Sometime in the early hours of the morning I woke up and heard the train coming down the track. The train whistle, lonely like the loon’s call sounded comforting and familiar in the darkness. No matter where you live in Belleville, you will always be able to hear the trains. The tracks criss-cross everywhere so that even when I lived outside of town in Foxboro, I could still hear them rumbling through!
I recently found out there is a word to describe the wind rustling through the trees: “Psithurism”. Who knew? I know a lot of words, but I did NOT know this one! Psithurism is one of my most favourite things!
I miss it in the winter when the trees are bare and leafless. But then there are other sounds. I don’t have to get out of bed to wonder if it snowed out once I hear that snow plow making the rounds. And how welcoming is the chickadee’s Sweet Susan call on a grey winter day.
Our senses are a gift that enrich our lives. But as we grow older, they begin to fade. Eyesight dims, food becomes bland, the TV volume starts to rise to a higher setting. It is a reminder this body is a temporary shelter and not meant to last forever. It is organic and will, eventually and naturally, breakdown.
When someone is dying they are often sleeping (or seem to be) for great lengths of time. But it is important to keep talking to them. Don’t talk around them like they are not there. Tell them about your day, what the weather is like, the grandchildren’s antics. Read to them from a favourite book. Sing them a song. Get up close to their ear so they can hear you.
Like the train’s whistle at night or the wind in the trees it will be a familiar comfort as they journey out of this world and into the next.
