3rd floor please

The 37 1/2 year old version of me got on an elevator and pressed the button for the third floor today. It was only my second time on in In Patient Unit at the hospice; but it for sure won't be my last time. Today I sat down with a volunteer co-ordinator to discuss my areas of interest in volunteering with hospice and as soon as the paper work comes back I can start. In the mirror of the elevator I caught a glimpse of the 22 year old me, who all those years ago also punched an upward number and headed to a hospice office.

At the time I was on my way to what I know would call an anticipatory grief counsellor. My mom had just been diagnosed with cancer and she was dying fast. It has been said that you don't find hospice, hospice finds you. You could say the same thing about death; nobody goes looking for it, it finds you. Death had made it's customary appearances in my childhood. Lurking in the corners as it often does not really affecting you but just letting you know that it's there. There was the death of a distant grandma, then 2 uncles in the same year none of who's funerals I went to. When I was 16 a favorite friend committed suicide; death rode up boldly to center stage of my life. It was a collective experience, I can't remember the death of M without talking about it in terms of "we." We standing for all my classmates. We lost a friend. And like the rabbits in Watership Down we clung to each other in fear of death personified like they did in fear of The Black Rabbit of Inle. Then as quickly as he had come death slipped away again. His shadow wouldn't sneak up on me until late college.

It was the equivalent of the literary device called foreshadowing; something happened that would give clues about what was to happen. We were doing group presentations for a geography class I think. It was the morning of the presentation and one of my friends in my group didn't show up. It was looooooong before the age of texting and we had no idea where she was. I was frustrated and disappointed. A week later she returned and told us that her Mom had died rather unexpectedly. "Mom's die?" how sad. It was so sad that I went home that night and discussed with my Mom how sad it would be for her to die. A few months later my Mom WAS dead. A few years later my Dad would marry that same friend from college's aunt and we would become step cousins. Foreshadowing........

In my head there's a line or memory of demarcation. A memory that stands as the last normal, stable thing before the world crashed around me. I wonder if every crisis has that? Has the "one moment we were doing X and then the phone rang" moment. One moment I was trying to shut the morning news off and then........... One moment I was arguing with my husband and then.............. One moment we were laughing in the rain and then................ Yeah, the major stuff comes with those moments. So one moment I was registering for summer school at college. Listening to Garth Brook's "Ain't Goin' Down "Til The Sun Comes Up" on a yellow Sony walkman and the next moment my Mom was being diagnosed with cancer and told that she only had 2 months to live.

I was an only child, and while we didn't have a diagnosis then it's clear to me now that I had depression back then. In a move that would change the course of all of our lives my Dad got me an appointment counsellor. Death had found my family. He had us in his cross hairs. Hospice also found us. One of those organizations that you have no idea even exist until you need them and then you're sure glad they're there. 5 years ago my oldest son was medi-vaced to a hospital in another state upon his birth. Ronald McDonald House stepped in and gave us a place to stay. That's another organization that you don't know anything about until you need to.
I don't remember the counsellors name and only some of what we talked about but I remember feeling very relieved when I left one of our sessions. You know how in the movies families gather at the deathbed of a loved one and everyone is happy and close? Here's something you don't see in the movies; sometimes families argue all through a death. Arguments so big doors are slammed. Sometimes old sins are dragged out. Sometimes scape goats are created. Sometimes families fall apart and people leave. My family was one of those. I was the grieving person who wanted to talk about it. Who wanted to know exactly how long my mom had and how the death would happen. I dared to imagine that my life would continue without my Mom and that thought scared me. Yes I was self centered, yes some nights I was more concerned about what I was going to wear to a party than my moms health but that was ok. Hospice told me so. Hospice told me that it was ok to grieve the way I was grieving and that talking about death didn't make it happen. When my Mom died 9 weeks after diagnosis a hospice volunteer met me at the house and she was the only person I let into my room that night. Hospice pulled me through.

Shortly after that my Dad joined the board of directors at hospice. They went on to build a 12 bed free standing hospice house. Both my parents volunteer there regularly as well as for their thrift shop and in other areas. A year ago a childhood friend of mine came to live out his last days in "the house" as we call it. Honestly, that caught me a little off guard. While I know that Vancouver has a children's hospice called Canuck Place, I still equate hospice, or maybe just long term dying with the old. C wasn't old. He couldn't be, his birthday is the day before mine. In my head the house was built so that people like my mom wouldn't have to die in a hospital nor a living room. It wasn't built for extraordinary young men. But I'm sure glad it was there. Last week a friends mom died. She was an amazing lady and although I'm sad that she died I'm thrilled that she died in hospice. It seemed a fitting and dignified end to a life well lead. I miss you Jaquie.........

And so all these years and all these states later my work with hospice begins. I hope that one day years from now someone will say of my bereavement counselling that "she got me through." Comforting from where you have been comforted right? Giving back.......... It's going to be hard I'm sure; but worth it. My current work with doing began today by getting back into an elevator.

