Tag Archives: death

In the Waiting Room

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I have always been a writer. The hobby started as a child and was something my mom encouraged. She was big on documentation. I certainly believed that after she died, and I inherited all the paperwork detailing things in her long life. The paper paraphernalia weren’t always appreciated, but after she left us, those writings became more precious.

My documentation started as a diary in my early youth, in my middle years journaling, and finally as an older adult, a column called Something About Nothing in the Albert Lea Tribune. That was I think, a twelve year gig. Technology changed from writing a column to this blog.

Recently I began looking back through my journals and they were helpful in reviewing my life, bringing back memories and seeing where I have grown, and where I have been stuck. Writing and journaling has always been a way to get my feelings out and to process them, many times letting of what I was upset about because I released it in word on paper without exploding at anyone. The times I didn’t journal are the moments I wrongly exploded at people including my husband and children.

Since our life with Alzheimer’s has begun I have shared with you the ups and downs. I’ve laid bare my feelings and emotions risking the backlash and disapproval of some. It was my way of coping and as I have received wisdom from others writings I wanted to share my experiences to let readers know they are not alone. I have heard from so many of you the life path we share. We have a choice to stay private or to put our hearts out there for all to see.

Thinking back to the times I’ve sat by bedsides of my family, and those acquaintances in the nursing home where it was at one time my job to comfort people in their last hours, I believe it never gets easier no matter how frequent you’ve been in that last waiting room with someone.

Each person’s last journey is different, which makes your own experience unique. It impacts wives, children and friends in separate ways, though they are with the same person. If each person at a bedside sat down and wrote their feelings each perspective would not be the same.

The waiting room. Minutes and seconds tick off on the clock. The first person whose death I witnessed was my cousin Ervin. He was in the hospital and we came to visit. My aunt, his mother, and also his wife were there. He took a quick turn for the worse and we knew he would go to a better place soon. My aunt asked if my husband and I would stay with them. I wanted to run out of the room and go home but felt we had to stay. I had never seen anyone die before and I was scared of my reaction, and instead of being a comfort, I would be a problem. I need not have worried. I held it together and kept my aunt close and my cousins death was peaceful.

A few years later my mom called me to be with my uncle, my dad’s brother. My mom left and he got worse. I was left with the choice of life support. I knew he didn’t want that and he had lived his life. I was there when he too left this earth.

There have been other occasions to sit with my loved ones on a final journey. It is never easy. It is never the same. It is never where I want to be. Yet, I have felt the presence of God. I have felt the presence of angels or messengers or whatever you want to call them and have seen the faces of my loved ones smile in welcome. Sometimes the waiting room lasts for weeks, or it might be hours or days. It is never easy but it is what you do for someone you love

That isn’t always the experience of everyone but that has been mine. My mother had a glowing smile on her face while she was in the waiting room. I asked her what she was smiling about and she answered, “Because I’m going to see your dad, my mom and dad and my brothers soon.”

Those words gave me peace. I don’t pretend to understand what happens while our loved ones are in the waiting room. And I have no explanation why some leave this earth easy and why some have to struggle so much.

Life is full of puzzles. When serious things are happening our emotions can get jumbled. We don’t see things clearly. All we can do is wait for the outcome no matter the situation. We can’t see the forest for the trees. We begin our life in the waiting room waiting to be born. And we occasionally end our life in the waiting room too.

For me sharing the journey through journaling and writing helps me sort out all those confusing moments preparing us for the next journey, or the waiting room where we can be silent and find our next path.

The Test of Time

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Joe wheeled up to the table each night in his motorized wheelchair. He always moved at a fast pace. I and the other residents sitting on the opposite side of the table would grab our dishes, because occasionally he cruised into the table sending things flying. Joe always smiled and chuckled when that happened, with an excuse that he knew we wouldn’t believe.

Joe

Most of us sitting around the table and in the independent and assisted living where we lived told stories of home. In our hearts we wished we could be back there. Joe was no different, but he had accepted assisted living was where he needed to be. His outgoing personality and witty remarks lit up the place.

I remember one conversation about moving away from where he lived his life. Joe said he missed his home in a neighboring town but there was nothing left for him there. All his friends were dead. There was sadness in his voice as he remembered those he shared his life and memories with.

Joe died a few months ago but I’ll never forget him or that conversation. When we’re young, death hits us, especially if it is a close friend or relative. I know it did me, but as I grow older I understand more the repercussions it has on those of us that are up there in age.

