Founder Letter: For Those Sitting at a Bedside

Dear Rosies,

This one is for anyone sitting at a bedside right now, with a parent or a beloved in hospice. I see you. This is such a tender time. However old we get, part of us stays their baby, and that small one is present in the room too, holding a hand that once held ours.

Every tradition has its meditations on death. The Buddhists practice maranasati, mindfulness of death. The monastics and the Stoics kept memento mori on their desks. They share the same understanding: keeping death in mind teaches us how to live. When a parent begins to cross over, the practice stops being theoretical, and we are asked to accompany them to a threshold we will one day cross ourselves.

So what are the tasks of accompaniment?

Show up and stay. There is nothing to fix. Your presence in the chair beside the bed is the medicine, even in the long hours when nothing seems to happen.

Tend the body. Warm their hands, moisten their lips, rub a little oil into their feet. When words fall away, touch becomes the language.

Say the things. In Hawaiʻi we have hoʻoponopono, the practice of setting things right between people. It is often distilled into four phrases: I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you. Say them even if they have been said before, and even if you are unsure they can hear.

Keep speaking to them. Hearing is thought to be among the last senses to fade. Fill the room with music or prayer, and with the voices they love.

Honor their wishes. Be the steady voice for what they asked for, especially when the family or the medical system pulls in another direction.

Expect the old family patterns. A deathbed gathers everyone back into the roles they held as children. The responsible one takes charge again, and the sibling who lives far away flies in at the end with strong opinions. Disagreements about care decisions, or about who carried more of the load, can flare right alongside the love. If there is estrangement in your family, or a parent who was hard to love, tenderness may arrive tangled with anger or numbness, and all of it belongs. Grief often speaks as irritation or control. When tempers rise, take a breath before you answer and remember that everyone in the room is losing someone. Hospice teams include social workers and chaplains who help families through exactly this, so lean on them.

Give permission. Many people seem to wait. It can be a great gift to say, "You can go when you are ready. We will be okay."

Have mercy on your own beautiful heart. You will not do this perfectly. You may miss the moment, say the wrong thing, or feel relief and then guilt about the relief. All of it is love doing its best in an impossible hour. Let someone bring you food, sit with you and hold you. Then turn the prayer inward and offer yourself the same four phrases: I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.

Our longtime collaborator Adam Bauer has just released a new song called "I Am Dying," the first single from his album Life + Death, out October 8. The song came to him fully formed in the middle of a rainy night here on the Big Island, weeks after he sat at the bedside of one of his dearest friends as he prepared to leave his body. You can hear the coquí frogs singing in the recording. Adam has joined us on The Rose Woman podcast more than once, most recently for The Return of Pilgrimage. It may be something to play softly at a bedside, or for yourself on the drive home.

Read the story behind the song, and the album out October 8.

Wherever you are today, place a hand on your own heart and feel it beating. Let that rhythm remind you that you are alive, and that this life is precious and brief. Then go love the people in front of you while they are here.

To your most beautiful, valued, sacred embodiment,
Christine Marie Mason
Founder, Rosebud Woman
Host, The Rose Woman podcast