Category Archives: grief

Buzz Kill

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Buzz Kill

Hi friends, it’s been a while since I checked in. My world got pretty small for a few weeks when my father in law was placed on hospice. The family took turns caring for him in his own home until he passed away last week. We’re all still licking our wounds over here, he was one of my favorite people. He was a quiet example of living a good life, I’ll miss his zen ways. I’ll be forever grateful for the “good man” example he set for his son and grandson.

In the meantime, life goes on. The sun still rises, work needs to be done and kids have to go to school. The laundry piles are smaller, we’re starting to eat dinner together again and a new normal is settling in. (Psst…the new normal sucks)

Throughout this past month there were moments of gratitude and humor. My closest friends were there for me. Two suits appeared for my son to borrow, a belt was brought to visitation when I forgot one. Recommendations were made for where to find shoes for my daughter and her exceptionally tiny feet. We received an orchid, a tomato plant and an olive tree from kind friends who knew the man we honored. Mass cards were given and basically people just showed up, let our dog out and let us know we are loved. You can’t ask for more than that. It’s been raining since we left him at the cemetery, even the weather recognizes our grief.

OK shaking off the sad for some humor now…pivot with me. One day while I was sitting with my father in law a wasp got in. I could hear the buzzing and identified the culprit. I went to search for an old fashioned fly swatter. I knew there would be one, everyone over 80 is required to own one. Sure enough I found it tucked away in the kitchen between a cabinet and the wall. I stepped into the living room armed with the fly swatter and a determination to eliminate the problem.

Sitting with someone who is dying has a way of making you realize how precious life is in all of it’s forms. That’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why I was determined to usher this wasp out a window and not just smash it. The invader was stuck between the wooden blinds and a window. I cracked open a neighboring window as the escape hatch, I just needed to get my new friend to fly out of it.

There was coaxing and loud noises as I tried to get the wasp out the window. I provided some commentary for my father in law who was pretty quiet at this point but he had a front row seat to this show so it was the polite thing to do. After several loud attempts, mild cursing and antics that had a tinge of Lucille Ball, the wasp finally flew out the window. I was pretty proud of myself for dealing with the problem in a humane way.

A few hours later, the hospice nurse and my husband were both over and another wasp was in the house. At least I think it was another wasp, could’ve been the one I freed earlier getting in through some secret wasp back door. This one was really annoying doing fly-bys as we were discussing medication. This asshole had to be exterminated. I got the fly swatter again and got him mid flight, it was spectacular. I picked it up with a napkin and disposed of it in the garbage.

Another two hours tick by and son-of-a-b*tch there was a third wasp. I texted my husband thinking maybe we have a nest. We had a text exchange about it –

Me: I just killed another wasp. Three of the mofos got it in today.

Hubs: Are you sure the third one isn’t the second one? Unfurl the napkin in the garbage can to be sure.

Me: Hell no I’m not unfurling napkins to see if your wasp is the Jesus of the wasp world rising after death…I will seal the garbage bag and take it outside like a normal person.

I managed to get the third (or perhaps it was the first or second, I didn’t check the napkin) wasp out the front door. Never to return.

 

Graphic Credit: Copyright: <a href=’https://www.123rf.com/profile_derocz’>derocz / 123RF Stock Photo</a>

 

 

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Six Blankets

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Six Blankets

I’m fighting a quiet battle within myself. Some might call it depression, I hesitate to use a label. A sad awareness is wrapping itself around me like a blanket which I keep shrugging off. It’s the state of the world and the sad stories that swirl around me like a thin fog that clings low toward the ground. I’m able to go about my day and do what needs to be done with the added presence of my unwelcome shadow.

Yesterday I went to a luncheon for hospice volunteers. I’ve been a hospice volunteer for a decade. I provide respite for caregivers of terminally ill people. I know that sounds depressing in itself….honestly, it’s rewarding work. After the lunch volunteers are asked to take blankets to patients on hospice. The blankets are crocheted by generous, kind souls that enjoy their craft. I volunteered to deliver six blankets to patients that share my zip code.

Each blanket is paired with an index card with pertinent information about the intended recipient. Name, address, phone number and helpful hints like the neighborhood name or the patients age. It’s recommended that you call the families first to see if they want to accept the blanket.

