Goodbye for now

This past Sunday was my last day of work at Zen Hospice’s Guest House. In 3 weeks I start an accelerated nursing program and won’t be able to work for the 12 months of that BSN program. I’ve spent 3 and a half years at the Guest House giving bedside care to people at the end of their lives, first as a volunteer and then on the nursing staff as a CNA, 24-60 hours a week. It’s been the most fulfilling and profoundly meaningful time of my life. I feel such sadness that this chapter has ended but great excitement to be about to start the final stage of becoming an RN.  I found my home and my family at the Guest House unlike anywhere else. I’ll miss everyone dreadfully! This work has been such a deep blessing for me and it’s an honor to have been there for so many for their final breaths.

As hospice work is all about, I am loving, letting go and moving on with much gratitude.  Thank you for reading my stories.  (I might squeeze in one more before the semester starts…)


running and running to return

This trembling, slim stem of a girl, barely held together by her carefully just-applied makeup, could not move. She stood quaking, tears breaking through her lashes, clearly about to shatter – I saw that she simply could not enter the room of her dying aunt. I quickly put an arm around her and swooped her back down the stairs. We practically ran. Together, in sync. I could feel her vulnerability attaching her to me, surrendering in her overwhelming grief to my care and decisive motion.

I knew she needed to run away. I envisioned taking her hand and running out of the house with her, running up and down the hilly streets as far away and as fast as we could go. Running and running together until she could let go and cry it all out. And then we would return and walk calmly up the stairs and directly into the room of her dying aunt, flowers held firmly in her hand, ready.

Instead we just ran downstairs. I gave her a mug of tea and told her to take her time. I could see she was too fragile in that moment to be hugged; she disappeared into the bathroom.   When she emerged ready to try again, I walked with her, and she entered her aunt’s room clutching her flowers. Later, with few words, gratitude and understanding passed between us as we hugged goodbye.

But I often think of running her out of that house and through streets and fields, running fast and hard and far together, both of us crying out our sorrow, horror, fear and love. Until we were ready to return and face the worst with unwavering grace.

I just want to title everything I write about hospice work as “Loving and Letting Go.” Already used that title before though…

Still taking a break from formal published writing.  Here’s another rough, after-work ramble, no grammar corrections or editing (maybe I’ll get to that later):

Hospice work for me is being present, observing, attuning, attaching, loving, and then letting go.

One of the harder situations for me that I encounter at work happened this weekend. Giving intense care for the past 24 out of 48 hours to someone actively dying and their family – being very attuned, involved, intimate with them, witnessing the subtle changes of the body shutting down, and the love and grief of the family, tending to all of them. And then after this dense, meaningful time together my last shift of the weekend is over and it’s time to go home and I won’t be back for several days – knowing this person will probably die within hours. It’s so hard to leave, right at the end, I want to stay and continue my care until completion of this person’s life that I have been so intensely and uniquely involved in. I am attached to the dying person, to their family and to my co-workers in this warm cocoon of care that the Guest House is. But I let go, I say goodbye, many hugs and wet eyes and gratitude and well-wishes. And I hand off the baton to the next shift and walk out the door into the night.

Living and dying go on and on – it’s like a river I step in and out of – although of course it’s everywhere all the time, it’s all of us, but it is more explicit and raw and bare at hospice. I say this all the time but it is such deeply fulfilling work to be right in the heart of someone’s last time on earth. I meet them where they are and give them the best care I can and then they go. Impermanence in all its beauty, with all its warts, complete and incomplete, in process, over and over again.

Massive, rotting cancer wound and a still-lovely face, the complexity of family love around her; I understand this quote so well:
“Beauty is simply reality seen with the eyes of love.”

(Quote from Rabindranath Tagore.)

3 years

I’ve been at Zen Hospice Project’s Guest House for 3 years now. I’ve given direct care to about 120 people in their last weeks, days, hours, minutes of life. I’ve been bedside with 15 people as they took their final breath, and 2 or 3 times that number minutes or hours before and after their last breath.  I’ve bathed about 30 dead bodies. I’ve led about 15 death rituals.

There is the vomit, the diarrhea, the rotting wounds, the pain, the turmoil, the challenging family dynamics, the grief, the fear. And there is the love. The love, the love, the love. The tenderness, the intimacy, the humor, the beauty, the compassion, the transformation, the honesty, the radical acceptance, the profound human connection, and the love. It is an immense honor to be with it all. I am deeply nourished by this work.

I have always found meaningful work in the world, but never have I felt with such passion and clarity that I have found my calling as I do caring for people at the end of life. I am filled with gratitude.

Elton John and Kiki Dee

I’m taking a break from formal published writings – busy semester.  Here instead is an after work ramble-release:
The CD player in my car is old and broken, and the only way I can listen to music in my car is on the radio. So I could only blast 70s classic rock, pop and disco on the radio on my way home tonight after an intense day at work. There’s something so sublime about the random radio tune that I haven’t thought of in years, decades even, a song so cheesy and evocative of an era, a song so bad that it can only be appreciated, beyond irony, after a weekend of caring for a woman who’s had so much pain she had to be palliatively sedated and is actively dying and having seizures all day, hands, feet and mouth turning purple, and spending hours talking with a man unable to accept that he can no longer get out of bed and helping him try many times so he can feel for himself his new limitation, feeling his body shaking and unbalanced, feeling his frustration and despair and denial, and listening to the Threshold Choir sing achingly tender songs to a dying woman and her family, and tending to the other residents in their own mortal processes, and all the running up and down stairs, and my toes cramping from being on my feet all weekend… and then this song on the radio, me belting out more lyrics than I knew that I knew of this ridiculous song, and then the ecstasy of the release of the human dramas of the weekend, letting them go with each simplistic lyric I sing out in my raw and slightly off-key voice as I am stuck in traffic on the bridge, the fog in shifting shades of rose and gray being overtaken by the rising dark of night, feeling the gratitude to be of service to people in these harrowing final moments, feeling the beauty and grief and joy and love and acceptance of the full cycle of life – singing this song: