Mama and the Hospice Experience

Welcome to Service – The Action Form of Love

This week, I’m blogging about something many of us may never encounter. Frankly, until fairly recently, I didn’t think I’d get close enough to this program to really get to understand it.

I thought I would be lucky or blessed if our paths never crossed.

This week, I’m blogging about hospice.

You see, until about nine months ago, I thought hospice was only for people with a terminal illness. I presumed their function was to ease the sufferer’s pain and gently guide them from the transition from mortality to eternity.

Sometime around summer of 2008, my parents told me that mama’s doctor had set her up on in-home hospice. My initial reaction was one of alarm.

Why did mom need hospice, I asked? She wasn’t exactly healthy, but she didn’t have a terminal illness, either. True, she had been nearly homebound for several years, but that was because of her fibromyalgia and post-polio syndrome and age. She didn’t have cancer, had never had a stroke or a heart attack. I was flabbergasted that Dr. Jack would assign a hospice team to her.

Rachel, the hospice nurse, was a very kind, compassionate young lady. She was always gentle with mama and very understanding of all the questions my dad tossed at her. The one thing all of us wanted to know was why?

Why hospice? Why now?

To their credit, the doctor and Rachel patiently explained to us that hospice is not just a program for those expected to die right away. It’s also to help ensure people like mama are in a safe, secure and healthy environment.

Hospice doesn’t just help people die; it also to help people live.

Besides Rachel coming over and helping dad manage mama’s daily medications, there were others who came and helped her in other ways. One sweet young lady came three times a week to help mama get in and out of the shower. Others cooked and planned meals and helped with her physical therapy exercises.

According to the medical professionals who cared for mom, there are two phases to hospice care. The care mama received last year was the first phase – the phase that helped both my parents have a better quality of life.

The other phase, the part where hospice helps patient and family prepare for, accept and endure the death of their loved one came later for us.

Sometime just before Thanksgiving, 2008, dad called me on the phone. While we chatted he mentioned that, due to the family members enduring various financial difficulties, he was thinking of cancelling the family Christmas party. I told him I would go along with whatever the rest of the family decided. Later, he told me that mama had gotten quite upset with him.

He said that she heard him talking to me and my other siblings about not having the party and she burst into tears. When he asked what the matter was, she told him we had to have the Christmas party because this would likely be her last with us.

Now, I don’t know about you, and I’ll not try and make you believe as I do. But, I believe mama knew. She knew her time was at hand to shuffle off her mortal coil and join her other family members on the other side of the veil.

Two months later, in January of this year, I had forgotten all about that conversation. I kept feeling my cellphone vibrate in its holster. Ordinarily, I don’t answer my cell at work but the vibrating was so persistent I finally took a break to see who was trying to reach me.

It was my family.

Three siblings had been trying to call and text message me all day. When I finally called them back, I learned that mama was in the hospital, and they suspected a heart attack. They had run some tests that night and would have the results in the morning.

I was told that she should be okay, she looked and felt better, but they were keeping her overnight, just in case.

By the next day, things had taken a dramatic turn. Although it was confirmed that mama hadn’t suffered a heart attack, she somehow aspirated and began having a very difficult time breathing.

She had gotten worse, and had been moved to the Intensive Care Unit.

That morning, I called out from work and my wife dropped me off at the hospital front door. I went up to the ICU waiting room and found my siblings and dad sitting in the chairs against the wall. As I walked in, I remember thinking how strange it was to see dad and the kids all in one place, but without mama at his side.

Dad warned me that if I was going to go in and see her to be prepared. She didn’t look much like herself. She had tubes and wires and a respirator.

There wasn’t much more he could have done to warn me, and still it wasn’t enough.

When I went back through the ICU doors, I first went into the wrong room. There was a woman laying in a coma, and I thought, dad was right. That didn’t look like mom at all. A kind nurse came and directed me to the right room, but the sight wasn’t really any better. On the bed was my mama, but she sure didn’t look like her. The lady in the next room actually resembled her more.

