A loving ministry ensures that no one dies alone

    My friend Ed and I are sipping lattes and talking about death.
    It’s not anyone’s favorite topic. But as we huddle, oblivious to the bustle of early morning caffeine addicts enjoying free Internet and designer drinks, Ed tells me about his foray into the land of the dying.
    Ed himself is very much alive. A handsome man of Japanese descent, Ed is going to leave the coffee shop after our visit to attend one of eight parties planned around his 60th birthday. Ed is the kind of guy you just naturally want to celebrate.
    My friend is a volunteer with NODA – No One Dies Alone. It’s a national program with an affiliate at Providence Alaska Medical Center. The organization’s name spells out its mission: If you’re dying at one of the Providence facilities in Anchorage, Alaska, you will not die without someone present in your final moments.
    Like many great ideas, it grew from personal sorrow. The Oregon nurse who founded the program in 2002 saw someone die alone on her shift; she didn’t want to see that again. The woman who brought NODA to Anchorage wasn’t able to get to Texas in time when her own mother died.
    NODA volunteers are available for “activations,” taking their shifts at the bedside of a person who may be within 72 hours of death.
    For Ed, each activation is an encounter with God.
    “The thought that hits me is, ‘I will be with you in your greatest time of need,’” said Ed. “This is a holy place. Christ is there because of a person’s suffering.”
    Ed, retired from a career in Washington, D.C., is willing to take the middle-of-the-night shifts, and since the program began last summer, has been present at the death of two patients.
    Touch played a role in comforting each dying person. One man was struggling to breathe and flailing his hands. Ed lightly touched his shoulder.
    “He calmed down and looked my way. His breathing was not as labored, not as much of a struggle. Within five minutes he was gone.”
    At another bedside, Ed softly prayed the rosary. The dying man kept raising his hands.
    “So I thought, ‘Why don’t I just hold his hand?’” Ed said. Soon, the man quietly died.
    Ed first felt called to the dying when the AIDS epidemic became widely known in the 1980s. Like many, he feared the disease about which so little was known.
    Characteristically, Ed faced his fear and volunteered for the Red Cross. He became educated as a speaker, making 99 presentations to schools, churches, any organization wanting to know the facts about HIV/AIDS.
    “People were still asking, ‘Can I touch them (AIDS sufferers)?’” Ed told me.
    His work led him to Damien Ministries, which offers retreats for those with AIDS. Ed gave presentations to the staff at the retreat center – the cooks, the cleaners – and he began to attend Friday Mass with those on retreat.
    “Too many died while I was there, including the founder (of Damien Ministries),” Ed explained. “It got me in touch with death and dying.”
    After retiring to Alaska with his wife, a nurse, Ed began taking the Eucharist to the sick from his parish. And when NODA began, Ed volunteered.
    At the end of our meeting, Ed glances at the clock and realizes he’s late for his own birthday party. After he hurries off, his words linger as I finish my coffee: “When I visit a person who is seriously ill, I see a suffering Christ. What would it have been like to be brave enough to be at the foot of the cross?”
    Effie Caldarola is a columnist for Catholic News Service.