The Magnificent Waterfall and A Loving Good-Bye

Though it is coming up to 18 years since my husband, Gordon, died (and I have genuinely moved on) I sense that sharing this story may be of heartfelt support to some individuals going through tender times. 

This is a slightly longer writing (perhaps calling for a quiet, undisturbed moment for the reader) but truly a miraculous experience highlighting the mystery of our continued bonds with those we love beyond the mere physical reality. 

There were two significant events that led to Gord’s final letting go in the weeks leading up to his physical death.  The first was a moment in which one of his friends had brought him a gift of a small, simple flower arrangement while visiting in the hospital.  It would be their last moment together and was sensitive for both.   In the centre it had one yellow rose, along with some tiny, smaller flowers as an accent at the base of the ceramic dish it was placed in.  It easily fit into the palm of his hands.  I left the room to give the two men space to share their life stories and sentiments.

Shortly after his friend had left, I entered Gord’s room and noticed him fully, and I mean fully engaged in the yellow rose.  To align with his contemplative moment, I commented on how beautiful it was in its simplicity.  He was frail which added to the tenderness of watching him get lost in the rose.  Pulling it ever so close to examine and celebrate each delicate pedal.  I had never seen him mesmerized by a single rose in this way before.  It was deeply moving to observe.

An older memory was then spurred, one where he had given a bouquet of yellow roses as a thank you to someone who had supported him during a meaningful spiritual turning point earlier in his life.  I quietly wondered if I should add to the celebration by buying him a full bouquet to delight in.  In the moment I stayed silent and just observed. 

Things progressed quickly in the weeks to come, and I never bought the bouquet of yellow roses.  It was clear to my heart that the simplicity of that moment was perfect just as it was.  Not to be interfered with.

A few weeks passed.  Gord was getting closer to the end of his life, and I was running out of steam.  It had been a demanding journey to companion him through the hard labour of intense physical changes.  As with the birth of a baby, some labours are easier than others!

A spiritual retreat that I was interested in, in Oregon, was coming up and I really wanted to attend but was concerned about him being left alone since he was becoming weaker each day.  My instinct to protect was on high alert.  Friends were amazing and encouraged me to go, assuring me that they would keep watch and take turns visiting him on the palliative unit while I was away.

A cherished girl friend and I then left for the gathering in the States.  The drive alone was a gift, coupled with the opportunity to meet with old and new friends at the retreat in celebration of the mysteries of life itself.

Prior to the event starting, folks encouraged me to visit a series of waterfalls near by.  My girl friend also wanted to explore them, so we ventured out together.  They were breathtaking, spaced out along one road, and we made a point of stopping and allowing the majesty of each one into our hearts.  Nature never ceases to stir a sense of awe and wonder within.

We eventually arrived at the highest waterfall named Multnomah Falls.  It is truly stunning with the Multnomah Creek bridge that was built in 1914 crossing over the falls part way up.  Adding to the magnificence of the scene.

Instantly I was taken back in time to the early days of my marriage.  I realized I had been to the falls before with my husband in those early years of our relationship.  A romantic, fun time full of a sense of adventure, love, possibility and connection.  A contrast to the chapter of life we were now traversing together.  My heart strings were clearly being affected by this memory.

My girlfriend and I hiked the pathway next to the falls stopping to take pictures near the bridge and right up to the highest viewpoint.  It was breathtaking.  The view was vast.

The heaviness in my heart was instantly lifted by the pure beauty and awe of being in nature.

When I got home, I was happy to discover that my husband had had a wonderful weekend of laughter and sharing with so many friends who had stopped by.  Later, one evening, I pulled out the laptop and nestled into Gord’s hospital bed to show him the pictures by the waterfall.  My friend had also taken several photos with me in them, and I was excited to share them with him.  He instantly remembered when we were first together and the trip in which we had discovered the majesty of the series of waterfalls in that region. 

Initially, it was a true celebration of nature herself.  But then I got to a series of photos my friend had taken of me, alone, by the Multnomah waterfall.  Gord, a normally quite stoic man, broke down crying.  I asked him what was wrong?  He said that he wished he had had the strength to go on the trip with me and share it in person.  But then he said seeing me by the waterfall alone without him brought home that I would be alone soon.  He would never be able to share life with me in the same way again.  That truth had not impacted me as profoundly until he said it.  We both celebrated our love and grieved together in that moment.  My personal grief took a different turn as reality set in more fully.

I had bought a small postcard of the waterfall and pinned it to the cork board, on the wall, at the foot of his palliative hospital bed.  He was blessed to have a single room which added to the privacy.  A few nights after sharing the photos from the trip I was once again snuggled in the hospital bed with him.  He was sitting up in bed, and I was careful to cuddle gently.  Physical touch is still important right up to the end of life.  It invites the deepest of intimacy in tender ways.

