Have you ever held someone’s hand as they passed from this world?  

Friday night my girlfriend of 25 years lost her battle with cancer. She fought hard. She always had a cheerful outlook. She was always looking ahead. Her mantra in the final couple of months was “it’s all good.”  

Her family and many of her numerous friends had been with her during the final five days of her life.  

Late in the afternoon Friday it became apparent she wasn’t going to be with us much longer. So, she was surrounded by family and friends as she struggled in those final hours. The key concern in those last days was keeping her comfortable.  

When dealing with someone in the final days of stage four cancer that is the best you can do. She was lying on her couch with all of us around her. 

Several of us had taken turns sitting in a chair next to her. He brother unselfishly allowed me to sit in that seat for the final 30 minutes of his sister’s life. He held her other hand. I grabbed her hand and she constantly squeezed it. Some said she appeared to perk up when I sat down and took her hand.  

I pray that I was a comfort to her in the final minutes of her life. She had been unable to talk for a few days.  

When she looked at me as her departure time was nearing there was a mixture of fear, desperation and even a tear or two in her eyes. She appeared to be imploring me to help her, but all I could do was urge her to move on to her next, and better stage, of her existence.  

I have never felt so useless.  

For several minutes she breathed heavily. Then her chest stopped heaving.  

A moaning sound, indicating she was getting weaker, was coming from her mouth.  

It is called “a death rattle” and it can take many forms in terms of sounds. Even though her death rattle was softer than some of the descriptions, it was haunting, nonetheless. I never want to hear it again.  

Her face at the moment of death is an image I will never be able to erase from my memory.

She was supposed to live and take care of me. Her decisions, made 11 years ago when I was stricken with an aortic dissection, are the reasons I am still here and able to write this column. She saw me through my neurosurgery and colon cancer surgery this year, even though she was dealing with her own issues in fighting her cancer.  

I am going to miss her on so many levels. But I know she is in a better place and I am comforted by that thought.