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Dying Lessons My Journey to St. Joan of Arc

Bridget Gaeleigh became a SJA parishioner in the fall of 2000. Bridget lives with her two cats in Richfield. During the day she assumes the role of a business/techie in corporate america, but at night she's obsessed with satellite tv medical shows, working out, reading, listening to music and doing fun stuff with friends and family. Bridget can be reached at skbg@wans.net.

I guess you could say that death brought me to St Joan’s in the fall of 2000 - the death of my spouse sent me searching for a church and the death of my coworker brought me here. I’d like to share with you some of the spiritual and emotional lessons that I have learned in the last few years.

One night in late November 1999, I was at home in my family room watching TV, while Shannon, my partner of 17 years, was working on the computer in another room. Suddenly she started screaming in pain. I managed to get her to the emergency room, totally unsure of what was happening. After many hours, x-rays, blood work and cat scans, she was admitted to the hospital. We still didn’t know what was wrong.

The next day, all the pain was gone. The doctor at the hospital said there were some abnormalities with Shannon’s liver, told us to follow up with her regular doctor, and discharged her. Three weeks later we found out that the cancer marker levels in her blood were thousands of times higher then they should be. We were referred to the Mayo Clinic, where our worst suspicions were confirmed. Shannon had cholangiocarinoma, a rare cancer of the bile ducts.

Shannon didn’t want to know what the odds were. She just wanted to fight her illness. Unlike Shannon, I wanted to know what we were up against. I spent hours researching the disease and clinical trials she might be eligible for. I found out that most people diagnosed at her stage of cancer had three to six months life expectancy. I never told her that, and she never asked.

Her oncologist started Shannon on a course of chemotherapy - 5 days in a row once a month. Because I come from the traditional big Catholic family, I had many siblings volunteer to take her to the hospital and stay with her during the day. After her third day of chemo, I came home from work to find her napping. My sister told me she was doing ok, however she had been complaining of some pain in her chest. An hour later she woke, walked to the bathroom and started looking pretty ill. At that point, we were both thinking she was having a heart attack. I called 911, and the ambulance whisked us to the emergency room.

I can’t even begin to describe the thoughts and emotions I was experiencing. I couldn’t believe what was happening, and I certainly wasn’t ready to have her die from a heart attack. I screamed at God in my head that this was totally unfair. She was admitted to the coronary care unit, and the next morning underwent an angiogram. The cardiologist came out to tell me that she had the blood vessels of a 20-year-old, and he was totally baffled as to what was causing the heart problems.

Her oncologist thought that she might be having a reaction to the chemo, and changed the game plan to wait a week, then do chemo one day a week instead of daily for a week. After the next chemo session, the heart pain returned. Called 911 again, and went to the emergency room. This pretty much confirmed that she could not tolerate the chemotherapy. Shannon decided that she was done with hospitals, and told them she wanted to go home that night.

Shannon in Alaska

After reviewing any other options with her doctor, we did a lot of talking the next few days. She made the decision to not pursue any further treatment for the cancer and enter a hospice program. As she put it, “I want to live whatever life I have left to my fullest extent.” She had always wanted to see Alaska, so we went on the trip of a lifetime. At this point we were 6 months into her illness. When we returned home, Shannon seemed to have used up all the energy she had left.

I went into work the next day for about an hour, delegated my work to others and told my boss I didn’t know when I would be back. At that point, I became her full-time caregiver. The first few weeks I took her on walks in her wheelchair, to the arboretum, to shopping malls, or just out for drives around the lakes. We had a lot of time to talk - about our life together, and what was happening to us. About her children, her memories, her fears, her frustrations with losing her independence and health. As she got steadily weaker, I had to become stronger to carry both of us on our journey.

Where I couldn’t help her was on her spiritual issues. We had met at church, and had left the church together in the 80’s due to the church’s attitudes on homosexuality and women’s roles in the church. I had become involved in Pagan and Native American spirituality, but was primarily a solitary practitioner. Shannon had not resolved her issues with God or the Catholic Church. We spoke with the hospice chaplain several times, yet I could sense she was so unsettled. One evening she was lying with me on the sofa as I read to her, and I just sensed that she was ready to talk. I asked her what she needed and she started crying. She said she wanted a priest.

