Hospice

Last night was a beautiful experience. I was asked to sit at the resources table so I could be available to those who needed to talk to someone. I told BJ later that night that I felt like people were lined up to talk to me because after spending a few moments with one person, another would be right behind them to share their story with me. I felt so connected with those who trusted me enough to share their grief and share their tears.

As I've said in the past, I can't but help think that this is part of my life's purpose. It seems so natural to me.

I have a lot to process about last night, so I'll keep this short until I can gather my thoughts. Until then, I'll leave you with the closing blessing.

May the light of your soul guide you. May the light of your soul bless the work you do with the secret love and warmth of your heart. May you see in your efforts the beauty of your own soul. May the sacredness of your being bring healing, light, and renewal to those you spend time with. May your waking hours never weary you beyond the point of replenishment. May the surprises of this life release with you wellsprings of refreshment, inspiration and excitement. May you be present in what you do. We're thankful for the privilege of being on this journey with you.

Adapted from the Anam Cara Closing Blessing, written by John O'Donohue.

Tomorrow night I'm volunteering again for the Grief and the Holidays seminar. This seminar is sponsored by several Hospice organizations from the area, and is designed to help those who have lost loved ones with ways to cope through the holiday season. I suspect I'll get just as much out of it as our Hospice clients. I certainly took away a lot from the seminar last year.

I invited a friend of the family to attend the seminar because she lost someone earlier this year. She declined the invitation, but asked me to give her good ideas about how to get through the holidays. Since I am not a counselor, I do not feel qualified to give a laundry list of things to do and further, I don't believe that dealing with grief has a one-size-fits-all solution. The idea behind these types of seminars is to pull from several people's experiences and then decide what you want to take away to use in your own personal healing. All I could do was offer that she pull from all resources available to her and that I'd be quite willing to provide all of the materials I had at my disposal. It was up to her to decide what would be best for her.

The holidays are surely a difficult time for those that have lost people they love, so doing anything and everything to enable self-care is very important. I've talked to hundreds of people that have lost family (spouses, children, siblings, parents, etc.) and one of the first things I ask them is "what are you doing to help you deal with your grief?"

Those who say they've attended or are attending grief support groups (whether through Hospice or church, or other means), individual grief counseling, or similar endeavors inevitably do better by leaps and bounds than the folks who aren't actively participating in self-care. Everyone handles grief differently, of course, but the common denominator of handling it well seems to be taking advantage of available services.

The wonderful thing about Hospice is that grief and bereavement support groups and help, including one-on-one calls, is available at no charge.

I've learned quite a bit from the experiences of the people I've talked to who are living with grief. I realize that I may at times sound evangelistic about Hospice. It's only because I believe wholeheartedly in its value. When my time comes (whether it's as a patient or someone grieving the loss of someone I love), I'll be first to stand in line to receive help. In the meantime, I'll be there to help those that go down that path before I do.

Yesterday I was at Hospice House, making my phone calls and ran into an experience I've not yet had. Well, at least via Hospice.

I'm going to backtrack a little, if you don't mind. An ex-boyfriend of mine used to refer to my habit of doing this as "going around the block and coming in the back door". Sometimes my thoughts are very scattered and it takes me a while to put them together. Anyway, I read an article in Oprah last month that described me exactly. This woman said she wrote so she'd know what she was thinking. As succinct as that is, it perfectly describes why I write sometimes.

Often, I feel agitated, or sad, or any of the other various emotions but can't put my finger on it until I start writing. Some of my blog posts have started out as one thing and ended as something vastly different. Sometimes, so different that I'm compelled to change the title of the post.

I've mentioned this before, that I'm not often very good with verbal communication, especially when it's something very important to me. It's because my thoughts are all up in my head, swimming around like alphabet soup. Writing out my thoughts, then putting them in some sort of order usually gives me the answer(s) I was looking for, or at least explains to me why I'm feeling a certain way.