Many years ago, right after my husband and I were married, I noticed that whenever my mother-in-law picked up the paper she immediately turned to the obituaries. I thought it was kind of morbid, but at the time she told me it was because she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss sending a sympathy card or attending a funeral of friends that died.

Joe’s statement and my mother-in-laws words come back to me while pondering grief. I now understand. At our age friends and family leave us frequently for their heavenly home, sometimes numerous times a week. There’s more to it than mourning the person who was a part of our life for most of our years. It’s not having that person to talk to that shares your history. Each person shares a unique part of us that no one else can claim. Conversations, experiences good and bad, might only be shared with one or two people.

The other day I thought about the video of a unique funeral given for my cousin, Charlie, when he died. He used to take his four wheeler and travel in the mountain paths near his home in Northern California. That’s where they held his funeral, amongst the mountains and grasses and flowers high up in a place he loved. I wanted to share my thoughts with my cousin, Martha. She and I had watched the videotape together the first time. But Martha is having a conversation in heaven with Charlie along with all my other first cousins on my dad’s side. I can’t share my memories of those California times with anyone else that shared them with me.

A photo took me back to a memory of my high school years. Karen was one of my best friends in grade school and high school and beyond. Karen died when she was 39 and I still miss her, and I miss our conversations about our high school adventures. I could relate them to others but they wouldn’t get it because they weren’t there.

I asked my sister by another mother, Mary, if she wanted to come back and be my date at my next class reunion. Though she graduated a year after I did, we shared many of the same friends. It would be 55 years for me. Mary pointed out that the people she and I created most of our memories with were probably having their reunion in heaven.

My point? We mourn those we lose: family members, friends and acquaintances, but there is so much more under the grief. We also mourn the loss of someone who shared experiences, high points and low points of our lives. There is something sacred in being able to go down memory lane with a friend, or a family member, who are the only ones that share that same memory. Memories of the past that can’t be shared with your special person anymore leaves one feeling lonely. When you get to be the age I and many others are, there are more that shared your history who are gone than are alive.

Like Joe, we realize our tribe is getting smaller. I have a hunch when you hear that an older person is lonely and you encourage them to get out more, or participate more, that the loneliness is on a deeper level. We can be in a crowd of people, enjoying ourselves, making new friends, but yet there is deep loneliness that shares a place in the heart with heartfelt memories. It is a loneliness that can’t be replaced with activity, new friends or even a beautiful attitude. It is the loneliness of memories we can’t share with the ones that helped us create those past moments.

I sometimes get lonely when listening to music of my past because I remember where I was and who I was with when the music played. Yet, I also smile, sing and am thankful for who I got to share my past with. It’s a catch-22 moment and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

I haven’t quite accepted this is where I am in my life. As I made out sympathy cards this morning, too many for one week, these thoughts whirled about in my mind. I know I’m not alone. It’s the passage of time and it goes fast.

It takes a long time as the saying goes, to grow old friends. The people we now meet will become friends but we’ll share a new, shorter history. It doesn’t mean they are less important in our lives, but that we don’t have the years left to build a long history.

Recently I was watching a tv interview after a tragedy, and the person being interviewed said, “If I had known that would be the last time I would be talking to him I might have taken more time to talk.” Sadly we all feel that way at some point. And it also scares us. The fragility in our lives.

I take comfort in a memory that happened while my mother was in her last days. She was smiling the biggest smile ever. Her attention was on a corner of the room. My mom was the last of her family, her five brothers preceding her in death. I asked her why she was smiling and she said, “Because I am going to see my mom and dad and my brothers soon.” The memory of the moment gives me comfort that she knew and saw something we didn’t.

There is a thankfulness in our memories even while we feel the loneliness from those we lost. We have lived, made the memories, and met and shared lives with those old friends, and because of what we shared we have been blessed in our lives on our road to becoming senior saints as they call us older folks in my church.

“The thing is, when you see your old friends, you come face to face with yourself. I run into someone I’ve known for 40 to 50 years and they’re old. And I suddenly realize I’m old. It comes as an enormous shock to me.

~~Polly Bergan

To Mask or Not To Mask That Is The Question

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That really wasn’t what I wanted to title this post but I thought it was nicer and kinder than what I wanted to name it. There are days I get tired of trying to be nice and tolerant and…see both sides of the coin and I can feel my angst getting there.