Throughout the days my family and I spent there, most of us had the feeling that mama wouldn’t be going home with dad from this hospital trip. Some of us talked about it, but others pushed it back into the recesses of our minds, not wanting to acknowledge it.

From the first morning I was there until the fateful afternoon a week later, mama had been through some ups and downs. Sometimes we took hope that there was something the medical staff could fix, and other times, we thought she would die before the end of the day.

Throughout it all, dad stayed and hoped against hope he would be driving his wife of 61 years back home to recuperate. Though her prognosis indicated it would have taken six or more months just to get her back to the point she was before going to the hospital, dad was willing to make the sacrifice to stay by her side and care for her, even ignoring his own needs in the process.

For most of the day, he would stand at her bedside, crouched over; holding her limp hand while she slept, and while she was awake.

I think of anyone who didn’t want to believe it was the end, it was dad.

A couple of days before she died, my wife and I talked about what mom wanted. Did she want to keep fighting a losing battle, or did she want to just let go and go Home? That day, I went in and had a talk with her.

“Mama,” I said, “do you want to keep fighting?”

She looked at me with such love, I’m choking on tears now just writing about it. She managed a weak smile, and held up a shaky finger and said, “Maybe one more day.”

The next day, she went to sleep, and the nursing staff and chaplain helped dad to know it was time to let her go. I can only imagine how hard that was for him.

We made the decision to pull mama’s life support, and, as family spokesman, it was my responsibility to deliver that directive to mom’s doctor. Though I don’t feel the same way now, at that very moment, when I had to pick up the phone and let the ICU staff know, I felt like an executioner.

It was probably the worst day in my life, and I imagine, the toughest day dad and my siblings had ever experienced. We were sore and fatigued, emotionally, spiritually, mentally and physically. Though we had a full week for a wonderful family reunion, we all agree that it would have been much better under different circumstances.

And then, when our emotions just couldn’t get any rawer, Rachel showed up. While dad had told us he wanted to be with mama when she slipped away, he let Rachel take his place at her bedside.

We were all in the family waiting room when the life support was removed. We were spared having to watch her take her last breath and go Home.

Twenty or so minutes after the tubes, respirator and wires were removed, Rachel joined us in the waiting room. She was crying, and we knew.

She gently knelt down next to dad and told him mama was gone.

We all knew the news was coming. The day before she passed, my siblings and I were eating in the hospital cafeteria when my niece came down with a message from mom. She wanted us to finish our lunch, come back up to her room long enough to say a family prayer, and then she wanted us to close her door and let her go.

Still, knowing it was her time – knowing she was ready to go – it was a heartbreaking event. Not one of us wanted mama to leave, even though she’d spent the past several years in a damaged body with a slightly confused mind. On the other hand, we couldn’t bear the thought of her staying around just because we selfishly wanted our mom to be with us a little longer.

In retrospect, maybe mama knew something long before Thanksgiving. Maybe she told Dr. Jack something she didn’t share with us, and that’s why he ordered hospice. I really don’t have the answer, and it really doesn’t matter.

What does and did matter was that Rachel and the entire hospice team was there.

They were there to help mom and dad live, and they were there to help mom die. Most importantly, Rachel was there when we absolutely needed her the most.

All in all, mama’s death would have been so much harder to deal with if not for hospice.

So, your challenge today:

Find something you can do to help your local hospice team.

Can you donate money? They surely need and deserve every penny they can get.

Can you visit them and find out what they’re all about? Someday someone you love may need their services. I can tell you from our experience it was better to know what they were all about before the time came for mama to pass.

Do you know someone who works for a hospice? How about calling them and just telling them how brave you think they are for what they do?

I’ll leave it up to you and to your imagination to decide how you can serve.

Thank you for reading today’s post. Thank you for being willing to share it with others. Thank you for always remembering that…

Service is The Action Form of Love.

Standing By

Welcome back to my blog. It's so good to see you again!

I'd like to apologize in advance if some of my blog posts seem to dwell on the thoughts I have in the recent passing of my mama. She's been on my mind a lot, as have the people who loved her and spent time with her at the hospital last month.