At one point we were talking about the water fall again and I looked at the small postcard at the end of the bed and said to him; “I wish I could have a big picture of the waterfall as a symbol of our love”.  My arms were painting the air with broad strokes to highlight the size it should be.  NO one else was in the room.  Nor did I tell anyone about that moment.

Within weeks, things took a turn and my husband died peacefully, cuddled in my arms as I leaned over to hold him during his last breaths.  I was in a hospital cot, next to his bed, that they had set up for me so I could sleep close to him during our final night together.  Though he was unconscious I wanted to hold his hand during those last hours.  I loved holding his hand.  Early that morning, I awoke with the intuitive sense he was getting ready to leave.  One of the machines started beeping a little louder as his vital functions were shutting down.  Also alerting us to the changes until the nurse just turned it off.

My cherished girlfriend arrived after he died and we stayed with his body for several hours.  The palliative nurses were so gracious and brought us tea, giving all the space and time needed.  It was early December and though we don’t get much snow at sea level in the Lower Mainland regions south of Vancouver, a light dusting of snow started to fall outside the window just after he died.  Adding to the quiet grace of the moment.

When I got home, I let a few key people know he had left this physical world.  Later I received a general e-mail they sent out to friends to announce his death, but some strange computer glitch had it repeat and repeat in my inbox.  His name was in the title.  It had to be at least 30 times that I got the message!  It was like he was touching in through the glitch.  I asked others later and they only got the message once!  Interesting.

I was exhausted and drifted off to sleep quite easily that night.

The snow continued and I sat watching the blanketing of snow the next morning.  I am originally from central Canada, growing up in Quebec and Ontario and have always loved first snowfalls of the season.  A quiet magic is stirred.

But at the same time, this had not been an easy journey.  In fact, in that moment, my grief turned into a quiet but painful protest. In some of the research on near death experiences people, after they return, speak of having interesting experiences with electronics reacting as they walk by or watches not working.

There I was sitting on the couch, alone in my home, reflecting on the intensity of his last months and days.  I cried out to Gord in the ethers; “This is not basic spirituality!  Stop playing with the electronics!  I know you can hear me!  I need to have you bring a CLEAR sign that you are OK so that my heart can settle.  This has not been easy for me.”

Heart heavy, I then went about my day quietly.  Later in the afternoon, some of our long time, special friends called and asked if they could visit for tea the following day to offer support.  I instantly said, “Yes!  I would love to see you and have the company”.  The couple was very close to my husband.

The next day the snow continued to fall.  It was beautiful but causing the driving conditions to be more challenged.  In the early afternoon I heard a knock at my door and knew it was my friends arriving.  When I opened the door the first thing I saw was a bouquet of yellow roses in my girl friend’s arms and a wave of love just hit my heart.  She did not know about the single rose moment with my husband in the hospital nor that I had been thinking of buying him a bouquet of yellow roses.  Tears welled up.  I received the roses and felt that was message enough of his love and well being.

The kettle then went on so that I could prepare a pot of tea and gratitude was extended to them for their kindness for a visit and the roses.  As we sat and shared memories, I did notice that they had brought another present. 

At one point they pulled it out and said they wanted to give me this gift.  It was near the holiday season but unexpected.  I asked if I should wait or open it in that moment.  They said they would love me to open it while they were there.  It was long and a bit heavy.  As I laid it on my lap, I couldn’t imagine what it would be.  When I pulled the wrapping paper back, a sense of disbelief and awe went through me.  They had bought me a large black and white, framed photograph of Multnomah falls!!  I just broke down and cried.  They did not know of my conversation in the hospital bed with Gord when we were looking at the small post card and I said I would like a big version of the waterfall as a symbol of our love!

I looked at them and asked them why they chose to buy this?  The wife told me they had ventured out to do some Christmas shopping in town, but the snow was heavy, so they turned back and went to a mall they don’t normally go to.  They came across an art store.  While they were in the store my girl friend looked up and saw the elegantly framed photograph hanging on the wall.  Instantly she felt (she is very intuitive as well) like Gord was standing next to her saying; “You need to buy this for Barb!”.  The impression was strong.  So, they did!  Bless her, bless them both for listening!  A moment that could have easily been missed or ignored.

I then proceeded to tell them about the moment just weeks before he died.  They knew that I had been to the retreat and that I loved the waterfalls but did not know of the specific conversation Gord and I had.  As mentioned earlier, nor did they know of the story of his moment with the yellow rose!

We all marvelled at the orchestration of events after me asking him inwardly the day before to bring a sign that he was OK!  Later, I looked up to the sky and playfully said to him; “You did well Honey!  Thank you!”

I still have the framed photograph of the waterfall hanging on my wall.  It is a meaningful metaphor for the profound mystery of life.  The water, a rich image of the ineffable, invisible flow coming down and bridging to us in the physical world. 

And for me, the bridge symbolizing love as the foundational, resonant connector within and between each of us.

The mystery of life and love never cease to amaze me!

Photo courtesy of Dave Hoefler from Unsplash Free Photos