I made 6 calls and I got mixed results. Mindful with each call that this family is suffering on some level. It is impossibly hard to watch someone you love die before your eyes. It’s also an incredible gift to have some notice about the situation. Words can be spoken that otherwise might be left unsaid. I try to approach each communication with a blend of compassion and lightheartedness. I don’t want to add to the melancholy nor do I want to be overly cheerful, it’s a balancing act.

First Blanket – I left a message explaining that I had a crocheted blanket as a gift from hospice and left my phone number. I haven’t heard back which isn’t unexpected, they have a lot going on.

Second Blanket – I spoke with someone on the phone and they said sure drop it off.  I headed over after I picked my kids up from school. After ringing the doorbell, I  was told to come in. This is common. People are so busy caring for a terminal person they often leave the door unlocked for scheduled deliveries, home health aids or visitors. I handed the blanket to the caregiver and smiled and waved to the patient as I let myself out.

Third Blanket – My kids are still in the car, these are local deliveries. This was a house I was familiar with having just sat with the patient last week. They had a screened in porch so I left the blanket nestled on a chair and let myself out. I spoke with the caregiver later that evening and he thanked me for the blanket.

Fourth Blanket – Someone answered the phone when I called and gave a reluctant OK to the blanket. I don’t know if I spoke to the patient or a family member. The property was stunning with an Old World European curb appeal. This was a house with multiple doors which happens quite often. I chose a door which had a wreath on it, it was not answered. I channeled my inner MacGyver and fastened the blanket to the wreath with little more than stubborn determination. I took the kids home after this, our third, delivery.

Fifth Blanket – I spoke with the patient’s daughter on the phone. She sounded tense on the phone and promised to call me later. She left me a long voicemail this morning. She apologized for being curt on the phone (she wasn’t) and went on to say how hard it was to speak at work and what it’s like having a father on hospice. She was unsure if the blanket would be a welcome addition and I felt bad for adding to her burdens. She was a jumble of emotions and I’m still thinking of the best way to follow up.

Sixth Blanket – This was actually the first call I made and it gutted me. A composed gentleman answered the call and very graciously declined the blanket. He stated that the patient (perhaps his wife?) got one at chemo and there is just so much stuff around the house. I can vouch for the stuff – every hospice patient has a table full of items to keep them as comfortable as possible. Pain medications, body lotion, mouth wash, adult diapers, towels, wipes and an assortment of personal items. Things that would normally be kept in a bathroom or bedroom migrate to the kitchen or dinning room table. Most patients reside in a hospital bed in the living room of their home for convenience and to avoid isolation.

Prior to making the call, I put the address in my GPS. Then it dawned on me that this patient is half a mile from my home. The proximity was unsettling, more disturbing was the age, 58. That is young. I can count the difference in our age on my fingers. My mind takes this information and then I wonder if we have crossed paths. Does she have children? Do we shop at the same stores? Have I encountered this person at some point in our day-to-day lives? This patient, the one whom I will likely never meet…..she’ll stay with me. I’ll think of her when I drive past her house and I will say a silent prayer for her and her loved ones.

This is the shroud I wear from time to time. The memories of visits that I’ve had with patients that have passed. Thoughts of neighbors that I don’t know personally and yet I have some intimate knowledge of their situation. It’s profound and sad and somehow complete. This is the circle of life, a common path we are all on despite our attempts to deny it.

Death is the one universal truth. We will all die, each one of us. It doesn’t matter how much money you have, who you voted for, what country you’re from or what you believe in. Death doesn’t discriminate it comes for everyone. Everyone. So don’t be petty, hateful, hold grudges or act out of spite. It’s just a short ride on this spinning globe and then, who knows what’s next. I plan to use my time wisely with compassion, humor and then more compassion because that’s what we need. And somehow, by sharing these thoughts, my foggy companion has faded away.

 

 

 

 

Missing My Friend

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Missing My Friend

Today is my friend’s 47th birthday….only problem is she died nearly two years ago so the celebration will be “low-key”. Grab a chair, your coffee and some tissues and I’ll tell you about her.