One of those people, of course, is my dad.

Mom and dad were married almost 62 years at the time of her passing. They would have celebrated their 62nd wedding anniversary in the autumn of this year. Dad hung on to the hope that she would make it through the illness that landed her in the hospital, but it just wasn't the way things turned out.

Yet, even in the face of losing his sweet companion, he never left mama's side.

On many ocassions during the week mama spent in the Intensive Care Unit, one of us kids would go into her room and find dad hunched over the bed, her limp hand in his strong but gentle grasp. He would stand that way for hours on end.

We'd try to get him to take a break and go to the cafeteria for some nourishment, but he declined. Instead, he'd ask one of us to bring him a muffin or a drink to keep him going. We nearly had to beg him to go home at night so he could sleep and regain his strength for another day of standing at mama's bedside, holding her hand.

He knew she wasn't going to get better.

He knew she wasn't going to go home with him.

He knew he couldn't save her life.

Yet, there he was. Day after day after day, standing by her side.

There's a lesson in here for me, and perhaps for you, too. And that brings up today's challenge:

Stand by.

Do you have a friend, family member or someone else that just needs someone to stand by and hold their hand, either literally or figuratively?

Do you know someone who needs a friend to just stand by and listen to their problems, even if that means only listening and no solving?

Do you have a co-worker who needs someone to stand by them as they face difficult times? Maybe a layoff, reduction in pay, or survivor's guilt after watching others get laid off?

Can you be that person?

Can you be the person standing by to listen, strengthen, uplift and support?

Can you be the one they so desperately need in their corner, even when things seem helpless, hopeless and dark?

Can you?

I think you can.

Look around you - in all your relationships. Be aware of those you work with, live with, socialize with or go to school with. Be aware of the needs of individuals. Be sensitive to those who need you to stand by them.

And when you find that person, you know what to do.

Just stand by.

As always, thank you for reading today's post. I appreciate you. I hope and pray for you to find someone to stand by. Thank you also for sharing my words with others.

Truly, Service is the Action Form of Love.

Lessons from Mama's Passing

Welcome back. Late last year and early this year, life got in the way and I needed to take a leave of absence.

My mama had just turned 79 and one month to the day when she passed away on January 16, 2009.

From this experience, losing someone so incredibly important in my life, I learned some valuable service lessons. For today’s post, I’d like to share some of what I’ve learned.

When dealing with someone grieving and mourning, this is what helped me:

Listen.

I find myself talking about the most random memories of mama. It really helps when someone is willing to just listen.

Share.

If you have memories of the person I’m mourning, I love hearing those memories. This also encourages me to share.

Allow mourning time.

The one comment that shuts me down completely is “get over it”. How can I get over the death of this very special person in a specified period of time? I can’t and I won’t. My mourning will take as long as it takes.

Don’t worry about the “right” thing to say.

In the ICU, at the funeral and later, many people told me they wished they knew what to say. Just the fact that you said that lets me know you care, and it’s a lot more appreciated than saying nothing at all. Though it may not be true, saying nothing can give the appearance that you don’t care.

Be a Peacemaker.

When faced with the passing of a loved one, how sad is it that survivors fight and bicker over material possessions? Be willing to share, find ways to get along and be thoughtful of the others in the situation. Remember, you’re not the only one feeling the loss, and as for material possessions, well, you can’t take it with you.

Thank you for being willing to read today’s post. Thank you for being willing to be kind and thoughtful of others, despite the circumstances. Thank you for being willing to share my words with others by posting, linking, stumbling and forwarding.

Thank you for being you.

And remember, Service is the Action Form of Love

Being Remembered

Welcome to Wednesday.

Let’s talk about death. Let’s talk about our own mortalilty.

Not a pleasant topic for some, but I hope to talk about it in a way that will make it a more positive experience.

Many of us have regrets that we didn’t tell a loved one how we felt about them before they passed.

I talked about that in a recent blog post: http://serviceafol.blogspot.com/2008/10/tell-them.html

So, now that we’ve talked about telling our loved ones how we feel about them – telling them we love and appreciate them before they leave us, let’s talk about our own life and death.

