The scream of death stops me in the middle of the hall as the eerie voice crawls into my ears and erases my joy. A nurse who had been following way too closely crashes into my backside.
“Oh, sorry,” she says in a snippy voice as she pushes her away around me.
I look into the room where the scream came from, shocked that the nurse didn’t go check on the distressed patient. I clear my throat, “Are you going to help her?” I ask.
“Not my patient,” the nurse says as she makes an incredible pace down the hall, never once looking back or showing a conscience for this lady in apparent pain. I hunch my shoulders and look up and down the hall. No one is here but me.
Just moments ago, I had held my first great-grandbaby and left the maternity ward floating on hope, feeling everything was pure in the world. This cry of the dying washes that all away. How can there be such contrasts of joy and sorrow in the same building?
“Help me, please,” the voice calls again. I look in at a lady squirming on the bed in apparent pain. Our eyes lock. Feeling timid, I shuffle into the hospital room, not sure I belong. I don’t think I have seen such a sick-looking lady before. She has huge bags under her gaunt eyes, and her cheeks are sunken in. I didn’t mean to cover my nose, but the smell of excrement catches me off guard.
She presents her bony hand, the skin almost transparent from thinning. Her hand is like holding frozen ice cubes. As our fingers interlock, a bolt of energy shoots through her to me, then me to her. She relaxes into her mattress, never releasing my hand.
“I am about to die, and I don’t want to die alone.”
Her words bring instant tears to my eyes. “Can I get your doctor?” Despite her now calm, I feel panic.
“No. I only have a minute left. Jeff is here. My sweet Jeff is going to take me home. I have been calling out for someone, anyone, to be with me when I die. I don’t want to do it alone. Jeff told me to pray, and as soon as I did, God sent me you.”
My heart swells with her words. Who is this woman, left to die alone? A mother? A teacher? Perhaps a senator? She probably spent her life giving to find herself abandoned in the end. I sit on the bed next to the lady.
“Please tell me your name.”
She looks at me, and I feel the universe pass between us. “I am Mable. Mable Stam.”
My voice chokes up, and I rub her clammy forehead. “Mable. You are no longer alone. I say your name, and I hold your hand, and I give you permission to leave this life and return to your husband, Jeff.” Where had those words come from? They hold power.
Mable unlatches the crucifix from her neck, places it in my palm then folds my fingers over it and kisses them.
A kiss from an angel.
“Thank you,” she says, as she looks to the opposite side of her bed. She takes a deep breath, and then it’s done. Her life is over. She is gone. Her spirit exits her body.
I embrace Mable in a hug and bawl over her, my tears giving her a baptism of love.
For the next week, all I think about was the experience. I can’t move on from it. I have found my calling.
I planned to move out of my big house and into something smaller. Now I have the motivation. I move into an apartment less than a five-minute walk from the hospital. Next, I go into the hospital to solicit my services.
“I want to be with people when they die,” I say as I sit across from the CEO of the hospital.
He hands me a card. “You can sign up with Hospice. They will be happy to have you.”
“No,” I say firmly. “Hospice is for those who know they will die. I want to be there for the ones who came to the hospital intending to leave but don’t. I want to be there for every abandoned soul so they don’t have to pass from this life alone.”
“I am not sure about that,” the CEO says. I can’t settle for his answer. I take my idea to social media, to the legislature, to the hospital board, and eventually, they allow me to be “The Angel of Mercy.”
To this date, I have spent the last three years sitting with many wonderful souls before they die. Sadly, I haven’t been able to be with every alone person, but at least 75% of the lonely people don’t have to die alone.
No one should have to die alone.
___________________________________________________No One Should Die Alone
by Stephanie Daich
