Within 24 hours I learned of two deaths. One from the hospice and the other someone I knew from the outside world.
Hearing about a resident’s death always saddens me, but I know it’s coming. I expect it, it is inevitable. The sudden death of a person you know has a shock value that is new and confusing.
I’m so used to death I think I’m above it, like it can’t touch me, but it can and it does. My reactions may be different from what is considered normal, but I am not immune to the absoluteness of how sudden it can be. Even when you know it’s coming.
Anyway, it’s been a long day, and I fear I may be rambling and making very little sense. So, I will stop with an inscription from Sophia De Mello Breyner.
“When I die I will return to seek
The moments I did not live by the sea”
Goodbye to you both…
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
"It's Like Rain On My Wedding Day"
The other night I was restless, couldn’t sleep. That’s been the theme of the last couple of months. I’m either up all night, or I have crazy dreams and I wake up screaming and sweat drenched. The insomnia I can deal with as I’ve never been too keen on sleep, I've been an insomniac for as long as i can remember, but the nightmares, they seriously mess with my head.
So, I decided I’d watch a movie to pass the time, something easy, but not too cheesy. After about 30 min. browsing through video on demand I finally opted on “El Cantante.”
I had no idea!!
And I kept thinking “why had no one warned me?”
Later, I thought back to a precious moment on the patio at the hospice when Bizzle and our star resident kept singing the Alanis Morissette song Ironic. “Isn’t it Ironic?”
A little too ironic…..
So, I decided I’d watch a movie to pass the time, something easy, but not too cheesy. After about 30 min. browsing through video on demand I finally opted on “El Cantante.”
I had no idea!!
And I kept thinking “why had no one warned me?”
Later, I thought back to a precious moment on the patio at the hospice when Bizzle and our star resident kept singing the Alanis Morissette song Ironic. “Isn’t it Ironic?”
A little too ironic…..
Monday, May 19, 2008
Continued
It’s happening, everything I knew and feared, like pulling a string and watching it unravel. It doesn’t stop once its starts. It just keeps on unraveling until the seam is hanging open and empty holes mark where that one flimsy piece of string held it all together.
It started as a visit to the hospice, not a work day, just a visit to say “hello.” Within 20 minutes of my arrival I was helping prepare his body for them to take him away, he had died and it was sad, but it’s always sad.
The next day I stayed away.
The next day I went back, it was a special day for my man-child that I hold so close to my heart. (Newport Menthol anyone?) He was fine when I saw him last, he was supposed to be “my little miracle.” I had hope, until I walked into his room and saw what my heart didn’t want to believe, but what I knew to be true. He had declined. Tremendously.
He didn’t even know who I was; he didn’t even know the significance of that day. I stayed all day, and hoped and watched, then cried all the way home and most of the night.
The next day, I wanted so much to go back, but I needed a break, so insteadI called and checked on his condition.
The next day, I went back. He was worse, hell everyone was worse, everyone IS worse. Through his confusion, he asked if he was dying…..I got the nurse in charge. She answered his questions and I could see what it cost her. The sadness, the heaviness of all that weight, sometimes it buries you.
I wanted more time, totally selfish of me. It goes against why we’re there…..to help them leave with dignity and grace, but I didn’t care. I have a soft spot in my heart for him, and it seemed unimaginable that he could have declined so rapidly, in such a short space of time. I needed more, more talks, more jokes, more time.
AND, If you think the day couldn’t get worse, you are so wrong. We lost another resident, one who we all knew and loved. He was the first resident I met during my volunteer training, and he was something special. His passing hurt like hell, I felt battered and bruised in places that take a long time to heal.
I stayed at the hospice almost 10 hours that day.
The next day, I didn’t get out of bed until that afternoon. I was up late hanging and talking with other volunteers and friends at my favorite dive bar. I only left the house because I needed to see there was still a normal world out there that isn’t darkened by loss.
The next day, I went back…..All day, again, and watched it all unravel some more.
It started as a visit to the hospice, not a work day, just a visit to say “hello.” Within 20 minutes of my arrival I was helping prepare his body for them to take him away, he had died and it was sad, but it’s always sad.
The next day I stayed away.