Think of someone you love who has passed on. Could be a family member, friend or co-worker.

What do you remember about them?

Were they friendly?

Did they make you feel welcomed into their homes and lives?

Did they make you smile?

Did they leave you wondering how they felt about you?

Did they have a mean streak that made it difficult for you to mourn their passing?

All valid questions.

My brother Mark passed a few years ago. In fact, we’re approaching the anniversary of his transition – from shuffling of his mortal coil to stepping through the veil to his new home in the Spirit World.

For years prior to that memorable day, we siblings hadn’t exactly been close.

I can’t say that we had been fighting or anything like that, but we certainly could have been closer.

Each of us (my mother bore eight children) had gone off into our own corner of adulthood. Most of us worked, few of us communicated with each other.

Oh, sure, there was the occasional family Christmas party where we were all in one place at one time, and there were various groups getting together for Thanksgiving dinner, but that was about it.

We rarely made it a point to gather and just be with one another.

When Mark slipped into a coma in the intensive care unit, we, his siblings finally got it together. One of our own was down and we dropped everything that didn’t matter and held vigil with him.

Of course, there were lots of tears and prayers, and lots of laughter, too. In fact, I remember promising Mark that I would do all I could to make his passing a celebration and not a time of desperation and depression.

So far, I’ve been true to that promise.

When the time came for him to pass, the kind medical staff in ICU brought him out of his coma so we could explain to him what was happening. His best friend Shirley had the very difficult task of telling her dear chum that he truly was at the end of his mortal journey.

Then, in groups and in pairs and later one-by-one, we all said our goodbyes.

We left the hospital, and we left my brother in care of another of his friends.

They removed his respirator and feeding tube.

On the morning of December 31st, 2005, I awoke with a strange, peaceful feeling. I remember waking up almost shouting: “Hello!”

And with that, I knew he was gone.

Even now, I find it strange that I told him hello instead of goodbye.

At his funeral, during a sort of open mike time where we invited those not on the program to say a few words, one of Mark’s friends shared something incredible with us.

It’s something I’ll never forget. It was a wake up call to all of us as Mark’s siblings.

She told us that Mark had often talked about a rift between his brothers and sisters. He talked a lot about wanting to be able to bring us together. That was his wish, his hope and his dream.

He fretted often about us and wondered how he could finally rejoin us in some meaningful and lasting way.

In his illness and death, he did just that.

So, what do I remember about my brother in his passing?

He healed wounds.

He calmed troubled hearts.

He reunited us.

He brought his brothers and sisters back to a point where we now understand, more than ever before, what really matters in life.

We matter.

To each other.

We know now what it’s like to lose one of our own. We certainly sailed through uncharted territory and survived intact, though one of our own is now mortally absent (though we often feel his spirit with us, especially in trying times).

We know now that a quick call to say “hello!” is important, even if it means forgoing lunch or being late to a meeting.

We know how very important it is to say “I love you” at the end of every phone call. When we see each other in person, we rush to embrace each other, and we don’t leave without another hug.

We know.

Recently, I asked some friends (tweets from Twitter) what they want to be remembered for when their time comes to leave this frail mortal life.

I’m posting their responses at the end of today’s challenge – so let’s get to the challenge first:

Think about your own funeral. Think about your friends, family, acquaintances and co-workers filing by your family.

What will they say? How will they feel?

What will they tell your surviving family members they remember most about you?

Will they say you were friendly?

Will they say you made them feel welcomed into your home and life?

Did you make them smile?

Did you make them feel valued as a person, as an individual and as a fellow human being?

Will they say you loved life?

Will they say you took time for them, despite their challenging schedules and meetings and such? Will they say that when you were there, you were really there for them?

If your answer is yes, then I’d say you’ve passed today’s challenge.

But if your answer is no to any of the above questions, what can you do today – right now – to change their perception of you?

Can you be a little kinder today?

Can you be a little gentler?

Can you call someone just to see how they’re doing?

