Voice Transmissions With The Deceased
by Friedrich Juergenson

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174 CHAPTER 34

At the death bed of a friend – The power to transform misery and death into exuberant joy

Around the end of September I received a message that an elderly lady, who was close to me, was dying. The ill lady had called for me several times by name during lucid moments. The next day I went to the hospital with a heavy heart because I felt that this would be the last time we would see each other.

It was already evening when I entered her private room in the hospital. The atmosphere that one finds in these rooms of the dying is so depressing, that one almost has the impression of feeling the physical suffering and the hopelessness of those marked by death.

The room was sparsely lit. The small night lamp threw a faint light on the intravenous equipment next to the bed. My gaze was unwillingly locked on to a glass retort in which a light pink liquid slowly pulsated, connected to the patient by a small rubber tube leading into her veins.

The patient was in a semiconscious state, with fever and quick breathing; in-between one could hear her moaning softly. It sounded like a helpless child in pain. I sat very close to the bed and gazed at her features so well known to me. Without waking her, I felt her pulse. It was irregular; sometimes it stopped, and then came back hastily with a feverish rhythm. It was apparent that she suffered from great pain that seemed to come in cycles because each time she would emit those feeble cries which made me freeze in dread.

175 As with Hugo, I was again overwhelmed with a choking powerless feeling. Something wound up in me, something wanted to scream: “Why don’t you help? – Save her life! – Ease her pain!”

Not being able to help is terrible, and so is watching the death struggle of a dear friend.

I don’t quite recall how the whole thing continued, I remember only that I was suddenly struck with such a feeling of pity that there was no room for other feelings and thoughts. Then everything changed as if by a stroke of magic. The whole death room seemed to be filled with joyful anticipation.

The patient opened her eyes, and her questioning gaze was directed at me. I understood in an instant that I was supposed to tell her all I knew of the hereafter that my dying friend was beginning to discern.

I believe it was the strangest conversation that I ever had. Me, speaking from the depths of my heart and she, hanging in silence on my every word. Here and there she nodded in agreement. I believe it was more the truth of “sensing”, rather than the words that connected us, and allowed us to understand each other. It was like something everlasting had pulled us out of the current of time and suffering, it was a condition that is indescribable. Much later, after my friend had died, I frequently thought about that magical experience, about the unfathomable power that can change the fear of death into indescribable joy and I vowed never to give her a name.