One of the greatest things I do is walk with people who are dying.  Everyone, of course, handles this little matter of life differently:  some are in denial, some are angry, some feel short-changed, some feel regret; but there are a few, a very rare few who embrace death with such peace and joy that their passing is truly holy.  These souls are inspiring.

About ten years or so ago I was asked to witness the marriage of Nep and Della.  They were both on their second marriage, each with kids from former spouses.  They had dated and had finally decided to tie the knot.  They came to me and I got a chance to talk with them about being married in Christ - a new concept from their former marriages.  They married and as circumstances would have it I really didn't see much of them for the next ten years.  Thanks to a phone call some two years ago I knew Nep was ill.

Earlier this year, in May, I got a call telling me that Nep had taken a turn for the worse and was asking for me.  I went.  He told me the story about the development of his liver failure and new lung cancer.  He told me that his last doctor's visit concluded with, "I'm taking you off the transplant list, there's nothing I can do, call hospice".  I was with Nep and Della the day the hospice nurse arrived, took his vitals and then proceeded to tell him what to expect for his upcoming death.  All of that, while real, seemed too clinical and cold.

I had already visited Nep a few times and during his hospice in-take visit I became his official hospice chaplain.  From then on I visited him and his family weekly, praying with them, anointing them, giving them communion. 

With each week Nep grew physically weaker and spiritually stronger.  Perhaps the best moment was the day I visited and after leaving he coughed a little and some of the Eucharist he had received came up; his family noticed this, handed him a tissue and he wiped his face gathering the particles into the tissue.  The family came forward and asked him for the tissue at which Nep closed his fist tight and said, "No, he's mine".  Nep held that tissue with the Eucharist tight in his hand until he dozed off.

That moment says a lot.  First, we believe that Christ is really and truly present in the Eucharist and Nep's declaration spoke to both his belief in the Eucharist and to his union with Him.

When I heard the story I knew that Nep was on a clear and steady path.  We had led him by the hand to Christ and as we let go Christ would lead him forward.  That was the last time Nep received communion. 

I visited him two more times and again just after he died.  As he drew nearer to the end of his earthly life I could sense his confidence in beginning his eternal life.

Few people are so blessed as to have a priest attend them in this journey.  Many are taken suddenly and without warning, many die alone.  I guess whatever life Nep led drew Christ's attention so that he would be assisted through those last days.

I trust that whatever sins Nep may have committed in life were wiped away and that now he knows better than before the meaning of the words, "No, he's mine".