I even have a book lurking on my hard drive, but like the thoughts in my brain, it's so jumbled right now that it's nowhere near ready for editing or publishing. I believe (and have been told) it's compelling, and the message behind it is important, but I have to wait until I feel up to organizing it so it makes sense to the reader.

So, onto yesterday's experience.

I love it when I have the opportunity to talk to several family members. It gives me more insight to family dynamics than if I'd of just talked to one person. The difficult part of this is that I cannot tell one family member that I've talked to another family member because what I do falls under HIPAA laws. For example; a daughter was worried that her mother wasn't doing enough to handle her grieving. I had just talked to the mother prior to this call and knew that she was going to one of our seminars as well as had just signed up for a six week group. I knew that her mother was doing a lot to care for herself, but I couldn't reassure the daughter. That's difficult for someone like me, because I am such a caretaker. I wanted to be able to reassure her, but couldn't.

The call I was referring to at the beginning of this post really tested my resolve to separate my personal life and feelings from my Hospice experiences. The person on the other end of the call said that she was handling the death of our patient OK, but wanted to know if we had any books on grieving a child that was given up for adoption. We went on to talk about this topic for over a half an hour, and I knew that I could not talk about my personal experiences or share with her resources that I'm aware of to help her find her child. I had to watch what I said very, very carefully.

My job yesterday was that of a grief volunteer, not adoption resource. I suspect that giving her any information outside of those boundaries would have violated some type of rule and I was not willing to put my organization in jeopardy.

I sent her some booklets on grieving and wrote her a little note that after reading through them, I felt she could replace the word 'death' with 'adoption' in her mind as she read the literature. I sent my thoughts her way as I sealed and addressed the packet, and I wished for her that she finds what she is looking for.

Days like yesterday make me realize that I cannot save the world. I must do what I can within the opportunity and boundaries that I'm given. The important part is to learn to accept those boundaries and move on.

I had a wonderful day yesterday, starting with Hospice. When I looked at my logs, I noticed that it'd been over two months since I've volunteered there. I do not regret the decision to take the time off, because I needed to wrap my head around a few things so I could be of better service. It did feel good to be back.

As long-time readers know, I volunteer for grief and bereavement services and I make phone calls to family members and close friends of our patients who have passed on. My main responsibility is to assess their grief to see if they need more support from the counselors. I'm also calling them to just listen.

I've noticed something interesting in the time I've spent making these calls. I usually start out with, "I'm [RisibleGirl] from [x] Hospice and I'm just calling to check in with you to see how things have been for you in the past few weeks (or months). 99% of the time, the person on the other end of the phone says, "I'm doing OK" or "Things are going well". I've learned that if I keep my mouth shut for just a few moments, I oftentimes hear more.

I think these people are used to someone saying, "Oh, that's great".... "Glad to hear it"... etc. because the person calling really doesn't want to talk about it. It's not that friends aren't wanting to be supportive. I think that everyone is afraid of saying the wrong thing, which is a very natural fear. I believe it's very difficult to say the wrong thing if you're speaking from the heart. It's even more difficult to say the wrong thing if you are listening, rather than talking.

They'll never hear me say "Oh, I'm glad you're OK" and leave it at that. I just sit silently for a moment and then we start talking about what's REALLY going on.

I've had many hours of training, but I'm not a professional therefore do not offer advice. It's amazing how long a conversation can go on if you are simply affirming the other person. "It sounds like you're doing lots to take care of yourself".... "I'm glad that you're finding support in your friends".... that sort of thing.

I've had the most wonderfully inspiring 'conversations' by simply listening. I ended yesterday's session with a conversation that I'll post my feelings about later this week. I'm still processing it.

I seemed to have gone on a tangent. The title of this post is self care.

While I was making calls, one of the grief counselors was having a support group for men downstairs. I watched them leave after the session and thought about how wonderful it was that these men cared enough about themselves to take advantage of the services available to them. I saw men ranging from ages 30 through what looked to be 80's. I was particularly moved when I saw one of the younger men gently pat one of the older men on the back as they went their separate ways.

