November 21st, 2010 
judowolf 
Walking along the beach, a peace gathered in my soul as I remembered my friend Barbara, who died two years ago. We met working at Hospice as social workers – visiting dying people in their homes, providing information on wills, funeral homes and arrangements, the multitude of social services available, and provided emotional support.
One day, Barb informed me her cancer returned and was in her bones – six years previously she had breast cancer, had a mastectomy, chemotherapy, and a year ago we celebrated her cure. She was undergoing radiation therapy, soon would start hormone therapy, and her physician felt the treatment would slow the growth, but there was no cure.
Over the next eighteen months Barb continued to work, received a number of different treatments, cut back on her work hours, and I provided emotional support. Then the terrorist (as we refer to cancer) began their final assault entering her liver. While visiting with Barb, she spoke about her life – why she became a nun, the different places she worked, her family, life at the Mother House ( the headquarters of her order ), and the patients she cared for working at Hospice. Regrets? She had none.
With each visit, silence took up more space between the chatter as we knew time was closing in. We spoke about the silence, which we referred to as supportive silence, and the times sitting with family members as their loved one was in the dying process. When the dying are close to death, they embrace it, the serenity is overpowering, and we felt privileged to have experienced this quietude.
The last time I saw Barb, she was in bed, and would be leaving tomorrow for the Mother House. I wanted to say so much, but the time for words was over. Taking Barb’s hand, we sat in the silence for an hour. Suddenly, she squeezed my hand, and I knew it was time to go. I stood up, kissed Barb on the forehead, looking into her eyes knew she was at peace, and when I die, knew she would be waiting for me in the silence.
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