Social media is a hotbed of discussion on the wearing of masks and also whether we should open up again in the midst of this pandemic. We will get to some of those views later.

First I want to state I so feel for those without jobs right now. I do think we need to reopen but I feel to be safe we need to have some guidelines in place, and that is where the crux of the heated discussions come in.

Let’s tackle the death count first. There are those of you that think this is all a conspiracy. I have heard and seen the posts that the majority of those dying are in nursing homes so the rest of us are safe, and it is no worse then the flu. Nursing homes always have high death rates from the flu.

I wanted to title this column “Save the Babies, Kill the Old People” because some of the same people that are saying it’s ok to let the old people die are the same ones who would go to any lengths to save the babies. I think they both should be saved.

Does the normal flu kill those in nursing homes at a higher rate. I don’t know, but this pandemic does. When is the last time you heard of 47 people in one nursing home dying within days of each other and with some staff dying too? My mother died in 2002 in a nursing home. She caught a virus or bug. Probably Pneumonia. We sat with her the first few days and then we became sick, staying that way for weeks. My son took over the bedside holding of hands but in the actual time of her death, she was alone. When they called me to come at the final moments I was too sick to get out of bed. Not only did she die, days later her roommate died. But in no way did high numbers die.

The nursing home did an excellent job of taking care of her but nursing homes are not equipped for outbreaks of the flu or viruses. With Covid-19 if the same patients were in a hospital the people attending to them would be suited up with heavy safety measures. Nursing homes do not have this safety equipment and the aides and nurses that work there aren’t provided with the protection either. But those people that all of you are giving excuses as good reasons why they are dying from this virus in their homes, in an congregate living facility, are someones mother, father, grandfather, grandmother, sister, brother or friend. Some are there because they are in their 80’s and 90’s and can no longer take care of themselves. Some are there because they have a disabling disease and are young and need care. Others are recuperating for a short time until they are well enough to go home. To dismiss this as being acceptable that their life can be ended because of their age is disgraceful. How do you think they caught that virus? Someone from the outside came in and gave it to them. That could have been you.

Now let’s get to the masks. I am coming to the conclusion that we may be a selfish society born of wealth and good living because we don’t want to take the time to do something that may or may not protect someone else. “I am not going to do it because it doesn’t benefit me. I am not going to do it because it doesn’t help. I am not going to do it because it makes me uncomfortable.” I get some of this. I am still that selfish person that may hide a cookie from you if it is the only one left or maybe want to hide my toilet paper. I get that because in my younger days it was more about me than anyone else, but hopefully age has brought to me the bigger picture.

The discussion I have been a part of is about businesses requiring customers and personnel to wear masks. It seems in small communities that have little confirmed cases, people and businesses are ignoring the safety of masks, maybe getting too comfortable in the “it can’t happen here” thinking. There is so much blah, blah, blah out there about it, some fabricated by self appointed guru’s that do not have any credible facts. Other facts come out of places like clinics and government agencies, but people are not believing the doctors and nurses on the front lines. Maybe we just can’t handle the actual truth or it would be too horrifying so we deem it as fake news.

Myself, I don’t like the masks but I will wear one. I learned the value of masks when I had friends who were ill and were going through cancer treatment. We wore masks to protect them. To me it is small thing to wear a mask. If it works to protect one person it is worth it. If I owned a small business I would have my employees wear masks, not only to protect them, but to protect my business from a lawsuit if an employee would get sick or a customer would get infected in my store. It is a small thing in the scheme of life to do. I don’t do it because the government orders me to. I do it because of my friends who are on the front lines in New York City, or my doctor friend in Sioux Falls, or my friend in British Columbia who is in quarantine from being exposed, or my American friends in China who know the value of masks and want to come home to the states to visit their family one day ,or my grandchildren that work in food service and are still working.

I will choose to shop in those stores that protect their workers or try to protect their workers. At least they are trying and the more we do that, the more people will get back to work. To me it is not acceptable to have so many food plant workers sick and dying because of this virus. To me it is not acceptable to have the elderly dismissed because they no longer seem to be a productive part of our society. Remember someday that might be you.

These are my thoughts, my opinion and any derogatory comments will be deleted. I value an opinion if it is provided respectfully and I will respect it too.

By the way, I have no credentials except that of being a writer and that is what I do, I write. So take my opinion or leave it. Your life and your opinion is in your hands.