Standing firm in a forward moving society

Yeah I know I said I'd write more about fear today but I'm really feeling compelled to write about faith which is the opposite of fear. Besides, there's really only a couple of poems that I want to share with you about moving past the fear and taking the risk. I'll get to them..............

The other side of fear is faith. Despite my relationship with Christ, I honestly don't have a lot of faith. Sometimes I panic in a crisis and fear the worst. Sometimes I don't and I am very calm. Today I realized I may have more faith than what I think. Yeah it's the church situation again. I refuse to give up and believe that it's truly over. In fact on Saturday I'm going to go to a healing service at the very church that exiled me. Yes I do think that the Pastors are going to poop a brick when they see me but....... And yes I do know that I'm crazy for wanting to go but as usual my craziness got me thinking. I got to thinking about the whole concept of moving on. We prize ourselves on it. It's one of our values. Even the gospels speak about shaking the dust off your feet and moving on if things don't work out however they also talk about standing firm. Forward motion is good. Katrina Onstad in the January issue of Chatelaine says: "Movement-forward, onward, upward - is the guiding principal of the New World. In jobs, real estate and our personal lives, movement is success ands stasis is failure. There's no better balm for "He dumped me" than 'You've moved on.'" I wholeheartedly agree. Off the top of my head I can think of at least 2 dozen country songs that talk about getting over it and moving on. Housing shows with titles like "Property Ladder" indicate that upward motion is the only way. My 20 year high school reunion is this summer. I know that if I go I'll be expected to talk about where I've gone in life. It's not where you've been but where you're going that counts right? Movement is desired but only at a set pace. You don't want to be accused of running away from things and you also don't want to seem too transient. Commitment is a desired trait as well. Boy do we ever send conflicting messages to ourselves.

What if moving on is overrated? What if moving on can be hurtful? At least being forced to move on before you're ready? I know that happens with grief. I was forced to move on after the death of baby Jonathan long before I was ready. The result of not dealing with it in my own time line was that it messed me up for later. It was part of the gunk I dealt with last summer. 10 years ago someone I loved was murdered. It was summer. In January of the next year I cried in public over it and while I'm sure some people were sympathetic what I remember most about that day is the person who asked me why I still wasn't over it. Over it? It's been 10 years and I STILL cry in public! I am STILL not over it. Yeah I know the point is to move on past the pain but sometimes I need to confront the pain in order to heal. Sometimes it's ok to stay where you are until you're ready and you are the only person who knows when the time is right. Your experiences your timeline.

I think of one of my aunts who has lived in the same house for about 40 years. She also worked at the same job from the day she graduated high school until the day she retired. No upward movement there. No bigger and better house. No long resume. Instead she and her family built stability. A house that is full of memories and a strong, strong family. Honestly I envy her. I would trade our gypsy lifestyle in a minute for an address people could write in their books in ink.

And what about the times when moving on isn't the right thing to do at all? What about the times when it's best not to move but to stand? That's where faith comes in right? I believe our church issues will be solved even though there's no shred of evidence to support that right now. But I guess I have faith. I have a friend whose wife left him about a year ago. Last time I looked he was still wearing his wedding ring. That inspires me. He still believes. I think of all the people who have sat by the bedside of a loved one, hours and hours after the doctors have said that there is no hope, or even suggested it's time to stop life support. The people who pray and wait and believe. They sacrifice hours and meals maybe even their own health and jobs. They know that behind their backs others are whispering about them; about their weakness not to let go or that they're in denial. That they need to move on; it's for the best. But still they believe. It's not time to move on yet. They have faith. And then one day the loved one moves, the monitors flicker and a miracle happens. I'm sure that history or even modern society is filled with stories like that that I would love to hear more about. Not just to get me through this current crisis but to build my own faith with.

What about the families of people who are missing or abducted or who just leave by choice? Don't they hold out hope? Don't they refuse to move on? Jaycee Duggard was gone for 18 years, Elizabeth Smart for 9 months. Physically their families moved on but what if they had quit believing? Restoration, reconciliation. It's hard to believe that you're ever going to be reconciled with somebody who has hurt you. It's hard to be the only one in the whole wide world who's believing in something. But as Garth Brooks said: "As long as one heart still holds on then hope is never really gone." Hold on. Stand firm.

Where where you when the world stopped turning? The song will help you remember

Yesterday I wrote about strange but true holidays. The kind for which there are no Hallmark cards. How can there be cards when often there are no words? And that brings to mind other holidays that there aren't cards for either. I'm not talking about public stuff like wedding days and graduation days but private ones. Ones that may only be observed, since celebrated is soooooooo the wrong word, single person but are still significant and still worth being remembered if they choose.

Some private holidays are great. They celebrate victory. Prayers answered. Dreams coming true. The day an addiction was beat. The day freedom was gained. The day the tests came back negative, or on the other side, the day the tests came back positive and you found out you were expecting baby X. As a family we've had those days. But we've also had the other type of private holidays. The days that mark tragedy and grief.