As I mentioned before, I have a large family of origin and one of my sister works for Nativity of Mary in Bloomington. So at 9:30 on a Friday evening, I called Maggie and told her I needed a priest. No problem! She called me right back and said Fr Bob would be at our house in 20 minutes. Shannon also wanted Maggie and my mother to be there, so I asked another sister to bring my mom over.

Father Bob arrived and started talking to Shannon, who would not let go of my hand. After she gave her last confession, my sisters and mother came in from the other room for the Blessing of the Sick. We all prayed together, with tears streaming down our faces. More than anything, Shannon needed to hear from an official of the church that she was not going to Hell because of her lesbianism, and that was what finally freed her to be at peace with God. Long after everyone had left, we talked for hours. Shannon told me that she might die that night and that she was ready to go.

Mindy, Shannon and Bridget

She didn’t die that night, and the next day when she woke her face bore a sense of peacefulness that I had not seen in many years. Over the next week, Shannon became progressively weaker and started showing signs of entering the active dying phase. One Tuesday afternoon, Shannon’s daughter Mindy and I were talking as Shannon dozed in her hospital bed we had set up in the family room. We were talking about the loss of a parent, and discussing which was harder for the child - to see someone die slowly as Mindy was experiencing or just drop dead one day as my father had when I was about Mindy’s age.

Shannon woke and motioned us to come and sit on the bed with her. We held her hands and she told us how tired she was. I told her it was ok to go ahead and sleep, and after gazing deeply into both of our eyes, she slipped into a coma. It was a quiet and peaceful time, and we simply sat on the bed holding her hands. Later that evening I called Shannon’s parents to let them know that she was in a coma. They said they would drive down in the morning.

On Wednesday morning, Shannon’s nurse, social worker and former spouse were at the house. Shannon’s parents John and Roz arrived, after having driven the 45 miles from their home. At the end of their visit, Roz was pretty upset, and said to me “I’m never going to see her again, am I?” I gently told her that the end was pretty close and encouraged her to talk to Shannon and touch her. John gave me a big bear hug and told me that he was going to write to the pope to get me canonized for all that I had done to care for her. A few hours later there was only our friend Rhoda, Mindy and me left in the house.

About 5 PM, Shannon’s brother called. I knew he had been planning to come over that evening and assumed that he was checking to see if it was a good time to visit. He told me that John and Roz had been in a car accident on the way home from visiting us. Roz had been killed immediately and John was in surgery but not expected to live. I was in total shock, and I had to tell Mindy what had happened to her grandparents. I called my sister and told her to rally the troops. Within an hour my house was filled with family and friends. I knew my neighbors would assume Shannon had died, so I went to their houses to let them know what had happened.

From that point on, there were people in our house night and day. Brothers and sisters and friends came and went as schedules allowed. Neighbors brought food and coffee. Mindy went home to help plan her grandparents’ funeral. People sat at Shannon’s bed and held her hand, said prayers, read psalms and sang to her. Even though she was in a coma, I told her about her parents’ death. On Friday morning, I read their obituary to her, and showed her blind eyes their photos in the newspaper. I spent most of the afternoon sitting in a recliner next to her bed, counting her breaths, squeezing drops of morphine down her throat, unconsciously praying for her release from her tortured body.

About 4 o’clock, I left her bedside to use the bathroom. As I opened the door, my sister called to me - “come quick, Shannon needs you”. As I ran back to her bedside, I saw that Shannon had her arms extended out from her chest. My sister whispered to me “I think she wants a hug”. I put my arms around her and held her. I was immediately aware of the presence of spirits in the room, a growing energy that hung around the edges of the ceiling. I began to talk to Shannon as I held her in my arms. People began gathering around the bed, each one placing a hand somewhere on her body.

From somewhere beyond my understanding, words began to flow from my mouth. I told her how much I loved her, and how we would always be soul mates. I promised to take care of her children. I told her it was time to let go of her body and be free. I told her she could be an eagle, flying low over the islands in Rainy Lake, or that she could be on the 18th green of Pebble Beach. I told her that mom and dad were waiting for her, and that she needed to look for the angels. Inside my head I was thinking “where is this coming from, I don’t do angels!”

