Dying Well
Before
Today’s guest post is written by Susie Finkbeiner
“It’s okay,” I said. “You can go.”
I smoothed her hair with the palm of my hand. So soft. I never would have known how soft. I’d never have dreamed of touching her hair before. She would have frowned at me. Before. She would have wondered what in the world I was doing touching her hair.
Before.
Before she ended up in the hospital for a month. Before we got her back in her house. Called Hospice. Set up the living room with a hospital bed. Oxygen tank. Rocking chair next to her.
Before she started actively dying.
“We’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll take care of each other.”
I looked up. Met eyes with my husband’s cousin. My cousin-in-law, I guess. The one who teased me. Poked me with forks and called me the “new one” in the family. Who usually would make fun of me before he’d dream of hugging me.
His eyes were wet. Far away. Sad.
Losing her would be hard for him. I knew that much. I could see his heart breaking.
But I needed to be strong. Just for a little while longer. Calm and strong and loving and present.
For my husband’s family.
I had to look away from him. From all of them. Cousins and aunts and uncles. My mother and father-in law.
In-laws. All belonging to my husband.
I had to keep my eyes off them.
So I could help her go.
My husband’s grandma. The great-grandma of my kids.
She struggled and fought. Sucked in breath. Tensed up.
Tough in life. Tough in dying.
I admired her.
“We’re going to be okay.”
She’d loved her family. More than herself. She loved them fiercely. Like a warrior. Nobody better get in the way of the love she had for them.
“I promise, we’ll take care of each other.”
She lived for them. Worked all her life for them. Never had two thoughts that didn’t have something to do with one of her kids. Her grandkids. Her great-grandkids.
“We love you.”
She was going. I could feel it. Somehow I could feel it. Hear it. See it.
When I first met her, I didn’t know what to call her. So, I never called her anything. Ever. Well, except for “my husband’s grandma” or “your grandma”. But to her face, I didn’t call her anything.
This woman I’d never allowed myself to name. Her head in my hands. Soft hair against my fingertips. Last breaths of my face.
I realized I’d not named her because I fear that moment. The moment of losing her. If I didn’t name her, it wouldn’t hurt so badly when she left.
But that was before.
“I love you, Grandma.”
I felt the name I gave her. Claimed her. Took her for my own.
“Thank you.”
Gratitude flooded over me. Numbed me.
The numbing. What a mercy in that moment.
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have my family.” I swallowed down what threatened to edge out the numb. I denied it. For a little while longer. “Without you, I wouldn’t have my children.”
This woman. Her life made all I had possible. I never realized the debt I owed her. Not until only moments before.
Before.
“You taught us how to love each other.”
She left. Stopped. Just like that.
Gratitude and grief and exhaustion.
She’d given me so much.
Her family. My family. Love. Stories.
Even her last breath.
I never would have known what a gift that was.
Before.
*****
BIO: Susie Finkbeiner is a novelist and short story writer from West Michigan.
Her first novel “Paint Chips” released in 2013.
Her second novel “My Mother’s Chamomile” releases February 15, 2014.
She is working on her third novel.
Give her your “like” on her Facebook page, Susie M. Finkbeiner – Novelist
“This is How We Die”: A Morning with a Hospice Nurse
Illustration Credit: Anna and Elena Balbusso
On Tuesday morning all I knew was that I was setting up an O’Connor table at the Heartland Hospice event that we were co-hosting. I got the table cloth & brochures all set out, greeted the attendees, and sat down in the back intending to “work” on my computer when the speaker, Barbara Karnes, a hospice nurse of 32 years, began speaking.
She said, “I don’t want to pretend that this is all Truth with a Capitol T.
This is MY experience.
Dying is the hardest thing we live through.”
(and you do live through it, that is, until you die)
That got my attention. I had the privilege of sitting for the next two hours hearing the stories and wisdom of this nurse. I typed out as much as I could of what she said, filling up 4 pages of notes and still not capturing all the information. –
Here are some of the incredible insights she gave me about death that Tuesday morning:
“We don’t die like the movies” – She mentioned scenes in movies where the dying person looks beautiful and radiant, perhaps they’re imparting some incredible words of wisdom that wrap up the whole story perfectly and then, they die . . . “This is not how people die,” she said. When people are dying of disease or cancer, the kind of people she gets to work with on hospice. “They don’t have the energy to speak, and if they are speaking, you probably can’t hear or understand what they are saying.”
“If they are a controlling person, they will control how and when they die” – She said that protective spouses or parents want to spare their loved ones from being there when they die. They will wait until they are alone to let go. She also said that if they want you there when they are going to die, then that is what will happen.
“No one dies alone” – Barbara said that all her years of experience have convinced her that we are ushered into the “other world” by the loved ones that have gone before them. She recounted the story of a 23 year old girl she was caring for whose brother died 3 weeks before she eventually would. The family chose not to tell her about his passing but shortly afterward all she could talk about was “Jim, Jim, Jim,” her brother. Her boyfriend thought she was confused, but then she looked at him and said, “No, I know who you are, Jim is here and says he’s going to take care of me.” Barbara recounted other stories like this, I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a dry eye in that room.
