Sacred Crossing-How a Shared Death Experience Transformed My Grief, Compassion Fatigue, & Role As a Nurse

It’s the nightmare phone call that every parent dreads they will get. My heart began beating out of my chest as I answered the phone. “Mom, the doctor asked me to call you. He wants to meet with the family first thing in the morning. How soon can you get here?” “I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you.” That call was just one of the many calls, like that, I had received over the past two years. My son Ryan was dying from kidney and heart failure. It was, however, the last call like that, I would receive.

With every call I answered, my head and heart did the exact same thing when there is a crisis. My head and heart disconnected. My nurse brain would begin running the “nursing process” subconscious program it’s been running for forty plus years.  Assessing the situation, planning my response, and evaluating how best to implement a life-saving plan for Ryan. After all, I’d help save many patients over the years. This patient just happened to be the most important one I had to save. While my heart refused to consider the possibility that this could be the end. If I was being honest, I’d tell you I had many years of practice disconnecting from my heart/emotions so I could do the heart wrenching things my nursing role required me to do. After many years of practicing as a nurse, I’d learned it was better to let my nurse brain take charge and protect my empathetic heart. It became an unconscious habit.

When we met with the doctor the next morning, he advised us they had done all they could. He wasn’t a candidate for dialysis any longer and his heart failure was worsening. He recommended taking Ryan home and having hospice to keep him comfortable at home. He assured us Ryan didn’t have long. Ryan had other plans however, he wasn’t ready to go. Ryan wanted a second opinion from his transplant team in Dallas. We called and they agreed to see him the next day.

The three-hour drive to Dallas gave my brain plenty of time to run the nursing process program evaluating all the possible scenarios to save Ryan. My heart, like Ryan’s, refused to believe this was the end.

If I had known then what I know now, I would have recognized that Ryan was in the active dying process. If I had allowed my head and heart to reconnect and be on the same page, I would have understood what everyone meant when they advised me “Just be Ryan’s mom-don’t be a nurse.”  I would have recognized that it was time to stop doing, doing, doing, doing, stuff to save Ryan and allow myself to just be by his bedside, fully present, and provide the love and comfort that only a mother can give.

Two days before Ryan transitioned, he began seeing smoky things in the corners of the room. He mentioned having visits and conversations with people I knew had passed. He spent a long time walking us through his life. Sharing stories about people and places he had been. I know now that this is referred to as a life review. He began calling friends and loved ones to tell them good-bye and that he loved them. He told me more than once how much he loved me.

Right before he passed, I felt the room change.  The shape of the room changed. The corners seem to disappear. Justin and I were at his bedside holding his hands when he stopped breathing and began his transition. I announced, “Justin, his heart just stopped, he’s gone.” Almost simultaneously, I heard Justin (his husband) saying something softly. I asked him “Justin, please don’t say anything right now.” I was overcome with a sensation that I had to leave as fast as I could. I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I didn’t want to leave Justin alone, but I just couldn’t stay. The feeling was that strong.

So, I said good-bye, hugged Justin, and assured I’d call him once I got on the road back home. I left the hospital as fast as I could and ran to my car. The weird feeling I was feeling was still present. I started my car, pulled up to the parking toll booth, pulled out my ticket to pay my parking fee.  I attempted to place the ticket in the ticket reader multiple times. The ticket wouldn’t go in.

Suddenly, it seemed like I’m in two places. I’m sitting in my car and I’m also in a beautiful garden. It’s like the garden was in a globe and I was standing at the edge of the garden. I couldn’t go into the garden. Ryan and Justin were holding hands walking down a garden path. They were facing away from me walking in the garden. I saw a French bulldog puppy running towards Ryan and Justin. It looked exactly like Ryan’s puppy named Oliver who had died about 6 months ago. Ryan let go of Justin’s hand and reached down to pick up Oliver and started walking forward toward the light. I could feel the joy Ryan felt seeing Oliver again.

In the distance I saw a beautiful bright white light and noticed some beings walking out of the light. I recognized them as my deceased mother and grandmother and Ryan’s other grandparents. I knew instantly they were there to greet him and accompany him wherever he was going. I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and acceptance.

Instantly, I was back in my car and taken aback and completely confused about what had just happened. I reached over, put my ticket in the reader, paid my fee and drove out of the parking lot. I had no idea what was going on, what just happened, or what to believe about what just occurred.

About an hour later, as I was driving down the interstate, I felt Ryan’s presence in the passenger seat of the car. I didn’t see him in the seat, I felt his presence. I heard him say “I’m sorry Mom, I just couldn’t stay, I love you.” I responded with “I love you too. It was such an honor to be your mom.” The conversation happened telepathically.  I heard his voice inside my head and answered him the same way. Then he was gone. In my heart of hearts, I believe it was a post death visit and he came to say good-bye and let me know he was still around.

I didn’t share my story with anyone for weeks. I was curious to find out what Justin experienced and if Justin felt that overwhelming feeling I had when Ryan passed. I had been wondering what Justin was saying to me when I asked him to be quiet. We met in person about three weeks later. I was blown away by what he told me.

Justin told me “Mom, I whispered just go with us.” I was shocked because he was having the same exact experience I had when I was in my car. The details were a little different, but mostly the same. He too felt like he was in two places at once. He felt the unconditional love, peace, and acceptance I felt as he walked with Ryan in the garden. He felt the joy I felt when he saw Oliver again. He saw the light and Ryan’s welcoming party and although he never met them, he knew exactly who they were.

What I know now that I didn’t know back when, it that Justin and I had a Shared Death Experience with Ryan.

The experience transformed us both personally and professionally.  

It forever changed my grief, my compassion fatigue, and my role as a nurse and caregiver.