I became friends with Christine when our boys were in preschool. I had heard about her from a friend who lived down the street from her. I even stopped by her house once or twice when I was visiting our mutual friend. This woman held an open house every day. If you or your kids were around you were welcome to visit, stay for dinner. She had an entire family move in once for a few months as they prepared to move back to Europe.

Christine was smart, kind and generous. I know everyone says this about their friends but I’m telling you she took it to a whole other level. She was also an M.D. so validation on the smart comment. I bet she was the best doctor ever. I can imagine her listening to her patients with love and humor and thinking of them well past the visit. She was definitely the kind that would check in on her flock.

Sadly, by the time we got close her days of practicing medicine were in the rear view mirror. Though she would still yell at you and make sure you got treatment if she thought you needed it. She could be stubborn and persistent. One time I mentioned that the back of my right knee felt swollen. I was immediately told to drop my pants so she could exam me. You didn’t say no to Christine. Since I had a history of pregnancy related blood clots she sent me straight to ER and placed some calls to make sure I would get the A team regardless of which doctors were actually on call that day. Truth be told she would have done that for anyone that crossed her path.

She collected people in the manner that others collect bells, stamps or whatever the hell people collect……except no one was left on the shelf, ever. If there was a party everyone was invited, EVERYONE within a 50 mile radius. Her parties were big, loud, fun and filled with her people.

She treated everyone with kindness and generosity. She could make friends anywhere – playground, waiting room, hospital, gas station….anywhere. Once you were her friend you were in the inner circle which was rather large. The only flaw I can find beyond the persistent stubborn nature was she liked to hear gossip. Whenever we spoke on the phone one of the first things out of her month was “what’s the latest gossip?” This was in no way to be mean she didn’t have an ounce of mean in her she was just inquisitive by nature and probably wanted a change of scenery from her daily grind of personal medical issues.

Soon after she gave birth to her son, she found out she had a rare cancer. Surgery was performed and the cancer was determined to be severe and rare. By the time we became close she had been through years of chemo, radiation and every other aggressive treatment known to mankind to treat her. She was a fighter. Unfortunately, the aggressive treatments permanently harmed her heart. To the point where she had some extra parts inserted inside her chest to keep things pumping. Even that didn’t go smooth as one of the “parts” was determined to be defective and was known to fray in which case she would have about half an hour to get to the hospital if she had any hope of survival. She was 35 when that happened.

Can you imagine? Here you are a beloved MD with a thriving private practice…….you have a young daughter and a new husband, with whom you have an infant son and BAM your world implodes. To make matters worse her father was diagnosed with a different but equally aggressive cancer within a week of Christine. WTF universe?

So when our boys were in the same small preschool class she had been dealing with this medical shit storm for 5 years. She had a damn good handle on it but at this point her father was dying. I never met the man but my God in the descriptions he sounds like Santa Claus, Jimmy Buffet and your favorite comedian wrapped up into one fun loving kind soul. The first day I met Christine’s mom was the day he died…..I hugged mother and daughter with everything I had.

A few days later there was a memorial in Christine’s house celebrating her father’s life…..hundreds of people were there. Two weeks after that the annual Christmas Party took place on schedule because these people knew the value of living in the moment and celebrating life…..right here, right now…..do not postpone joy.

I remember one day we joined our boys on a preschool field trip and she told me some of the details of her medical situation. She flat out told me “I probably won’t make it past his 10th birthday”. Of course I didn’t want to believe her but I trusted her judgement….she was after all a doctor and a level headed woman. That conversation is burned in my brain. Sadly her predication was pretty accurate.

When the boys were in 1st grade the world started to crumble yet again. I think it was the spring when she called and told me she had cancer again. Different area same shitty disease. She cried on the phone I just said how sorry I was that she was going through this again. Not sure of what kind of a cheer leader I was but she knew I was available to do whatever she needed.

At one point I went to visit her in NYC at Memorial Sloan Kettering. I just wanted to let her know I was there for her with whatever she needed. As I was leaving she asked me if she was going to be OK…..I put on the best game face I had and without hesitation I said “absolutely” with a certainty that I didn’t actually have but wanted so bad.