In a song Alan Jackson asks "Where were you when the world stopped turning?" We've had a lot of world stopping days. On some of them the world has come to a slow stop. We've had a heads up that something was wrong whether because we've been called into a meeting or because the doctor has paused in his examination and you're holding your breath. Those are the times when you tell yourself not to worry but.............Sometimes what is probably nothing actually IS something. In all the stats about only one person in five zillion gets this or this happens to somebody has to be that one right?

Sometimes the world comes to an abrupt screeching halt. I feel like I get some sort of emotional whiplash on those days as my life suddenly takes an unexpected turn. Everything seems to move slowly like suspended animation. Things float in mid air, You stop in mid sentence. You are in the middle of doing X when it happens. The phone rings. There's a knock on the door or in these days more likely an email. An innocuous looking email buried amongst a lone line of others in your in box. An ordinary day that would otherwise just blend in with the week before it and the week after it suddenly becomes "the day X happened."


The good news is that the time around these days often fade. First, you forget that it was a Tuesday that it happened. That is good because there are only seven days in a week and you cannot avoid one of them indefinitely. You might move into forgetting the actual date. My head always has a love/hate relationship with forgetting. As much as I try to push something out and move forward from it I also feel guilty about forgetting all of the details of a crisis. I guess I equate remembering with love. If I really loved the person or if I really cared I would remember everything. Forgetting seems to be a disservice or loss of respect. And it is, whoa be to the husband who forgets an anniversary right?

Private grief days often attach themselves to time of the year. It was spring and the lilacs had just come into bloom when............... It was the hottest/coldest day of the year when.......................... We were setting up the Christmas tree when................. And now every time I set up the Christmas tree I get a little sad...........

My friend K is always amazed that I remember her anniversary. Want to know the secret? Her anniversary happens to be the exact same day that my Huggyband's late wife died. That means that while I was at K's wedding, secretly feeling woe full and jealous because I was sure that I would never, ever get married, a major life event was happening 2000 miles away that would change the lives of many, many people including mine. I don't know who caught the bouquet at K's wedding but I do know that I was the next to get married.

September 11th in my family is a bittersweet day. 2 years after the original 9/11 my Huggyband and I became engaged. Even now as others remember with sadness the events of that horrible day we celebrate the day we took a major step to becoming a family. I know ladies who gave birth on 9/11 and one who finalized the adoption of her child the same day. For us the day of great joy will always be tinged with just a little bit of guilt.
　
If you are very unlucky grief days happen on a specific holiday. Last year my Huggyband was diagnosed with cancer on Canadian Thanksgiving thank God he was un-diagnosed 2 days later. My brother died just before Christmas of last year; his remains reached home on Christmas Eve Day. Past Halloweens in my family have brought the loss of a job, the death of an aunt and an unfortunate accident that resulted in death.

I'm not sure what to do with those holidays. How to observe them. I wrestle with it as it's kind of a year by year thing. Do I want to do something for baby J's birth/death day? Or do I want the day to pass quietly, preferably with me just spending the day in bed? That changes day to day and even if I have a plan I reserve the right to change my mind at the very last minute. That would be a question worth asking publicly. How do you remember the birth and death days of a loved one? But I couldn't really ask it because society tells me that I must move on. I have HUGE issues about that one that I'll tell you about some day. It always seems these days should be marked somehow and I would feel guilty if I didn't do anything. The honest truth is that baby J won't care if I light a candle for him or not. So I guess the answer , like I"m sure most answers dealing with grief is to do what makes me feel good at the moment. Problem is that I don't always know what that is. As in touch with my feelings as I am, there are times when I don't have a clue what I want to do with those feelings.

"And even if the whole world has forgotten the song remembers when." It's a line in a Trisha Yearwood song that doesn't quite fit my context, but it's true. There are a lot of things that can trigger memories both good and bad. The stuff that takes you back to a specific time and place. Tastes, scents, sounds, songs. Songs that define that time and place. They make you experience it again. The good stuff like this song by Steven Curtis Chapman that always takes me back to a train in South Korea headed south through rice paddies:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2v-wZP6I3c. Songs that become the signature of a period in our lives or a relationship. "And we were singin............" They can just sum up a moment. When something happens to that relationship or person the song will still be associated with them but in a different context.
My friend C's memorial video included the line "don't you just hate it when they play a song at a funeral and it wrecks the song for you forever? Well don't worry I'm not going to wreck A song for you, I'm going to wreck a bunch of songs for you." As if that wasn't bad enough along comes this Toby Keith song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHZCAcSh7ls I miss you yesterday C as I watched the Olympic opening ceremonies from BC place. I remember being in the press box there with you in 7th grade when you did your best Howard Cosell narration of an imaginary game. I'll see you on the other side superstar. Until then I'll avoid the radio or at least that song...........

Sometimes remembering makes you sad.