I stood there, unable to move my eyes from what was happening in front of me.
She wet the facecloth with warm water, then, ever so gently dabbed his forehead, his cheeks, chin, nose, mouth and eyes. With the tenderest of care of care, her hands guided the dampened cloth, slowly, gingerly over his face. It was as if I was watching the work of a master … no,
it was as if I was watching her wipe the face of her own father.
The expert, compassionate act I viewed stopped me where I was standing, for I had entered a time and place of holiness, beauty and honor.
In my seventy-six hours of final vigil with my dad, this was one of the most tender moments … and it was performed by a stranger, a nurse, paid to do a task, but who took it beyond job description, she performed an act of tenderness as I have never witnessed before. And I will forever be changed because of it.
The tenderness and compassion with which she worked … the respect and dignity that she blessed my comatose father with also blessed me. I was treated to an act of a master at her job, one who did more than was expected of her.
I was reminded of the story of the death of Lazarus as I watched this beautiful kindness.
Lazarus had died, already in the tomb for four days. Jesus said he was going to “wake him” from his death sleep.
When Jesus (and the disciples) got there, he saw Mary and Martha weeping, filled with sorrow over the loss of their brother.
“When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.
“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.
Jesus wept.
Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”” (John 11:33-36)
This is a similar picture of tenderness and compassion. Jesus knew that he would raise the dead Lazarus from the grave. But, his tears were not over Lazarus’ death, they were tears of compassion for the sorrow and heartache that Mary and Martha were experiencing. He wept with empathy, responding with love and gentleness.
itsawonderfilledlife 
Carole – It warms my heart to hear that this was the experience that that nurse provided for you – an experience of gentle empathy – I am a retired nurse who always strived to provide care with that same gentle empathy – Condolences from my tender heart to yours xo
Thank-you for your condolences Debra. Though I wish we didn’t have to experience my dad’s death, what a beautiful experience of the beauty of those who are nurses. This was one of many grand love and nurture moments. I cannot say enough about the care our dad and our family received! What a calling!
Carole
Reading this, I felt like I was there with you Carole. God bless you as you grieve. You are in our hearts and prayers.
Thank-you Lori! Today I feel the support of those prayers significantly! (But I so wish we could have made it to our group last evening).
Carole
This was a special story of such a private moment. Thank you so much for sharing it with us. I understand..Blessings to you and yours.
Thanks Pete.
Carole
Beauty at work transcends understanding. It is holy work. It honours our Father through every motion of our being allowing purity in the dark hours. It is those split seconds of breath where Jesus is seen through the unexpected. Hope lives. May we all be that transparent of Christ’s love for us! Thanks for sharing! Hugs! (I’ve seen this in you, Carole!)
Hope lives! Amen (and thank you … I have seen this in you, as well, Becky).
Carole
God bless those angels who work with our loved ones. In my dad’s final hours, my sister and I were permitted to stay in his room overnight, where we slept on recliners by his bed. The nurse that stayed overnight had brought a book, but she turned off the lights so we could sleep.
The next morning I apologized for keeping her from reading her book, but she smiled and said that was OK, she had just spent the night praying instead. <3!
What a beautiful gift you received from that nurse. I’m certain that their calling is from God himself and in cooperation with him.
Carole
Amen!