Listening closely to the RN’s hushed request, I glanced down at my uniform to see it was clean, crisp and fresh. Like somehow, that would matter. The room appeared darkened, with all curtains drawn. What, behind this door would be the level of intensity, now all too familiar, even for my brief nursing experience? Calmly opening the door, my senses absorbed the scene within.

She sat on the edge of his bed, rocking in slow rhythmic circles to inaudible cadence. Long dried of tears, briefly looking up at me, her silent eyes screamed beneath her tussled hair. Traces of faint daylight squeezed through draped edges of the windows. In two steps I sat a few feet from her on the day bed. Quietly breathing, occasional routines muffled through closed doors, filtered into our space. We sat, we breathed, and waited.

Slowly, accommodation revealed swaddling white lumpy blankets and tiny tufts of blond. Her arms, trembling from hours of resisting, relaxed in renewed strength. Her encircled embrace, sheltering precious dreams, allowed a free left hand for softly stroking silky hair. Her face, partially hidden by her precious bundle, glowed soft in dim light. She never looked away.

Eventually, my imagination strayed, and quickly jumped into doubt and fear. What right did I have to be here? In sacred rituals of ancient people, only those specialized appointed souls were permitted access to such private encounters. Where would there be a wealth of powerful words and offerings worthy of my presence? How could I administer purposeful delegation of tangible value when there was no preparation?  Her shifting of positions awakened me from my dream state. My focus returned with each heartbeat as the gift of humanity began kindly quieting my thoughts.

Together, welcomed only by the passing time, we lived there in this room. What thoughts, memories, hopes, dreams or fantasies had once existed here? Reaching into an abyss of questions, my only answer was to remain present. Despite my racing thoughts, my heart was stilled. My relief at her acceptance of my invasion began to strengthen my ability to act, by doing nothing. It would bring no one comfort now, to announce some benign task requirement. To enlist some formal offering of well intended words, felt grotesque and cruel.  Pretending anything but being numbed by this reality, seemed insensitive and calculating.

Mechanical ticking of a clock on the wall pulsed with phony certainty as time ground monstrously past us. Never once weakening, never once, acknowledging our presence upon its inescapable equality. Eventually, it felt like we became as one. As if beings, in electric form, we maintained a balanced energy between us. My heart ached for her as I lived in her grief. Incomprehensible sadness painted each pixel before me. Life vibrated within me in circulating waves of acceptance. Each moment was becoming more vivid in clarity, as I honored them with my silence.

Suddenly, almost as if on secret cue, we simultaneously sighed. Looking deep into my soul, she smiled. I said, “I bet you have to pee?” My words slid from my vocal cords with a shocking unedited ease. She nodded in quick embarrassed relief while looking down at her child. “Let me hold him for you.” Without hesitation, she gently placed her son in my open arms and walked calmly over and opened the door. Tears dripped freely from my face as the RN who had requested my visit, entered the room and thanked me.

At the end of every year, we see lists of “people we’ve lost” during the year.  These lists are usually comprised of Hollywood celebrities, athletes, music artists, literary giants, etc.  Generally, these are people we don’t know on any personal level other than being an admirer of their creativity, their acting, their prowess on whatever sports field, or their words on printed page.  The product of their lives has touched ours in numerous ways, but their lives never truly intersected with our own.

We look over these lists with wonder and amazement of how our childhood idols, teenaged crushes, or influential beings are leaving us and we notice that it feels alarming to us.  How could they be gone “so soon?”  We feel a sense of loss and tragedy; perhaps not so much for them but for the memories their work helped to create for us.  We recognize a glimmer of our own mortality when our icons die.

In 2017, I felt sadness for the deaths of icons and idols from my life whose work left an impression on me:  Mary Tyler Moore, Adam West, Mike Connors, Richard Hatch, Erin Moran, Tom Petty, Malcolm Young, David Cassidy, Jim Nabors, Monty Hall (who didn’t love Let’s Make a Deal?!), Spencer Johnson (have you read Who Moved My Cheese?), Don Rickles (you hockey puck!), J. Geils, Joni Sledge, Dallas Green (Go Phils!), and Bill Paxton to name just a few.  I didn’t know these people personally, of course.  My connection to them is in my memories of watching their TV shows with my brother and our parents, or seeing them play (or manage) a game in Philadelphia, or reading his book with a great group of colleagues at Susquehanna University.  Jim Nabors was one of my mom’s favorite singers.  David Cassidy and Richard Hatch were among my early teen crushes.   My friends and I cruised local streets to the music of AC/DC and Tom Petty (among others, of course).  Oh, the sweet memories!

While the deaths of celebrities and athletes may impact us, our bereavement is fleeting.  We muse over their influences on our lives, we might say a prayer, or recognize their deaths in some quiet way.  But we go on relatively easily with the normalcy of our lives.  We feel the brush of mortality more keenly when someone dies whom we know personally.

On December 23rd, I learned that a man who had touched my life personally had died suddenly and unexpectedly the day before.  Although we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in decades, I felt an enormous sense of loss and mourning for Jack’s son and daughter, his mother, his sister and brother and their relatives and friends who had the pleasure of spending their lives with him.  I also felt mourning for myself that caught me a bit off guard – because our relationship was so long ago and we’d had no contact over the years.