“Dying is always, always sad, it will never be ok. but it doesn’t have to be BAD.” – this is how you take something scary and negative and make it into a more normal and natural process that helps neutralize the fear.
Barbara inspired me and gave me truth and honesty about an element of life most of us know very little about. She changed how I see dying. She spoke about it with so much familiarity, knowledge, comfort and gentleness that it took out so much of the frightening mystery that dying is cloaked in. It will never be ok, but it doesn’t have to be bad or frightening.
To hear Barbara’s own words about dying, click here Gone From My Sight. To obtain a copy of her book,“Gone From My Sight” please contact Becky Lomaka.
What do you think of Barbara’s premises?’
In your experience, have you seen any of these played out?
*****
From today’s guest writer: Hello! My name is Molly and I am the Communications Director for O’Connor Mortuary in Orange County, California. I had my first exposure to a mortuary as a newborn when my parents took me home to their apartment above a mortuary in downtown Long Beach. Growing up as a mortician’s daughter it’s fair to say that mortuaries have had a profound role in my life; they have shaped my perspective, grown my compassion, and become an integral part of my identity. In 2011 I obtained my masters degree in English literature and was amazed to find a job at a mortuary that so beautifully fused my passion for writing and quality literature with my passion for those in grief. I am driven to provide bereaved people with valuable resources and to educate our community on the value of ceremony and personalization. I am proud to work for such a fine establishment that fits me so well and that gives value to what I do.
After I’m Gone: Entry 1
Today’s guest post is written by Samantha Allington:
I have just been diagnosed with Left Ventricular Diastolic Dysfunction, a cardiac disorder that has a life expectancy of 7.1 years on average. I’ve only just had the diagnosis and have not been given my prognosis yet, but have been doing a lot of my own research. I have asked for a second opinion and referral to the best cardiac unit in the country and all prospective treatment is pretty much all theory as there hasn’t been much research previously.
I’ve started planning my own funeral and already discussing this with Ann, who organised my daughter and my triplets funerals. I love Ann and she’s the only person I can imagine sorting my funeral out, the only person I trust. In a way I guess this is more than most people can ask for.
I’m a 35 year old newly married mother of four girls. I only met my husband last year after getting out of a 6 year abusive and violent relationship. Life was just beginning for me after a lifetime of trauma. After being with my husband just over 18 months I was beginning to allow the walls to come down, to relax and to trust and believe in him and our relationship. I was just allowing myself to start really enjoying being with the man I love. We’ve only had 2 weekends alone since we got together, without the children. The first time was earlier this year for our first wedding anniversary when I was miscarrying with my triplets at just over 11 weeks gestation, and the second was 2 weeks ago when we went away for his birthday. It was a wonderful weekend although I still missed the children.
I have a difficult relationship with my own parents although after 6 years of being estranged from my mother I have recently got in touch with her and spending more time together, and no extended family that we have contact with besides family in Norway. My husband has a strained relationship with his parents also and I don’t get along with his mother at all. He has one brother he gets on with and one he doesn’t talk to. He had another brother he lost. My four daughters are his step children, we were trying for a baby of our own until we got the news the last few days, and our dreams have been crushed. Neither of us works due to my disabilities and him being a full time stay at home carer to me, although I’ve dedicated the past couple of years to doing a lot of fundraising for charity and running a support group for bereaved parents and families who have lost a child.
My husband has dealt with lifetime trauma himself too. It’s due to all these combined difficult and complex circumstances that I feel I need to plan so much for when I die to try to make things a little easier for them all when I have gone.
I don’t want to just fade away; I want to tell my story to someone, somewhere. I would like to start summarizing the past as shortly as I can and then post updates of progress, planning my children’s life after mummy, the funeral etc…I want to try to make the most of what I have left and will be trying to spend as much time building memories for my children, writing a small book for them of things I would want to say to them at each milestone, good memories we shared, memories of the proud moments I had of them etc…So I’ll be trying my best to remain positive as I don’t feel I can ruin what little time we have left by negativity but of course there might be down times where I would like to share how I am feeling, what’s going through my mind. Updates on hospital appointments, news etc…
At times my writing may seem fractured; sometimes my spiritual beliefs may yoyo between one thought or another. Sometimes I’ll write like I do here and others may be in a diary excerpt style. Sometimes my writing will be descriptive of emotions and feelings, fears and dreams. At times it will be emotive and others more factual based or analytical. What I promise is not to hold back and to be as open, frank and honest as I can be.
Most importantly I hope to inspire someone, help someone who might have gone through this with their own parents or family member or someone who’s been diagnosed with a chronic and progressive or terminal illness. Perhaps one day my own children will sit and read this all and it might help them.
What I want to come out of this is a message of staying strong, standing together united as a family, not giving up and most importantly a message of love and what is truly important in life.
*****
I welcome comments and opinions but I ask respectfully for no prayers. At this stage of my diagnosis/life I am torn between hoping God doesn’t exist but unsure of his existence and being very angry at God if he does exist and so I find offers of prayer upsetting, hurtful and offensive. That is not to say I disregard or disrespect your own beliefs just that I find it difficult in my own life right now. Religion has for a long time been at times very triggering for my mental state due to my religious upbringing although religion, god, spirituality I’m sure will be a topic of discussion at times as it’s hard to avoid when talking about death.
