baptismal waters
by Elouise
I’m working on a book of poems selected from my blog. This morning I came to this description of my mother’s “baptism” not long before her death. The setting is a not-for-profit hospice near my parents’ home in Savannah, Georgia. Reading this account always makes me tear up with gratitude and sadness.
baptismal waters
rise gently enfolding her
world-weary body
* * * * *
I’m standing in a windowless, high-ceiling concrete room
with a concrete floor, drainage holes and air vents.
A deep whirlpool tub stands in the middle
filled with warm steamy water.
The room faintly resembles a large sauna minus the wood.
Functional, not beautiful.
Mother is in hospice care after suffering a stroke weeks ago
and then developing pneumonia in the hospital.
Her ability to communicate with words is almost nonexistent.
Today she’s going to be given a bath.
I’m told she loves this, and that
Sister #4 and I are welcome to witness the event.
For the past hour caregivers have been preparing her–
removing her bedclothes, easing her onto huge soft towels,
rolling and shifting her inch by inch onto a padded bath trolley,
doing all they can to minimize pain and honor her body.
Finally, they slowly roll the trolley down the hall.
The hospice sauna room echoes with the sound of
feet, soft voices, and running water.
It takes a team to carry out this comforting
though strange and even unnerving ritual.
Mother is safely secured to the padded bath table and
then lowered slowly into the water.
Her eyes are wide open.
For a few moments she fixes her eyes on mine.
The table descends bit by bit.
How does she feel?
What is she thinking?
At first her eyes seem anxious.
Is she afraid?
The warm waters rise around her and the table stops descending.
Her face relaxes and she closes her eyes.
The team works gently, thoroughly, not in haste.
They focus on her, talk to her and handle her body with reverence.
My eyes brim with tears.
This woman who bathed me, my three sisters
and most of her grandbabies is being given a bath
by what appears to be a team of angels in celestial garments.
They finish their work and roll Mother back to her room.
Her bed has clean sheets.
Fresh bedclothes have been laid out.
Caregivers anoint her body with oil and lotion, turn her gently,
and comment on how clear and beautiful her skin is.
They finish clothing her, adjust the pillows to cradle her body,
pull up light covers and leave her to fall asleep.
* * *
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 June 2014, reposted 28 June 2022
Photo found at pixabay.com
Telling the Truth 
This is an exquisitely beautiful post, Elouise. Oh, that every person in need of this level of care would receive it from “angels in celestial garments,” working “to minimize pain and honor [the person’s] body.”
Thank you, thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh yes, Debbie! This hospice was independent of the state, and most of their patients were, like my mother, not wealthy. They treated each patient as a king or queen, and charged according to income levels. I fear those days are gone.
LikeLike
Beautiful poem and photo.
Brings back memories of sitting at my mom’s bedside in hospice…being there during her last days…being there at her death.
The hospice workers were amazing…so kind, loving, helpful, ETC! ❤️
(((HUGS)))
LikeLiked by 1 person
It’s unforgettable, isn’t it? I was comforted by the way these nurses and other aides treated her. She richly deserved to be treated well. Thanks for your comment.
Elouise, with hugs for you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Elouise, for sharing your mother’s precious moment with us as the hospice staff shared it with you and your sister. I wish all “care givers” were as kind.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Indeed. Back then (late 1990s), this hospice facility plus two others were the only independent licensed hospice facilities left in Georgia. Your comment is right on target. Their outstanding care, minimal costs to families, and careful attention to things like outside access and gardens were a bit like heaven must be. Things are so different today–unless you happen to be loaded with money or have the right ‘profile’ or connections.
LikeLike