Tonight I volunteered to help at a Hospice seminar. The seminar was to give people skills to cope through the holidays after losing someone. The first part of this volunteer activity was questionable in regard to my safety, but the rest of the evening was very rewarding. My job was to help people find their way to the conference center. Doesn't sound too bad, right?

Wrong! I was banking on Karma being on my side for doing good works tonight. I was in a very questionable part of town, at a motel, in the dark, standing in the parking lot by myself. When people would pull into the motel parking lot, I'd go up to their car if they looked lost and direct them to go down an alley to the conference center. This involved trust between two parties; the little old ladies seeing someone coming up to their car with a flashlight; and me, hoping that the people in the car weren't going to pull me in and drive off with me. Thankfully, I'm here to tell the story and no little old ladies were harmed by me or my flashlight.

Once I was finished directing traffic, I went to the conference center and took my seat. I was amazed to see so many people attending this conference. I'd guess the number of people in the audience to be somewhere between 150 and 200 people. 150 to 200 people in emotional pain. It was almost palpable.

The second speaker asked people to raise their hand if they were experiencing grief for categories that she went on to mention. Parents (raise your hand). Siblings (raise your hand). Spouse (raise your hand). Suddenly my heart lurched. It was almost as if a freight train had hit me. I looked around the room and saw many people that had lost their spouse this year. Some of them were my age. Some of them younger.

I've been very cavilier about that topic in recent conversations. Yes, I adore my husband- but I know that I'd go on. I've lived for 44 years without him. I'm not his siamese twin. I could live after him. Or so I thought. Somehow, seeing these people raise their hands brought a bunch of feelings to the surface. It's as if while raising their hands, they were throwing their loneliness out into the room. I could feel it. Worse, I could imagine it.

Then, "raise your hand if you've lost a child". Boom! I was hit again. I looked around the room and saw grieving parent's who have lost children. Based on their age, I could surmise that some lost adult children, and some lost probably very young children. I internalized that as well. What if? That would rip me to my very core.

During intermission, I wandered around the room and mingled with these people who have lost loved ones. They seemed almost desperate to tell their story. I wanted to cry right along with them. It was if I was a sponge soaking up all of the emotion in the room.

The end of the seminar provided us with a rememberance ritual. We lit candles and gave thanks for the people that we've loved who have passed on. We also acknowledged the people who would grieve upon our death. It was lovely and thought provoking.

There were a lot of tears in the room tonight, many of which were mine. Some people might wonder why I'd want to subject myself to such raw emotion; wonder why this experience cements even more my desire to serve in this part of Hospice. I honestly don't know what pulls me here. I just know that it's where I belong.