by Giulia Facchini Martini

Dear uncle, uncle as I liked to call you in recent years when illness dispelled your natural modesty towards the manifestation of feelings: this is my last, intimate farewell.
I feel it, You would like us to talk about the agony, the struggle of facing death, the importance of a good death.
Dying is certainly an unavoidable step for all of us, just like being born and, just as pregnancy gives, every day, small new signs of the formation of a life, even death often announces itself from afar. You too felt it coming closer and you repeated it to us, so much so that for this reason, at times, we affectionately teased you. Then the physical difficulties increased, you swallowed with difficulty and therefore ate less and less. You were afraid not of death itself, but of the act of dying, of passing away and everything that precedes it. You were afraid, especially afraid of losing control of your body, of suffocating to death. If you could use human words today, I think you would tell us to talk to the patient about his death, to share his fears, to listen to his wishes without fear or hypocrisy. With the shared knowledge that the moment was approaching, when you couldn't take it anymore, you asked to be put to sleep. Although physically unconscious - but I perceived your spirit as very present and receptive - the agony was neither easy nor short. Nonetheless, it was a time that I felt was necessary, for you and for us who were close to you, just as the time of labor for a new life is unavoidable. This is the time of agony that scares us so much, and I am sure you would like to tell me and that I humbly try to say for you. The keystone – both for you and for us – was the abandonment of the claim of recovery or continuation of life despite everything. You would say: "surrender to the will of God". Those who were with you felt deeply that an affectionate presence was necessary and we have been together, for the last twenty-four hours, taking turns holding your hand, as you yourself had asked. I believe everyone mentally asked you for forgiveness for any shortcomings and in turn forgave you, thus dissolving all the negative emotions.
In some moments, while your breathing became, as the hours passed, shorter and more difficult and your blood pressure dropped dramatically, I hoped for you that you would go away; but in the night, raising my eyes above your bed, I encountered the crucifix which reminded me that not even the man Jesus had any discount on his agony.
Yet those hours spent together between silences and whispers, the recitation of rosaries or readings from the Bible that was at the foot of your bed, were for me and for all of us a moment of richness and profound peace.
Something as natural and unavoidable as it was solemn and mysterious was taking place, which not only you, but none of those closest to you, could escape. The internal and external silence, the measured movements, the absence of noises and shouted emotions - but above all the acceptance and vigilant waiting - were the hallmark of the hours spent with you. When the last breath came I felt, and this is not the first time this has happened to me while assisting a dying person, that something was detaching from the body, that only the physical shell remained there on the bed. The spirit, the true essence, remained strong, present even if not visible to the eyes. Thank you, uncle, for allowing us to be with you in the final moment. A request: intercede so that all those who wish to be allowed to be close to their loved ones at the moment of passing away and to find the sweet fullness of accompaniment.