As I watched them get into their cars, I thought about each one. I couldn't see their faces clearly, but I don't think that matters. I just wished for each one of them that they receive what they needed in these sessions to work through their grief. Clearly they're doing their part and I wanted to do mine, even if it was from a distance.

I'm learning so much through my experiences with Hospice. Self care is something I struggle with, but it's people like that elderly man I saw yesterday that teach me how important taking care of myself is.

I've been in a situation for a while now that fills me daily with guilt. This post is going to be vague because of privacy issues, but I just need to get this out there in hope that there is someone reading my blog that can offer something. Advice? Permission? I don't know what I'm looking for here. I honestly don't. All I know is that there isn't anyone that I know in my life that would be able to relate to this on the same level.

As my regular readers (you know you're more than readers to me, right?) know, I volunteer with Hospice by making calls to family members of our patients who have passed on. In these calls, I assess how they're doing, let them know of our follow-up services, and I also provide an ear and a shoulder should they need it.

I'm going to admit something here that may sound shocking to some people, but I think it will help you to understand why my current situation is so difficult for me. I got into Hospice because I've always had issues with boundaries. I am the type of person that people lean on. And lean on. AND LEAN ON. I have never really learned how to shut it off properly. My usual M.O. is to dissapear from their life completely if they don't take subtle hints that I feel like I'm being used. I've been a magnet for emotional vampires as long as I can remember and these types of people don't seem to get the hint.

Hospice was perfect for me because I am able to give 110% of myself to someone, and not worry about how I'll 'escape' the situation if it gets out of control because the relationship naturally ends. When I make my phone calls, I am fully theirs. I think about them, sometimes for days or weeks, and wish them peace after I hang up the phone, but the relationship ends when I hang up the phone.

A very close friend of the family lost a family member a few months ago. Offensive things were said and done during the end of that persons life, but I chalked it up to emotions and stress. After the death, there were more offensive and hurtful things said and done. Sometimes to me, and sometimes to or about people I love. This person went on to become ill on top of losing a family member and became very needy. While I can completely understand why this person would become needy, the need was piled upon offensive and hurtful behavior. I tried to remedy the situation, but this person not only didn't understand what they did wrong, they accused me of untruthful things.

This person isolated themselves over the past few years, mainly because of their loved one's health. Because of the isolation, this person only had a few people left in their circle. My husband is part of that handful of people.

I am not in a situation where I can completely shut this person out of my life, due to the relationship they have with my husband. My husband feels obligated morally and emotionally to continue with the relationship even though he has also been the target of offensive behavior over the years. As his wife, it is my obligation to support my husband in the things that are important to him.

I'd made a deal with myself that as long as I had to be in this person's life, I would practice my 'boundary' skills whenever we were together. My plan was to always ask, "What was the intention behind that statement (or action)?", just so they'd be put on notice that I was not going to be a doormat or put up with offensive comments and behavior. It made me feel better to know that I was doing something to take care of myself and my loved ones, even if the other person didn't 'get it'.

In theory, this sounds great but I just can't seem to put it into practice because I cannot bring myself to make contact with this person. When I receive email from this person, I cannot offer anything personal. Just answers to questions, nothing more. I do not feel like sharing any details about my life. I don't share with people that I don't trust. As a Hospice volunteer I feel that it is my personal responsibility to use the things I know and have learned through Hospice whenever I'm called upon. I FEEL that I should put aside my anxiety and give this person what they seek.

As the imperfect human being that I am, I bristle and feel horrible guilt over the emails spouting off how 'kind' this person was or that person was to call them, adding "I know how busy you are, so even though I am lonely and needy I understand why you don't call or write".

I supposed I should talk to my Hospice bereavement counselor and ask her advice, but I'm embarrassed that I feel this way.

I don't want to feel this way.