The final days
Helping a friend as she prepares to cross over
The Final Days
As hard as I tried to stay turned off from the supernatural world, it didn’t always work. Sometimes, things are just meant to be, like Macie.
It was baseball season, a hectic time with our sons playing Little League and then traveling with the All-Star team in the summer.
One day, a friend mentioned that one of the moms, Macie, had cancer. I hadn’t met her yet, as she mostly attended weekend games due to working full-time at UCLA, while I usually went to weekday games, juggling my other kids’ activities on the weekends so Scott could watch baseball.
Still, I made a point to introduce myself and finally noticed her.
She looked great for someone undergoing chemo, though I could tell she was wearing a wig. We chatted casually about our boys.
That summer, when our sons played on the All-Star team, we found ourselves alone during a tournament break.
The temperatures in the valley where we played were soaring into the one-hundred-plus-degree range, so the coaches sought out an air-conditioned activity for the team. They tried to see a movie, but nothing worked with their schedule. They eventually found an indoor arcade. The kids were in their glory, but Macie and I stepped inside, heard the whirling, ringing, and dinging of the machines, topped by the roar of excited children, and stared at each other with dread.
I said to her, “Let’s get out of here. There are enough coaches and dads to watch the boys.”
We decided to visit a random mall in a town we didn’t know. I still barely knew Macie. The ride to the mall proved as heavy as the searing sun. The weight of her undiscussed illness seemed to fill all the breathable space in the car. I’d heard from another friend, a sorority sister of Macie’s, that things weren’t going well.
Once in the mall, I suggested going to the Gap, feeling awkward about the situation. As we walked around the racks of clothes, I casually said, “I’m sorry about your cancer and all you’ve been through.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
“How’s the treatment going?” I asked, reaching for a shirt on a high rack to avoid looking at her.
“They stopped treatment,” she said simply.
Her words struck me like a dagger. I turned to her, and she shrugged.
Unable suddenly to take my eyes off her, I said, “You don’t want to be shopping for clothes in a Gap right now, do you?”
“It doesn’t make much sense for me, but I’m happy to walk around with you.”
Out of nowhere, I heard: THIS IS NOT A COINCIDENCE.
Suddenly, my entire body began to tremble. I felt lightheaded and winded, as if someone had punched me. I immediately understood what Macie meant and what her words implied. I also somehow understood that I was supposed to be there at that moment. I didn’t know why, but I was being called, and my entire body knew it before my head could wrap itself around it.
“Is it okay if we find somewhere to sit and talk, maybe?” I asked.
“Yes, I’d like that,” Macie responded.
We found a bench that I practically crawled to because I felt so faint. Embarrassed by my reaction, I tried desperately to hide this weird physical manifestation I was experiencing. It was as if the treatment, trauma, pain, and sickness that Macie had endured flooded over me and through me. I felt weak and nauseous as the various symptoms hit me.
I know what cancer looks like, I said to whoever was manifesting this. You don’t need to show me.
“Is there another treatment they can try?” I asked once we were seated.
“No. I’m out of options,” she replied calmly.
“Holy shit, Macie. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “How would you know?”
Her composure was astounding. It struck me that she was radiating grace, her acceptance of her fate as clear as if she’d already moved beyond it. She exuded a divine energy, as if she were halfway crossed over—a calm I hadn’t seen in my own father’s death.
It became clear that she had received this news recently. I held onto my shaking hands, hoping one would keep the other steady, desperate to hide my trembling body. Macie continued to sit, entirely composed.
“You just found out,” I commented, somehow understanding that and realizing she probably needed to talk.
“Last week.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said again, facing her and trying to process what was happening. “You’re so calm.”
“I’ve been at this for a long time. I’m tired. I don’t have any fight left. I’m ready.” She was unapologetic.
“I understand.”
“This isn’t a coincidence,” I finally said.
“No,” she agreed.
“You feel that, too?” I asked. “I’m here for a reason.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“So, you’ll let me help you?”
“I will.”
Breathe, I thought. Divine intervention, which I realized this to be, was not for the faint of heart.
I fumbled in my bag until I found a pen and a wrinkled receipt, which I flattened with my hand as best I could. Then I turned it over with the blank side up.
“Let’s begin. Meals. Who’s feeding you? What are you doing about dinners?”
“My mom does the cooking,” she said, adding, “But she’s exhausted. It’s too much for her.”
“Done. We’ll cover dinner. What about groceries? Should the person who brings dinner also bring breakfast items? Milk? Eggs? Bagels? Butter? What do you all like to eat for breakfast?”
“Hmm, I think we’re okay for breakfast. We can manage that.”
“What about Henry?” I inquired. “Do you want him with you, or should we keep him busy?”
“I don’t want him to sit and watch me die.”