The last two years of her life were incredibly difficult and fraught with a series of medical issues that would have taken a lesser person down in an instant. She went through broken bones, blood clots, countless chemo and radiation treatments. All the while she kept her kids on track. She was planning her daughter’s college prep sending her to Ivy League summer programs when she was a Sophomore in High School. By the way that girl was Valedictorian at her High School Graduation. She is a kindhearted genius like her mom and if anyone has a shot a curing cancer my money is on her.

She made sure her son had a close circle of friends and family at all times. We are still around loving him like he is an adopted son….and his father is doing a great job in the parenting department. In her last years, she planned and attended multiple trips to Disney, Hershey Park, Atlantis……she made as many happy memories as she could while she was here…..because she knew she only had a short time to squeeze in a lifetime of love and laughter.

So my dear Christine I wish you a happy birthday in heaven where surely you have collected more friends and are nurturing the other angels around you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their Stories…Tales of a Hospice Volunteer

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Their Stories…Tales of a Hospice Volunteer

I have heard so many stories from the people that I have met as a hospice volunteer. I meet others through a small business that I run where I fill in the gaps for people when they need help. I have met some interesting people along the way. People always have a personal reason for becoming a hospice volunteer. It isn’t the PTA, you don’t do it for your kids.

I became interested in hospice in my late 20s. My aunt was dying of metastatic breast cancer and she appointed me as executrix of her estate. It was an incredible experience because my aunt was a highly spiritual and deeply religious woman. She was young, not even 60 and she met death face on with a grace and dignity that eludes me on a daily basis. We had many open discussions during her final year and it made me wonder what it was like to know you were dying within days, weeks or months? I started to worry that the dying person may not have anyone they felt they could talk to….sometimes the people closest to us are the hardest ones to talk to when life is near the end.

Some people are so close to the dying person that it is too emotionally charged for them to have a coherent conversation. Then again, some can’t communicate when things are great. Toss in a terminal illness and some just go mute or into complete denial. The surviving family and friends generally have people to talk to but the dying person….who do they have? I decided that I wanted to be that person.

So finally 10 years after the seed was planted I decided to become a hospice volunteer through a local hospital. My kids were still young but the preschool hours and some kind friends provided enough kid free time for me to attend the Medicare required training. I had been a stay at home mom for 5 years at this point and it was great to check off a personal goal that was independent of my family.

The hospital I volunteer for has a training coordinator we will call her Kay. When a hospice volunteer is requested, Kay sends out an email to a group of hospice volunteers telling us a little bit about the situation and what day/time a volunteer is needed. Then a volunteer will ‘reply all’ that they can do it and Kay sends a secure email to that individual. The volunteer then has the information to contact the family and the visit is scheduled. Sadly we always have to check in the day of the visit to make sure the patient hasn’t passed, it happens.

A couple of years ago I received such a call from the wife of a man that I was supposed to stay with the next day. Sadly her husband had passed a few hours before she called me. I find it remarkable that she would have the presence of mind to even think of me but she did. We chatted for a few minutes and she mentioned that she lied to her daughter and told her that a friend was staying with her that night because she did not want to inconvenience her. I never met that woman in person but I think of her often.

That’s how it is with hospice work. You meet people at this most intense time in their life. Sometimes it is scary and awkward and uncomfortable and other times it is filled with grace, dignity and love. You never know what you are walking into when you arrive at someone’s home. Sometimes the family is close and open and other times you can feel tension in the air from countless family fights and relatives being forced in a room with someone they haven’t spoken to in decades. I go in knowing that these people have an entire lifetime of memories, emotions and conflicts and I am not there to try to sort that out. I am there for two reasons: to be there for the patient in whatever capacity they need and to give the caregiver a break.

They, the patients, always leave me behind at some point. Sometimes they hang on well past the point that anyone would have thought they could. Other times they go suddenly….even though they were on hospice, you are shocked….they were a fighter and you thought you had more time. Most of the time though I know when our last visit has occurred. More times than not, I will get an extra squeeze of their hand, a knowing look and an extra and most sincere thank you. And I leave knowing I will not see them again.

Though they are gone, they are not forgotten. Many tell me their stories some are funny, others are heart breaking and I hold onto those stories and take them with me. That is our gift to each other.