1: Scott had been diagnosed with prostate cancer several years before. But now the cancer had returned to his lymph nodes and bones, and he was in constant pain.
Scott’s wife, Susan, reached out to Diane Button, an end-of-life doula—someone who provides emotional and practical support to people who are dying and their families. This role is similar to that of a birth doula, but for end-of-life care.
“Scott didn’t want to burden his children, but he was beginning to need more care, and it was taking a toll on Susan,” Diane writes in her wonderful book What Matters Most: Lessons the Dying Teach Us About Living.
“She was exhausted, her back was hurting from lifting him, and she hadn’t slept through the night in weeks,” Diane notes. “It was clear to me she that she needed a break.”
Susan also told Diane that she wanted someone to talk to Scott about his fears.
“He didn’t want to talk about dying,” Diane explains, “even though he had already been on hospice for four months. . . Scott seemed disconnected from his feelings. Susan knew him well, and she could feel the anxiety growing in them both.”
During her first couple of visits, Diane felt like she might be imposing. Eventually, however, Scott warmed up to her.
The family settled into a routine where each person had time with Scott. While Susan rarely left the house, when Diane was present, she could take a nap or a shower without worrying.
“Twice a week they gathered for a family meal, even when Scott became bedridden and dinner took place surrounding his hospital bed,” Susan writes.
“This became treasured time for the entire family,” she shares. “They shared stories from the days when Scott and Susan first met on a blind date. They reminisced about their childhood, going off to college, the weddings and partners, the dogs, the neighbors, holidays, favorite meals, and inside jokes.”
2: But then Scott started to recede from the world around him.
“He’s hallucinating and talking to the walls,” Susan told Diane one day when she came to visit.
“How long has that been going on?” Susan asked.
“It started last night. We were all sitting around the bed with Scott when suddenly he looked up toward the ceiling and said, ‘Dad! Dad! Is it time to go fishing?’
“Scott was so clear and convincing that we all looked up at the ceiling, too, but obviously nobody was there,” Susan explained.
It was apparent he was talking to his dad about a fishing trip. Scott had a big smile on his face. He “was calm and comforted by these dreams,” Susan shared, “showing no signs of agitation or fear. It brought him peace.”
Then, just as quickly, he sat back and fell fast asleep.
“I explained this is something very familiar to those of us who sit vigil with the dying and that Scott was likely having a nearing-death vision,” Diane told Susan.
She asked: “Has Scott’s father died?”
“Yes, they were very close, almost like best friends, really,” Susan said. “They were on a fishing trip about ten years ago when his dad had a sudden heart attack. They were in the middle of nowhere, staying in a cabin near the lake. When Scott woke up in the morning, he went to wake his dad up, but he was dead. It was really hard for Scott.”
Diane shared with Susan that it’s normal for those who are dying to have visions and dreams about family members and friends.
Diane noted that once Susan understood, this brought her peace, too.
3: Later that week, Diane came to visit again. “Right away I could see that Scott had declined even more,” she recalls. “Susan told me he had stopped eating and wasn’t talking much, either, except for the mumblings to strangers: and a few more conversations with his father.” Diane sat quietly beside Scott as he slept. “Often,” she observes, “this work is about simply being present with the stillness and the silence.”
Two hours later, Scott sat up with a jolt, waved his right hand, and then reached out both arms towards the end of the bed.
“He had a huge, excited smile of anticipation on his face,” Diane writes, “as if someone was running toward him. I didn’t know who it was, but Scott sure did.
“Henry! Jacob! Holy smokes!” he exclaimed, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Diane sat in her chair and didn’t say a word or do anything to interrupt this reunion with what seemed to be familiar faces.
She also took out her pen and wrote down what Scott had said. “I always try to get the words written down exactly as soon as I hear them so I don’t forget any details,” she shares.
When Susan returned later that afternoon, Diane asked her if she knew Henry and Jacob.
Her jaw dropped. “Why do you ask?”
Diane repeated back exactly what Scott said.
Susan then began sharing: “Scott was just a teenager when his life changed forever. He was driving with his two best friends, Henry and Jacob, while under the influence of both drugs and alcohol. They were on their way to meet some friends for a bonfire on a beach in Santa Cruz when Scott lost control of his car, swerving into another car at a very high speed, killing the other driver instantly.
“Somehow Scott survived the crash with just a broken collarbone, but over the course of the next week, both of his friends died from their injuries.
“It took Scott decades to forgive himself,” Susan said. “He did everything right. He never drank or took drugs again. He joined AA and sponsored young people so they could get sober before anything tragic happened to them.
“He spent his life giving back,” she explained, “making amends to the families he hurt, and trying to find his way in life after everything he knew and dreamed about was shattered in a second on that warm summer night.”
As Diane was getting ready to leave, Scott and Susan’s children arrived. Susan asked Diane to repeat what had happened.
One of the kids shared, “That’s wild. Whenever Dad sees the younger grandkids and they’ve grown a bit, he says, ‘Holy smokes, you’re getting so big,’ and gives them a big hug.”
“I was grateful I wrote down the words exactly,” Diana reflects. “‘Holy smokes’ turned out to be a meaningful part of the story, too.”
Later that night, Scott woke up. “I love you, my Susan,” he said. He said he was not afraid. A single tear rolled softly down his cheek.
“Those were his final words,” Diane writes. “He died the next morning.”
“I’m grateful,” she reflects, “that we have stories of people who no longer fear death and instead have embraced the mystery.
“In this transition, on the edge between life and what comes next, I’ve learned not to question the unexplainable visions and stories I’ve witnessed in those final moments…those otherworldly conversations and stories of recognition and sweet reunions.
“One of my clients,” Diane notes, “found peace by reconnecting with his best friend, a fellow soldier, whom he had to leave dying on the battlefield. As he sat up with his arms outstretched, he cried, ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’
“The healing was immediate and pure. You could feel the energy release in the room, and love replaced the fear and agitation. The heavy weight of guilt and its pain had been forgiven and let go.
“How comforting,” she writes, “to know that healing is still possible after we leave this familiar life.
“Many of us who work with the dying have come to believe that actually, no one ever dies alone,” Diane said. “As we transition from this world to the next, we can trust that we will be held and loved by those familiar faces who have died before us. . .
“My greatest peace in doing this work,” Diane explains, “comes from my belief that we are all carried over the threshold and into whatever we believe comes next by others who have gone before us.
“To me,” she says, “it’s the most poignant and beautiful part of dying.”
More tomorrow!
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Reflection: How do Scott’s final words and visions challenge my own fears about dying and deepen my sense of what healing might still be possible?
Action: Take a quiet moment this week to reflect or journal about someone I’ve lost, and consider one simple way to honor their memory or bring a bit of that love and presence into how I live today.
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