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I saw my relationship with James to completion last Tuesday. At age seventy-five, James’s terminal cancer had taken up residence to the point that its pain was unbearable. James had been fortunate to live happily at home independently until the day after Christmas, and then, everything had changed.

For the past few weeks, I’ve been visiting James at the Hospice house across town. He directed me in rearranging and decorating his room so that it met his orderly standard of beauty. I brought him sweet treats and music from his home. Other close neighbor friends (above) leapfrogged days so that he wasn’t so lonely, arriving with cheese enchiladas and Mexican Coke in a bottle. We sat with him in turns, holding space for his frustration, cherishing the welcome laughter.

The one he missed most waited on his doorstep, ringing the bells, perplexed at his friend’s long absence. Last Tuesday, Miru, finally found his way inside and took up his post on James’s lap while James made his journey across the threshold. Miru purred and stretched his toes, kneading James’s belly as James patted him with assistance and tearfully whispered his last goodbyes. Out of all of us, Miru was the hardest for James to part with.

Over the past 6 years, James and I have texted daily about Miru — what he’d eaten, how long he’d slept, who he’d been fighting with. Miru is James’s cat almost as much as mine. That makes us all family. As we three friends and neighbors encircled Miru and James on his chosen day, we realized that Miru had connected all of us with James and brought us closer to each other. Through sickness and health (kitty included), we have nursed one another with home-cooked meals, loving texts, and gifts from the garden. We all, with the added kindness of James’s stellar landlord and friend next door, made it possible for James to live independently and experience a death with dignity.

James is so dear to me. He taught me patience and generosity. He showed me how the flow of giving and receiving could take your breath away, like a waterfall. Even in hard times. He helped to ground me, and I had the pleasure of helping uplift him. It is so hard to pass by his house, a block away, and not see the light on.

Who is your chosen family, and how do you celebrate life with them?

You can read another blogpost about my sweet connection with James here: https://www.collierconnections.com/blog/community-caring

Passing at Home

New Beginnings

Frozen Tomatoes