“We’ll keep Henry busy. But if it’s too much, let me know, and I’ll have people back off.”
I paused to think. I kept hearing breathe, as if I needed reminding to do so. I paused and did as instructed.
“Macie, I’m unsure how to organize this without telling people.”
“I know,” she said.
I realized immediately what my next role would be.
“Is there anyone you’d like to tell yourself?” I asked.
“No,” she answered.
“You want me to tell them?”
“Yes. Please. I don’t want to do it.”
“I understand. What about work?”
“That’s covered. Work and my family already know.”
“But not Henry,” I assumed. Robert, her husband, seemed to be handling everything in stride, almost too much so.
“Not Henry. He knows it’s serious, but he doesn’t know we’re out of options. Robert understands the situation, but I’m not sure he’s dealt with it.”
“Geez, Macie. Do you have anyone to talk to? It has to be difficult trying to protect those around you.”
“It’s difficult. But I’m talking to you, and that’s helpful. My work friends have been incredibly supportive. There isn’t much to talk about anymore. I’m ready. There’s nothing more I can do for Robert and Henry,” she mused. “I’ve done all the worrying I can do. It’s up to them now.”
We both turned our heads toward a screaming child, reminding me of our surroundings.
“You look beautiful, by the way. You seem to be glowing, and I’m in awe of your strength and grace. I can feel both,” I told her.
“I want you to know that I believe this is a gift to me, not the other way around. I feel honored and blessed that you or someone chose me for this. If you want to talk or need anything, please call me.”
We continued to sit in silence.
“It’s going to be great where you’re going,” I said.
“I know. At least I hope so,” she said.
We walked to the food court to get something to eat, then returned to the baseball field to watch the rest of the tournament.
I saw Macie when I brought over meals or groceries. Her mother always answered the door, but if she lingered, Macie would ask her for a favor, like checking the laundry or looking into something in the kitchen. Macie and I sat and talked, and once, I held her hand.
At one point, she excused herself. I stood up and tried to peek at the family photos around the room. When she returned, she stood smiling, and I blushed, trying to hide what I’d been doing. She held up a photo album and said, “I thought you might want to see what I looked like. You know, before.”
“You read my mind.” I smiled back.
As we looked through the photo albums, she said, “I wish this wasn’t the only way that you knew me. I thought about that today and wished we had known each other before.”
“Macie, I guarantee I won’t forget you, no matter what you look like now or before. You are radiant and glowing, and that’s how I’ll remember you.”
I had called Rita, a mutual friend from her son’s school, and she offered to take the reins on organizing much of the food and playdates, as she knew more of their friends than I did. I let her know it was okay to tell people about Macie’s condition.
As promised, I made calls to other people I knew were friends of Macie’s to let them know. While I could tell they thought the call was odd coming from me, I felt them deduce that our boys were the same age, so we had probably crossed paths. They had no idea that Macie and I had been strangers just months earlier.
During one of my visits with Macie at her house, I asked her if she was afraid.
“I’m not afraid of dying,” she said. “It tortured me that I’d leave my son behind motherless. No one should have to go through that. But now I know there’s nothing more I can do. His journey is his journey.”
She hesitated for a minute.
“I’m a little afraid of how it’ll feel.”
“To die?” I asked. “You mean at that very moment?”
“Yes. No one can tell me how that will feel.”
Macie knew nothing about me or my life. There was no time for us to get to know each other and no real reason to. She never once asked me about my past, and I never once asked her about hers.
We didn’t need to know.
But this last question felt like my experiences coming full circle.
“Oh, but people have told us about that. Books have been written by people who died and were brought back to life. I’ve read some of them. Have you ever heard of these stories?”
She shook her head.
“People who medically died and were somehow revived tell of similar things. You’ll feel an all-encompassing love that’s unimaginable. There will be light, beauty, and peace, and the pain will be gone. Your soul may rise before your body shuts down, so you won’t feel anything physical.
“It’s a long story, but a similar thing happened to me once after a complication from surgery. I didn’t die, but I’m pretty sure I was headed there, as I remember watching from above as the doctors and nurses worked on me. I felt no pain. Don’t worry about that.”
In October, Robert called to say that the end was near and that Macie had asked to see me.
Macie had developed a large tumor in her chest, a side effect of the last treatment. At the hospital, Macie looked at me with a calm, radiant smile, still filled with grace and a newfound peace. I smiled back, feeling strangely happy for her, and it was all oddly serene as I realized she was moving toward something beautiful.
After she died, UCLA held a celebration of her life at Royce Hall, where I finally learned more about Macie—her love for performance and dance, and her days as a school cheerleader.
Watching the slideshow, I got to know the vibrant person she had been. I was honored to have shared her last moments and grateful for the chance to know her as both who she was and who she would soon become.
