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…..
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
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?
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Again, Newport Menthol
He asked if I was drifting away from him, he felt like I had been distant lately. I assured him he was mistaken, our relationship had not changed. I was there for him, just like I had always been.
Relationships at the hospice are all different, some residents grab you from the start, sometime with a specific reason, and sometime just because. I’m not sure why we connected so quickly and deeply, but from the beginning he held a vast space in my heart that simultaneously worries and consoles me.
Worry, because I know the outcome of this relationship. Console, because in spite of it all, I’m glad that it’s him. His likes, dislikes, moods, manipulations, laughter, and sorrow. I know him, I see him.
I’m not drifting, I’m not running, I’m standing still……What he can’t see yet, is that it’s him leaving me. He’s drifting, and it’s his distance he feels, not mine.
It’s okay, I’ll take the blame. He’s not quite sure what lies ahead and I’m silently, hopefully, optimistic. He has come so far from where he started.
Maybe, possibly, he will be my little miracle
Relationships at the hospice are all different, some residents grab you from the start, sometime with a specific reason, and sometime just because. I’m not sure why we connected so quickly and deeply, but from the beginning he held a vast space in my heart that simultaneously worries and consoles me.
Worry, because I know the outcome of this relationship. Console, because in spite of it all, I’m glad that it’s him. His likes, dislikes, moods, manipulations, laughter, and sorrow. I know him, I see him.
I’m not drifting, I’m not running, I’m standing still……What he can’t see yet, is that it’s him leaving me. He’s drifting, and it’s his distance he feels, not mine.
It’s okay, I’ll take the blame. He’s not quite sure what lies ahead and I’m silently, hopefully, optimistic. He has come so far from where he started.
Maybe, possibly, he will be my little miracle
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Which Way is West?
So.
How did it get to this point?
When did my closest friends become distant acquaintances with nondescript conversations, highlighted by pregnant gaps in conversations that used to flow so effortlessly? When did I lose them? And why am I just realizing that almost every relationship in my life is stretched past breaking point.
All relationships from the hospice, that is, everyone inside: residents, staff, volunteers, get it. No words necessary, but outside, that's a different story.
At first, I talked to them, I told them my experiences, I tried….but at some point, you realize, no one really wants to hear. They can’t truly understand and so you just stop. You say very little, and when asked, you just shrug your shoulders and talk around it.
BUT, you live it. It’s your life. It becomes so much more than you ever thought it would, living in a parallel world where sickness, death, and sorrow rule. But, also, redemption and generosity and true goodness illuminate the dark corners. You get to see the worst, but sometimes you catch a glimpse of what angels must look like before they get their wings.
AND, you have no one on the outside to share that with. No one to call when the resident that you just wrote about….You know the one? From a couple of weeks ago, who made you pause at how destroyed his body was. When you weren’t quite sure if you could handle it, but sucked it up, did what you needed to do, and found yourself sitting with him, at the end, holding his hand as he cried.
He’s dead, and no one from the outside even knew his existence.
I don’t know how to be with my friends who knew me before, I’m never quite sure what to say, My life is so different, my experiences are damn near impossible to understand, so I just stop calling. I stop talking; I disappear for weeks because I don’t know how to navigate my world with theirs.
They say I’m distant, I kind of think they leave me no choice.
How did it get to this point?
When did my closest friends become distant acquaintances with nondescript conversations, highlighted by pregnant gaps in conversations that used to flow so effortlessly? When did I lose them? And why am I just realizing that almost every relationship in my life is stretched past breaking point.
All relationships from the hospice, that is, everyone inside: residents, staff, volunteers, get it. No words necessary, but outside, that's a different story.
At first, I talked to them, I told them my experiences, I tried….but at some point, you realize, no one really wants to hear. They can’t truly understand and so you just stop. You say very little, and when asked, you just shrug your shoulders and talk around it.
BUT, you live it. It’s your life. It becomes so much more than you ever thought it would, living in a parallel world where sickness, death, and sorrow rule. But, also, redemption and generosity and true goodness illuminate the dark corners. You get to see the worst, but sometimes you catch a glimpse of what angels must look like before they get their wings.
AND, you have no one on the outside to share that with. No one to call when the resident that you just wrote about….You know the one? From a couple of weeks ago, who made you pause at how destroyed his body was. When you weren’t quite sure if you could handle it, but sucked it up, did what you needed to do, and found yourself sitting with him, at the end, holding his hand as he cried.
He’s dead, and no one from the outside even knew his existence.
I don’t know how to be with my friends who knew me before, I’m never quite sure what to say, My life is so different, my experiences are damn near impossible to understand, so I just stop calling. I stop talking; I disappear for weeks because I don’t know how to navigate my world with theirs.
They say I’m distant, I kind of think they leave me no choice.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Don't Know
AND this is how the light gets in.
Love, laughter, hope, forgiveness, self-forgiveness, love for the person you’d rather cross the street than walk by.
Stillness, stillness, stillness, silence from the knowledge that your actions have made words unnecessary.
Faith of purpose.
Unseen acts of kindness that pause time for you and them.
And tears, and tears, and tears.
AND this is how the light goes out.
Hatred, self-hatred, self righteousness, hopeless frozen in helplessness. Anger with no place to put it.
Lost with a map showing you the way, alone in your heart, split open and unseen
Self disgust
Gagging on words you’d rather swallow than say, until they lay siege. Spread their seeds, take root in the emptiness of your hungry belly, because you forgot how to nourish, how to breathe, how to live without fear.
Fear – that’s how the light goes out. Always, every time, everything, comes back to Fear.
Love, laughter, hope, forgiveness, self-forgiveness, love for the person you’d rather cross the street than walk by.
Stillness, stillness, stillness, silence from the knowledge that your actions have made words unnecessary.
Faith of purpose.
Unseen acts of kindness that pause time for you and them.
And tears, and tears, and tears.
AND this is how the light goes out.
Hatred, self-hatred, self righteousness, hopeless frozen in helplessness. Anger with no place to put it.
Lost with a map showing you the way, alone in your heart, split open and unseen
Self disgust
Gagging on words you’d rather swallow than say, until they lay siege. Spread their seeds, take root in the emptiness of your hungry belly, because you forgot how to nourish, how to breathe, how to live without fear.
Fear – that’s how the light goes out. Always, every time, everything, comes back to Fear.
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