Last Friday, I
had an experience I won't likely forget. My
friend Melanie & I went to Odyssey Healthcare,
a hospice organization, to take a training from our
friend Lorrie about how to work with hospice patients
as I go volunteer with them, doing StoryKeeper
work.
We started off with
several little pieces of paper in front of
me. She had me write 3 people I love (I wrote
Scott, Mom and Dad.) Then 3 things I cherish
(I wrote my home, my scrapbooks, and my new
car). Then 3 things I like to do (I put yoga,
singing, and running). Then 3 traits that I
like about myself (I put well-organized, compassionate
and brave).
I'm thinking to
myself "ooo, fun, I love
games!"
Then Lorrie began, "One morning,
you notice a lump. You go to the doctor and
your worst fear is confirmed: it's
cancer." And she asked me to rip up
3 of my little sheets of paper. I
picked my new car, running, and
well-organized. I figured those things
arent' going to be of much value or use to me
now!
I'm thinking to myself
"ok, this isn't a game. I
don't like this."
She continues... "It's now 4 months
later and the cancer is
getting worse. You have no choice
but to try chemo now. You feel
awful." And again, rip up 3 more
papers (the papers are seeming more
like valuables now). I chose my home, yoga,
and compassionate.
I
figure the time for being compassionate about
others is past. And all
that yoga did me no good, I still got cancer.
And I can live without my home, so long as I
have my loved ones, my memories (scrapbooks), and I am
brave enough to fight this cancer.
I'm thinking to myself "wow, this really
sucks." I have a lump in my throat
and I'm holding back tears.
She
goes on... "It's now 4 more months
later. The chemo didn't take, and it is
inevitable that you're not going to make it.
Hospice comes in to help make your last time more
comfortable." This time she
came over and chose which 3 to rip
up. She ripped up scrapbooks
("good thing I made time to create those when
I was healthy"), singing
("not gonna be doing much singing
now") and brave ("apparently
my bravery wasn't enough").
I realize that her taking the papers this time
signifies the lack of control that dying people have
over their lives. Sometimes they don't get
to die in peace in their home. Sometimes
their loved ones can't handle the emotion, and drop
out of their lives when they need them most.
Sometimes they can't sit up and enjoy the company that
comes to visit.
At this point,
I'm unabashedly crying. I don't care that
there's other people in the room, I can't help
it.
Now,
Lorrie has us write down 3 things we want
to do with the precious little time
we have left. I choose:
1. make sure my personal
life history is recorded
2. write
letters to my kids to be read at significant monuments
in their lives to come (graduation, wedding, first
child, etc.)
3. have my
family nearby doing anything
This was a poignant exercise for me, and brought
some things into focus that I hadn't realized
before.
With
Gramma
Torrey's passing last Decem
ber, I realized that I was trying so hard to
do all the right things. I called Gramma
often, I helped Mom make big
decisions, I helped arrange the travel plans
for me, Mom & Jeff, and I helped with the
funeral plans, and I made amends with Laurel after not
speaking for about a year. It was a big,
emotional time. Yet, I was so busy doing all
the good things I knew I needed to do and should do
that I don't think I ever really just grieved
Gramma's passing.
Sure, I cried at the
funeral. But on Friday, I really
grieved. I felt sad that I don't have her in
my life anymore. I felt sad that our society
is such that families don't live close
together anymore. I felt
guilty wondering if I did enough for
her. Did she leave this earth knowing I loved
her? Was there more I should've
done?
And then I thought about
those final "picks" that I
didn't rip up. If life was
coming to its end, the only things that matter are
family. All I wanted to keep was my
family.
If, heaven-forbid, I
died a premature death, would I leave
things on good terms with my family? That's
all that matters. Would Shadd
remember me as the mom who constantly nagged
him about his homework and church
responsibilities? Would Brendon feel all
alone in the world now, like it's him against Scott,
Shadd & Chance? Would Chance remember
me as the mom who said "not tonight"
to his request for a bedtime story more than
"glad to honey"? And would
Scott really mourn me, or would he put on
a strong happy face and never deal with the
pain of losing the only person who ever really believed
in him?
These are horrible
thoughts, that I wouldn't wish on
anyone. But then again, given the
soul-searching it's caused me to do,
perhaps I would wish it on EVERYone.
If you're reading this, go home today and be
a better spouse, a better parent, a better
child, a better grandchild.
I
know I will.
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