The next day I went back, it was a special day for my man-child that I hold so close to my heart. (Newport Menthol anyone?) He was fine when I saw him last, he was supposed to be “my little miracle.” I had hope, until I walked into his room and saw what my heart didn’t want to believe, but what I knew to be true. He had declined. Tremendously.
He didn’t even know who I was; he didn’t even know the significance of that day. I stayed all day, and hoped and watched, then cried all the way home and most of the night.
The next day, I wanted so much to go back, but I needed a break, so insteadI called and checked on his condition.
The next day, I went back. He was worse, hell everyone was worse, everyone IS worse. Through his confusion, he asked if he was dying…..I got the nurse in charge. She answered his questions and I could see what it cost her. The sadness, the heaviness of all that weight, sometimes it buries you.
I wanted more time, totally selfish of me. It goes against why we’re there…..to help them leave with dignity and grace, but I didn’t care. I have a soft spot in my heart for him, and it seemed unimaginable that he could have declined so rapidly, in such a short space of time. I needed more, more talks, more jokes, more time.
AND, If you think the day couldn’t get worse, you are so wrong. We lost another resident, one who we all knew and loved. He was the first resident I met during my volunteer training, and he was something special. His passing hurt like hell, I felt battered and bruised in places that take a long time to heal.
I stayed at the hospice almost 10 hours that day.
The next day, I didn’t get out of bed until that afternoon. I was up late hanging and talking with other volunteers and friends at my favorite dive bar. I only left the house because I needed to see there was still a normal world out there that isn’t darkened by loss.
The next day, I went back…..All day, again, and watched it all unravel some more.
Monday, May 12, 2008
To Be Continued
I want to tell you, but I’m not sure how. Last week was one of the roughest I’ve had in awhile and I’m not ready to share. I can’t glide over it with a filler like it never happened.
So, until I can write it, I can’t move past it.
I just wanted those who read to know that I’m still here, I haven’t forgotten and when I can, I will….
Thanks
So, until I can write it, I can’t move past it.
I just wanted those who read to know that I’m still here, I haven’t forgotten and when I can, I will….
Thanks
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Waiting
Often, I wonder, how the residents feel as they sign the paperwork stating they understand that their final days will be spent at the hospice. No life saving measures will be taken to prolong their life. Only to try to make their last days as comfortable as possible.
I wonder if they understand the implications of what “hospice” truly means.
The really sick residents, I think, may feel some peace in knowing they have a place that will care for them with compassion until their final breath. But, others, who are more independent and able to move around, shower, talk on the phone, eat, smoke cigarettes….. They have a harder time letting go, they hold on to hope that maybe they’ll get better.
That rarely happens.
It must be hard living in a house where people are always dying, wondering if you’re next. Relieved that it wasn’t you, while silently grieving for the one who died and remembering the moments you shared.
The hospice is a small facility, at some point, no matter how hard you try to keep to yourself; eventually you will get to know the other residents. You will watch them get sicker, until one day they are covered, head to toe, and taken away.
I’m sure that has to weigh heavy on the hearts of all the residents as they contemplate their own mortality.
At the end of the day, I get to go home. I get a brief respite from sickness and death, but the residents live it 24/7, there is no escaping the looming, unanswerable question.
Am I next?
I wonder if they understand the implications of what “hospice” truly means.
The really sick residents, I think, may feel some peace in knowing they have a place that will care for them with compassion until their final breath. But, others, who are more independent and able to move around, shower, talk on the phone, eat, smoke cigarettes….. They have a harder time letting go, they hold on to hope that maybe they’ll get better.
That rarely happens.
It must be hard living in a house where people are always dying, wondering if you’re next. Relieved that it wasn’t you, while silently grieving for the one who died and remembering the moments you shared.
The hospice is a small facility, at some point, no matter how hard you try to keep to yourself; eventually you will get to know the other residents. You will watch them get sicker, until one day they are covered, head to toe, and taken away.
I’m sure that has to weigh heavy on the hearts of all the residents as they contemplate their own mortality.
At the end of the day, I get to go home. I get a brief respite from sickness and death, but the residents live it 24/7, there is no escaping the looming, unanswerable question.
Am I next?
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