Turning the Last Page - In the Room with Death and Love

Last night, I saw a woman die. Despite having lost many people I loved deeply, I had never been in the room when a soul transitioned before. This was my mom’s best friend, Lupe Diaz. They had been friends for over 55 years. Her passing wasn’t what I expected—it was calm and peaceful. She was embraced by her family’s love, sorrow, and even humor at the time of her passing. They held her and each other, and it was remarkable to witness.

This happened late last night, and I woke up still processing and reflecting on the experience. I feel grateful that they included my mom and me in those last precious moments. My mom had the opportunity to say goodbye to her best friend.

I wonder how my mom is feeling. What does it feel like to lose your best friend—the woman who has seen you through all the ups and downs of life and kept all your secrets sacred? The woman who held your heart through pain and never forgot your face, not even in her demented state.

I also keep thinking of her daughters and family. Loss is hard. Yesterday, I witnessed what felt like a magic shield that activates when someone dies—a suspended state of disbelief. We are eased into the suffering and pain hours, days, and weeks after the death itself. I see it now as a form of protection.

I can only imagine the unraveling that would occur if we allowed ourselves to fully feel everything in the moment. And yet, there are those who do. When my mom was in the hospital a couple of weeks ago, I was struck by the raw howling of some people in the halls. Those cries can make us uncomfortable, because being so honest and transparent with one’s inner world is frightening to witness. Are those individuals more free—or more enchained?

I will end this reverie with a memory to honor Lupe’s life. She  loved to read and was an avid reader. She recognized the same passion for books in me at a very young age. Every summer, she would bring me a bag filled with books. She exposed me to so many writers and so many genres. I remember spending calm afternoons sitting on the family couch, reading until my mom finally forced me to stop. Thank you, Lupe, for giving me this gift. I will always be grateful.