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| Julie Graff |
Today I stand aside and give Julie the floor....
TEACH ME TO NUMBER MY
DAYS by Julie Graff (guest blogger)
In thinking about death
and dying, I keep being reminded of a conversation I once had
with the wife of a hospice patient of mine. It was my privilege to be a
private duty hospice nurse for a time, meaning that I spent twelve hours a day
with the same patient in his/her home until they passed away. This being
a full time fly-on-the-wall gave me a lot of insight into the whole experience
of death as it is experienced by everyone in the household. I have often
been inspired by the dying, but more often, I've been inspired by those who've
survived to tell the tale. Now I am in this lady's shoes. My
own husband is terminally ill, though not nearly ready (I hope) for hospice
care.
The lady I'm referring
to broke down one day because, she said, she felt guilty for thinking of
herself at all during this time. She was overwhelmed by despair, not
knowing WHAT was going to become of her once her husband died. She
"knew" it was selfish and sinful to worry about herself, but really,
where was she supposed to live? Was there enough money? Who would
help her? She would be ALONE. What was she to DO with
herself? She was a wicked person. Her pain was awful. She
would never have revealed it to another soul if she had had any way of keeping
it in. Ashamed of herself, she apologized for collapsing in front of
me. How to console her?
I realized then, that
though the dying go through the "five stages of death and
dying"--denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, and their
loved ones along with them, those left behind are left to go through this whole
shebang all over again. They are obliged to accept what is
unacceptable to them TWICE. This lady was simultaneously losing her
husband AND being set adrift with no idea of what to do, and she would still
have a long row to hoe. I held her.
And I held her.
She went on with her housework. I eventually became aware of her
standing a little straighter. Later I was certain I was seeing a
spark of mischief in her eyes. Well. She had prayed while she was
working. This is what she had to say: "My days are numbered
too, dear, and every one of them is precious. Just because my husband is
dying, it doesn't mean that I am not. We never know absolutely what is
going to happen." So I told her of two other hospice cases
that I had worked where the whole family was geared toward my patient dying
but, when no one was looking, another family member died instead--quite out of
order and all unexpected, you see. (It happened twice again when I worked
at the hospital. This is significant because I was actually a nurse for
only fourteen months before I was injured on the job. I don't know what
the statistic is on this, but in my experience there has been a high incidence
of people dying out of turn... We really never know...)
I asked her what she’d
always wanted to do. Well, she'd always wanted to see Ireland but had
been told it was impossible so she'd quit thinking about it. I wondered,
since I happened to know she didn't have a selfish bone in her body, if she
couldn't ask her God to help her make a secret plan to go there. She
allowed as this might be "a pretty good i-deee". Some months
after her husband's death, she went to Ireland. I have no clue as to how
she pulled it off.
Now here I am with my
days as numbered as anyone else's; As numbered as they always have
been. Who will die before whom at our house is not known. I have
made my apologies for cracking up. A plan is being developed. After
all, you never know.
Peace be with you both Julie - we send you love,
Asta x