As I continued to talk, the spirit energy in the room grew. The air was literally charged with electricity. I gently took my arms from around her, and told her that everyone here had helped her as far as we could on her journey, and that she needed to take the last step alone. Everyone took their hands off her and stepped back from the bed. As she gasped the last few breaths of air, she breathed out “I’m ready”. She took one more breath and died. I felt her spirit soar out of her body and join the energy near the ceiling. In a split second, all that energy just whooshed out of the room and I felt a great peace come over me.

I few people cried. My brother slumped in a chair and said, “I felt her go through me.” Someone turned off her oxygen machine. Most of us stared at each other in amazement saying, “Did you feel that?” I can’t believe that anyone who experienced what we did in that moment could doubt the presence of God.

Although I was a spiritual person, in the weeks following Shannon’s death, I felt compelled to search out a faith community that would allow me to celebrate my spirituality without the trappings that caused me to leave the Catholic Church in the first place. I went to Unitarian services (much too academic for me), an Episcopalian church (kind of dry), a Baptist church (friend’s recommendation). I was beginning to think that I could go to a different church every week and still not find what I was looking for.

Two months after Shannon’s death, I attended the funeral of my co-worker Jim Swift here at St. Joan’s. Jim was a pretty popular guy and the gym was overflowing. I so clearly remember turning to my friend who had come with me and saying ‘I could come to a church like this.’

The next Sunday I came to the 9:00 mass. Having not been to a Catholic church for a dozen years, I figured I better leave a little early to get the lay of the land, so to speak. So I left my home 3 miles from here at 10 minutes to 9 - figuring 5 minutes drive time, 5 minutes to get settled. OK, first big lesson - if you’re not here 20 minutes early, you don’t get to sit down. Then of course, after the homily half the people got up and left - I was just a bit confused, but grateful to sit down! Shortly after that, I had this incredible feeling that I can only describe as being filled with the Holy Spirit. I was crying, but not sad tears. The woman next to me put her arm around my shoulder and I had that feeling that I’ve heard described so many times here - I feel like I’m home.

I came back again and again, and finally became an official parishioner. With the help of Fr. Jim over a long cup of coffee, I was able to reconcile my new faith with the angst I still held on to from growing up in a homophobic misogynist church. Julie Madden offered me hugs, smiles and support long after we completed our Spanish classes here. I’m a reporter for the Web Team. I’ve attended the monthly GLBT potlucks, and have met some incredible people with inspiring stories. I joined Team Oz on the Heartland AIDS Ride.

I titled this piece “Dying Lessons”. Here’s what I have learned. Our physical life is short, and you never know when it will leave you or be taken away. So I tell the people I love that I love them - every time I see them, not just on those special Hallmark occasions.

I’ve learned that sometimes it takes energy to break out of my routine to notice beauty in our world. To me, that means stopping my car in the driveway to admire the flowerbeds instead of just driving right into the garage. To wake up during a storm and watch the lightening and rain. To take the time to sit at a mall and marvel at the range of human bodies that exist. To admire wrinkles on older people. To inhale the scent of a newborn baby.

I’ve learned that I need to live each day to the fullest I can. That means eating healthy and indulging in chocolate. It means working out at the YMCA and giving myself permission to skip a workout. It means taking the time to be silent, taking time to pray, taking the time to laugh and taking the time to cry.

I’ve learned that God is more than doctrine; that shared faith can heal our scars, build houses for others, challenge the status quo and ease the passing into another world. That heaven exists, and that some day I will be there too.

I’ve learned that I have courage. Courage to keep living when my soul mate died. Courage to face the pain of being sexually abused as a child. Courage to be single in a world built for couples. Courage to accept my fat body in a world obsessed with thinness. Courage to be bisexual in a heterosexual world. Courage to fight clinical depression and anxiety. Courage to leave my comfortable, well-paying, benefits-laden job to pursue a new career that I feel called to.

I don’t know why Shannon had to die so young. I don’t know why her parents were killed two days before she died. I don’t know why I’ve lost two good friends to AIDS. I don’t know why I’ve been dealt the hand I have. What I do know is that I have a choice in how I react to the cards I’m dealt. I can wallow in self-pity, hatred, and negativity or I can choose to learn and grow from each experience I have. I hope I continue to choose growth.