There’s a resident at the hospice, recently arrived, very sick. One look and you know she’s not going to last long, frail, wasting, and aged far beyond her young years. She came through the front door with one foot already in the next life.
I’ve helped with her care, done what was needed, made sure she was as comfortable as possible, but I’ve done all these things at a distance. I don’t think, I just do.
Some patients break you from the start, they grab a hold of your heart and they don’t let go, the hospice is currently filled with my heart. Nearly everyone there has lasted longer then usual and I have developed bonds that I’m not sure I ever had before, and definitely not with so many at the same time.
It scares me.
I’m not sure what it will look like on the other side, when they all start to decline, and eventually our afternoon chats on the patio turn to bedside vigils as I watch them leave and know that they’re taking a piece of me with them.
So, the most recent resident, already so close to the end, I give, but I guard. Eventually you have to or else you’re no good to anyone. AND still, I could not leave for the day without sitting by her side for a few moments just to let her know that she wasn’t alone. It’s a fine line, mostly blurred, and I’ve never been good with the middle. It’s usually all or nothing, but I’m learning…….god help me, I’m learning.
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"talk less write more"
"Many ingenious lovely things are gone that seemed sheer miracle to the multitude, protected from the circle of the moon that pitches common things about." -Yeats
Self Portrait
"talk less write more"
About Me
- claudine
- Born in Haiti, raised in Los Angeles, now living in the south. Wife, mother, and writer. Attempting my first novel called The Black Converse Diary; about a girl…… Also committed to the ongoing, almost forgotten, struggle against AIDS through various organizations. Mainly, volunteering at an AIDS hospice. Trying to find my own voice among the clutter. A strong, true voice that means something.
BLOG ARCHIVE
LIST IT
- "At the end of my suffering there was a door" (27)
- All Things Me (16)
- Hospice (7)
- To The Sea (1)
- Today (1)
- Waiting (1)
- World AIDS Day (3)
The Wild Iris
At the end of my suffering
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.
Louise Gluck
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.
Louise Gluck
THINGS I'M CRUSHING ON
- St. Aloysius
- Patches
- Apartment Story
- Cheekbones
- Padre Pio
- Louise Gluck
- Bloc Party
- Naked eyes with coat after coat after coat of black mascara
- The Bell Jar
12 comments:
courage sister.
You are an angel. Bless you.
Thank you for being here,
Your writing is beautiful and painful. I couldn't do what you're doing, and I'm glad you're doing it.
I have to ask you, how do you do it? How does anyone do the amazing work of shuttling the dying with dignity? How do you overcome the basic visceral fear of a decaying body? I am not meaning to sound disrespectful or anything negative, I am honestly, truly asking. What drew you there?
I have had two family member die in hospice and it seems a heavenly gift to this world. So, thank you a million times.
What was the inspiration for your volunteer work?
I left you two comment responses after yours on my blog. I should have left the second one here. I will be back. I still have stories I wrote about residents in the hospice/house I volunteered in over ten years ago. Including stories I made about my horrible mistakes - the times of not being able to stay present at the very moments it mattered most. My stories are colorful in ways some people don't understand, because sometimes the lightness of the color of residents' personalities was so especially poignant at their closing. And the color of their unplanned relationships with each other. I published some of those stories (before blogging) after their deaths. I didn't use names but was wary at the time I wrote them of the identifying detail I used at the time - but it was those details that identified them that mattered so much when their identities were disappearing forever. And in the early 90's (and maybe where you are still) so many were abandoned by family and friends, that it was left exactly to us to remember and honor last words and gestures in ways that would not be forgotten. But it is a heavy and delicate responsibility - but no more than making a quilt panel. It goes without saying that you are speaking from your own experiences of their experiences and you are not trying to represent their whole lives. Just quilting.
Dear Anonymous, not an angel, just wanting to be there for those who have no one else. No one should die alone. Thank you for reading, thank you for caring.
Dear Tati, Thanks so much for visiting, and I'm also glad everyday that I get to be there for the residents.
Dear Anonymous, I have no fear of the residents, their bodies may be failing them, but they still need care and most of the time their fear and pain overcomes any fear I may be feeling. The hospice I volunteer at is not a house of death, it's a residential hospice that is filled with the best of staff and volunteers and our prime focus is to make the residents as comfortable as possible with compassion and dignity. I could go on forever, but then I would start to annoy myself.....It's not as as awful as people think. Sometimes hard, but mostly rewarding. What drew me there?? I don't have one specific answer to that question. I knew that I wanted to work with HIV/AIDS and it was where my help was needed the most.
Dear +phc, you're so right. Sometimes it is the identifying details that matter the most, and yes, most of the residents have been abandoned by their family, so we become their voice and the keeper of their stories.
"Just quilting." Thank you for that, I will use that phrase as a guide as I navigate my way through the intertwining experiences of volunteer and patient.
Thank you for answering my question about how you do it.
Your writing is inspirational and admirable, and offers a real perspective on the very big issues of HIV/AIDS.
your doing the most sis....
i love that your blog is being read.
i love that i know you.
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