienne

Note: Due to the pandemic, many people like Tori who don’t even have the virus are still dying alone. Hospice volunteers are needed more now than ever. If you’re interested or have any questions, please message me.

Patient’s name was changed to protect her privacy. But it was actually on a Tuesday.