Can you write an email or a note to tell them how much they mean to you?

When you’re exasperated with someone you love, can you still smile and hug them and tell them they mean the world to you and you don’t know what you’d do without them?

Can you?

I think you can.

Live today as if you knew with absolute certainty that you would be stepping through the veil tomorrow.

Live today so that your actions and your words uplift and inspire others, especially those closest to you.

Live today so that those closest to you will never, ever wonder if you really loved them or if they were just words tumbling out of your mouth out of duty or obligation.

Live today.

Love today.

Don’t be afraid to tell them.

Thank you so much for reading today, and for taking today’s challenge.

I very much appreciate you.

I know you’ve stumbled my blog. I know you’ve retweeted my posts. I know that you’ve helped spread the word with dig and other tools.

I appreciate that so much. One by one, you and I can really help transform the world into a more loving place, into a Heaven on Earth.

As promised, here are the comments I got from my Twitter friends about what they most want to be remembered for when they pass on.

The question I asked was:

When you die, what do you want people to remember about you?

pattih05k i want to be remembered as a mother who loved to sing and act and loved sunrises & sunsets.

jantallent seriously, that I was half the mom my Mom is and 1/10th as perfect a Grandma as MINE was

triplej2676 i want to be remembered as kind, honest and funny. i'd like to be remembered as someone who made people laugh.

TamiDePalma When she was with you she was really WITH you. She lived unconditional love.

teejerx: as someone gentle and kind, a good brother and friend, and someone who was there to listen and help.

Deb_Andersen I want to be remembered as Caring and Giving of myself :) I try to think of others when considering my actions!

northpolemama that I was always true to my heart and i never let life pass me by

isequeira I want ppl to remember that I was fun to hang around and genuniely cared for them (& my kids to remember I spent a lot on life insurance)

PRsarahevans that I ran unabashadly free through this one life, without fear; believed in abundance; expected the unexpected; lived

How would you answer? Feel free to comment!

And what I want people to say about me when I go?

“He had kind eyes and a gentle manner. He served others.”

Remember, Service is the Action Form of Love!

James

Tell Them

Welcome to Monday

Most of us don’t know when we’re going to be called Home by that God who gave us life. For either you or me, it could be today or twenty years from now.

We just don’t know.

Have you ever lost someone and regretted not being able to really tell them how you feel about them?

I’ve been there.
I suspect you have, too. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

So, here’s today’s challenge:

Pick one person in your life (family, coworker, neighbor – whoever) and tell them how you feel about them.

Tell them why they make you feel good.

Tell them why they make you smile.

Tell them why you’d miss them if either of you were to be separated.

Tell them you appreciate/like/love them.

If you happen to get called Home soon, don’t make them wonder how you really feel about them.
Tell them.

Today.

I appreciate you.

Thank you so much for reading and taking today’s challenge.

Please pass it on.

Remember, Service is the Action Form of Love!

James

Do They Know?

Welcome to Tuesday.

Short post today, as I realize you probably have a lot to do, including reading other people’s blogs.

I’ll get right to the daily challenge, after a brief background sketch.

On December 31, 2005, my older brother, Mark passed away after a brief illness. He came out of his coma long enough for us to tell him that we loved him, and say goodbye.

I am so very grateful it worked out that way for us. But, often, death steals our loved ones away suddenly – without warning – and all too often, we have neither said a proper goodbye, nor told them how we feel about them.

And now, with my older sister in the hospital and not getting better from a very serious illness, this challenge means all the more to me.

Here it is:

Think of 2 – 5 people in your life you dearly love.

Call them.

Tell them how much you mean to them.

No, don’t wait til tomorrow. There will be a new challenge tomorrow!

Okay, well, if you can’t reach them today, I suppose you can do it tomorrow – but no later.

And then, make it a point to let them know once in awhile that you love them, like them, admire them, are grateful for them. Just don’t let them wonder. Self-forgiveness is so difficult when you know you had the chance but didn’t take it.

Thanks for taking my challenge.

I want you to know how much I appreciate you! Please pass this on.

James