When we have loved someone, I believe we carry a portion of that love with us.  Sometimes, it is deep in our hearts especially when the relationship ended long before a life ended.  It’s that deep, tucked away portion that is unexpectedly awoken when someone we loved dies.  It certainly awakens a sense of mortality and brings it to the forefront of our thoughts.  This awakening of mortality occurs when death separates us from long-ago loves or our parents, siblings, friends, and, in my case, hospice patients.

Today, I can be grateful for the love and experiences that my long-ago relationship taught me – thankful for the threads that added to the tapestry of who I am.

I hope that Jack, and each who died in 2017, now rests in Peace.  I hope that the people who loved them may find comfort in loving memories.  I hope that brushes with mortality enable us to live more fully and love more deeply until we are the ones resting in Peace.

© 2018 Caring Choices

I haven’t forgotten you.

Despite all the months and years that may have gone by. No matter how many ups and downs there have been. Even with all the life changes, personal celebrations and tragedies that have occurred. I still remember.

Perhaps there is now even a poem or song in your honor. Certainly there is a part of my soul that will always remain with you. You were likely a total stranger to me when we first me. You could have never guessed in a thousand years that one day I would be crossing your doorway carrying that bag slung over my shoulder. The one filled with the tools to help the needs of many.

There are times when something triggers my memory of you. Possibly a winding country road, a certain song, a snow storm, a soft breeze or the quick glimpse of a familiar neighborhood during a drive. I remember. We likely shared laughter, we certainly shared tears.

I cried a lot, but you maybe never knew this. I often would keep myself composed until I left your bedside. But there were times, especially while hooking up a new infusion, I would be unable to hold back. Then the wet glistening eyes, somber nods and quiet whispers were really me wailing inside. Filling up with the emotion of how much love surrounded us. Overwhelmed with the stoic bravery from such an unlikely source.

You will never be forgotten. I still remember you. I remember your smile, I remember your pain. I remember the look of concern in everyone’s eyes. Oh I know, I may not remember when, or possibly, may not even remember your name. But I remember the gift of time we shared.

No, I haven’t forgotten you. And, I never will.

Epiphany:  Merriam-Webster    3a (1) : a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (such as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure b : a revealing scene or moment.

Sometimes I think my synaptic junctions are widening to basically affect a 20 year delayed response to stimuli. Recently I was re-recording a song I had written back in 1998 called Love You Forever. The lyrics were intended for a young couple anticipating the birth of their first child. Unfortunately, the soon to be Dad I had offered to write the song for was transferred out of the area and we lost touch before I could deliver it to him. So basically the song sat in my studio storage box ever since.

Recently, a friend I had met through my End of Life Doula group (Doulagivers.com), had posted a request for music CDs for use at an inpatient Hospice. I wanted to send her some of the instrumental songs I had written over the years and thought I would throw in a few with vocal tracks also. She had said both types, and any style was welcome. As I was sifting through hundreds of old cassettes and CDs of songs I had written over the past 40 years, I came upon this particular one, (mentioned earlier), that was written with the lyrical content designed to be as if it were the parents singing to their newborn. Simple, assuring, warm.
I cued up the CD. As I listened I was struck with an overwhelming epiphany. Although intended for birth, this song, when applied to a Hospice setting at end of life, was so emotionally powerful I repeated out loud “Oh My God”, over and over as I listened. It hit me in the pit of my stomach like a wave of healing calm, soothing a weary soul. Life at the point where Hospice is required is every bit as precious as birth. And the reality of this had never been so brilliantly clear to me before. My eyes welled up with tears of literal relief as if I could see the circle of life completing itself. These words, written for the beginning, were just as meaningful and important at the end. Maybe these words are even more important for this time. They represent the continuation of love and joy for life at its fullest. A time that is just as scary, bright, cold, loud, and painful as birth itself.

This is not a time for avoidance and fear. Our life is lived right up to the very moment of our last breath….and even beyond. Are not gifts of time and love we have shared with each other, the emotions and rewards of a lifetime much greater at this end then at any other point in our life? The volume of such exchange in many cases is incomprehensible. To task one with the counting of every deed, moment of joy, laugh, shared triumph, healed sorrow and broken or fulfilled dream is astronomical to even comprehend. Although I know some memories are lost and forgotten, others are honored, and span generation after generation throughout human history.

So why is it then that we shy from death as if it were an enemy? It seems like the relationship between life and death, are one in the same. Balance: as left is to right, as up to down, and as sadness is to joy. Are we so greedily selfish that we only love what is new and living? We only celebrate the win? Not the daily sacrifice, work, effort, strain and dedicated loyalty of life. This is just taken for granted? Struggle is nothing to worry about? Expected? Living is just the business of survival right?

Well my friends. Death is not losing as if life were some game. It is the next level of reality. It is so strong of an event that it generates billions of books, movies, and internet hits. Millions of dollars of speculation, prediction, evaluation, commentary and research have been poured into death, or the afterlife, or whatever belief one fancies. But the truth remains equal for all. No one can buy their way, beg their way, or cheat their way out of it. What I believe we can do, is to enrich it with the same genuine love and attention we give to a birth. What can change is that the same generous level of resources for care, comfort and quality can be just as welcome and available as you are helplessly taking your last breath as they were when you helplessly took your first. After a lifetime of living in this hard world, no matter how long that is, it is the least compassionate act of love we can do for one another.

Love You Forever

Thank you, you’ve touched our world. Listen, Have you heard

We are the ones who will, love you forever

Rest here, by my side. Sleep now, close your eyes

We are the ones who will, love you forever

JMD 7-1-1998