One of the most devastating elements of the coronavirus pandemic is the inability to personally care for loved ones who have fallen ill.
Time and again, grieving relatives have testified how much more devastating their loved one’s death was because they were unable to hold their relative’s hand – to provide a trusted and comforting presence in their final days and hours.
Some had to say goodbye permanently via smartphone screens from a medical provider. Others resorted to using walkie-talkies or waving through windows.
How do you deal with the overwhelming sadness and guilt at the thought of a loved one dying alone?
I don’t have an answer to this question. But the work of a hospice doctor named Christopher Kerr — with whom I co-authored the book “Death Is But a Dream: Finding Hope and Meaning at Life’s End” — may offer some comfort.
Unexpected visitors
At the beginning of his career, Dr. Kerr – like all doctors – is in charge of the physical care of his patients. But he soon noticed a phenomenon that seasoned nurses were already used to. As patients approached death, many had dreams and visions of deceased loved ones returning to comfort them in their final days.
Doctors are typically trained to interpret these events as drug-induced or delusional that may warrant more medication or outright sedation.
But after seeing the peace and comfort that these end-of-life experiences seemed to bring to his patients, Dr. Kerr to pause and listen. One day, in 2005, a dying patient named Mary had such a vision: She began to move her arms as if rocking a baby, nurturing her child who had died in infancy decades before.
for dr. Kerr did not think this was a cognitive decline. What if, he wondered, patients’ own perceptions at the end of life mattered to their well-being in a way that doesn’t just concern nurses, chaplains and social workers?
What would medical care look like if all doctors stopped and listened?
The project begins
So upon seeing dying patients reach out and cry out to their loved ones—many of whom hadn’t seen, touched, or heard for decades—he began collecting and recording testimonials given directly by those who were dying. Over the course of 10 years, he and his research team documented the end-of-life experiences of 1,400 patients and families.
What he discovered surprised him. More than 80% of his patients – regardless of their lifestyle, background or age group – had end-of-life experiences that involved more than just strange dreams. These were vibrant, meaningful and transformative. And they always increased in frequency near death.
They include visions of long-lost mothers, fathers and relatives, as well as dead pets returning to comfort their former owners. They dealt with resurrected relationships, reviving love and attaining forgiveness. They often brought reassurance and support, peace and acceptance.
Becoming a dream weaver
I first heard about Dr. Kerr in a barn.
I was cleaning out my horse’s stable. The stables were on the property of Dr. Kerr, so we often discussed his work on the dreams and visions of his dying patients. He told me about his TEDx Talk on the topic, as well as the book project he was working on.
I couldn’t help but be moved by the work of this doctor and scientist. When he revealed he wasn’t getting very far with the writing, I volunteered to help. He hesitated at first. I was an English professor who was an expert at taking apart the stories others wrote, not writing them myself. His agent was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to write in a way that was open to the public—something academics aren’t particularly known for. I persisted, and the rest is history.
It was this collaboration that made me a writer.
I was tasked with instilling more humanity in the remarkable medical intervention represented by this scientific research, to give a human face to the statistical data already published in medical journals.
The poignant stories of Dr. Kerr with his patients and their families affirmed how, in the words of the French Renaissance writer Michel de Montaigne, “he who should teach people to die, would teach them to live at the same time.”
I heard about Robert, who lost Barbara, his wife of 60, and was overcome with conflicting feelings of guilt, despair and faith. One day he saw her inexplicably reach for the baby boy they’d lost decades ago, in a brief bout of lucid dreaming that echoed Mary’s experience years earlier. Robert was struck by his wife’s calm demeanor and blissful smile. It was a moment of pure wholeness, a moment that changed their experience of the dying process. Barbara experienced her passing as a time of love regained, and seeing her comforted brought Robert peace amid his irreparable loss.
For the elderly couples where Dr. Kerr cared for, it was unimaginable to be separated by death after decades of being together. Joan’s recurring dreams and visions helped heal the deep wound left by her husband’s death months earlier. She called to him at night and alerted him to his presence during the day, even in moments of complete and eloquent clarity. For her daughter Lisa, these events gave her the foundation in the knowledge that her parents’ bond was unbreakable. Her mother’s dreams and visions before death helped Lisa on her own journey toward acceptance—an important part of coming to terms with loss.
When children are dying, it is often their beloved, deceased pets who make their appearance. Thirteen-year-old Jessica, dying of a malignant form of bone cancer, had visions of her former dog, Shadow. His presence reassured her. “I’ll be fine,” she said during one of his last visits to Dr. Kerr.
For Jessica’s mother, Kristen, these visions—and Jessica’s resulting calmness—helped kick-start the process she’d been resisting: that of letting go.
Isolated but not alone
The healthcare system is difficult to change. Nevertheless, Dr. Kerr continues to help patients and their loved ones move back from a clinical approach to one that is valued as a rich and uniquely human experience.
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Dreams and visions for death help fill the void that might otherwise be created by the doubt and fear that death provokes. They help the dying to reunite with those they have loved and lost, those who assured them, confirmed them and brought them peace. They heal old wounds, restore dignity and regain love. Knowing this paradoxical reality also helps the bereaved to deal with grief.
As hospitals and nursing homes continue to remain closed to visitors due to the coronavirus pandemic, it may help to know that those who are dying rarely talk about being alone. They talk about being loved and put back together.
There is no substitute for being able to hold our loved ones in their final moments, but it can be comforting to know that they were held.
This article was republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit news site dedicated to sharing ideas from academic experts. It was written by: Carine Mardorossian, University of Buffalo†
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Carine Mardorossian does not work for, consult, own stock in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has not disclosed any relevant affiliations outside of their academic appointment.
