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When I first started volunteering in a residential hospice 15 years ago, most people I encountered had never even heard of a hospice. When I told them it was a place that provided end of life care for dying patients and their families, they looked at me with a strange combination of horror and disbelief.

“You must be a saint!” people would say, stepping back slightly to avoid the glare from my halo. “I could NEVER do what you do,” they would add, though they actually had no idea what I did.

“Don’t you find it depressing?” was their closing question, perhaps their way of explaining why they could never take my place.

“Actually, it’s the most hopeful part of my week,” I would say, ready to offer an explanation to the questions that never came.

Fifteen years later, people are still a little surprised when I say I volunteer in a hospice. But instead of distancing themselves by putting me on a saintly pedestal, more often than not they ask me what exactly what a hospice volunteer does. They listen with interest as I describe a typical shift, which can involve everything from helping to give a bed bad to making poached eggs and toast, brewing pots of Tim Horton’s coffee, and listening to a grieving family member anticipating the loss of her sister.

Our work is both hands-on and open-hearted, I explain. I’m a short-order chief cook and bottle washer, a hand holder, and a singer of hymns. I’m a listener and a tour guide, a companion, and a witness. And I never know which among those roles I’ll play on any given day.

More often than not, people listen intently as I explain the nature of our work. While some still assure me that they could never do what I do, many say they might think of doing something like this, once they have the time.

I like to think that my being a hospice volunteer – and talking and writing about my work – is playing a small part in opening up discussions about death and dying in my community and beyond. Certainly I encounter more and more like-minded people on Facebook, at community gatherings, even at the movies. I believe that we are opening up essential conversations about how we want to live our lives and how we would like to approach our deaths.

As always, I’d love to hear what readers think about my writing here – I hope if you find it meaningful, you’ll share this blog with others, through your social media connections and elsewhere. I hope you’ll join me in these essential conversations about living and dying.

Today is March 8th, International Women’s Day. So it seems appropriate to share this article about Dame Cicely Saunders, the founder of St. Christopher’s House in London and a pioneer in the modern hospice movement. Many people involved in hospice palliative care work in Canada and elsewhere were inspired by her work and her life. Dr. Balfour Mount (the Montreal physician who established the first palliative care unit and coined the term palliative care) and Dr. John Seely (a champion of palliative care in Ottawa and friend and colleague of Dr. Mount) both visited Cicely Saunders in London and saw first hand the importance of her work.

So today, I am grateful for Dame Cicely Saunders and the many many women who came before us, who paged the way for our work today, and shone a light on the possibilities of the future.

http://endoflifestudies.academicblogs.co.uk/celebrating-the-life-of-cicely-saunders-on-international-womens-day-by-david-clark/

 

While the Hollywood image of dying often features a loving family gathering around the deathbed, life often presents a very different reality. In a chapter in my book – entitled “One Big Happy Family” – I talk about some of the challenges families may face at this difficult time. I often say that each of us, when the faced of a parent, becomes an exaggerated version of ourselves with both our best and worst characteristics showing up in spades. As well, conflicts that might have occurred decades before may resurface as siblings vie for attention and recognition.

End of Life University

What do you do when a family (your own or a patient’s) is crumbling due to unhealed resentments and irreconcilable differences? Find out now.

conflictpodcast

In today’s episode I’ll share my best tips for helping families move through conflict toward resolution during stressful times like the death of a loved one. I’ve had lots of experience with this work during my years as a hospice doctor so be prepared for a longer-than-usual episode!

Announcements:

slide01My new course Step-by-Step Roadmap for End-of-Life Planning is almost ready for release (just a few days away as I record this!) The course is simple yet comprehensive and will help you examine your mindset, values, beliefs, and fears about death before you make decisions about your end-of-life healthcare. Go to eoluniversity.com/roadmap to learn more and sign up to be notified as soon as the course is released.

Sponsorship:

supportonpatreon-e1412764908776This podcast is sponsored through the EOLU donation page…

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http://www.pallimed.org/2017/01/the-dying-dont-need-your-permission-to.html

A couple of weeks ago, I came across this article by hospice social worker, Lizzy Miles. She’s also a blogger, writer, and credited with bringing the first Death Cafe to the United States. This article challenges the widely held view that we should tell a person who is near death that “it’s OK to go.”

As a hospice volunteer for many years, I’ve often heard that advice given to family members and I know that I’ve offered it on a few occasions.

The first person I said those words to was my sister Carol. She was very near death and I was sitting at her bedside, singing softly, holding her hand, speaking quietly. “You’re safe now,” I told her over and over. “It’s OK to go.”

I was operating on instinct more than anything I remember being told.  It just felt right. She’d had such a long struggle, filled with pain and near constant nausea. She was safe now, at the hospital (though she had never wanted to be there), with me by her side as she’d wanted.

And much as I never wanted to let her go, I knew it was time. All the possibilities for a cure had been exhausted. Every remedy for pain relief had been tried. It felt like it was time to let her go. I told her I loved her, that she would always be in my heart, and, hardest of all, that I would be OK. The last thing felt like the farthest thing from anything I felt. I felt like I would never be OK, that I would never get over losing her. Yet, I knew in my heart that I had to tell her I would be alright after she died. That we would all be OK. And I had to let her go.

Recently a family member asked me if she should tell her father it was alright for him to die. She told me her mother had asked her to say that, believing that her father was holding on for her. “What do you think?” she asked me. “Should I tell him?”

I had just read the article a few days before and Lizzy Miles’ advice was fresh in my mind. Still I could hear the daughter’s suffering and I wanted to respond.

After a long minute of silence I said, “I think there does come a time when we need to let go. When we need to reassure the person we love that we’ll be OK, even though we don’t feel like that right now. I think they might need to hear that we’ll be OK, even though our hearts may be broken.”

I don’t know what she told her father, though I know she seemed comforted by my words.

In this world there is so much we can never know. Before my sister died, I called myself the least spiritual person I knew. I almost bragged about it. After she died, I began to speak of death as a mystery, the incomprehensible space between life and no life. My years at hospice have only strengthened that belief in the mystery of life and death.

I speak less now. I listen more. And I grow more at ease with not knowing.

http://passing-on.org/

I just found this PBS film narrated by Scott Simon on dying (primarily in America, but relevant to all). It includes some excellent resources as well.

 

Eulogies

I just came across this fascinating article about eulogies – writing them, delivering them, and revisiting them years later. My father was the family eulogizer and I heard him deliver several during his lifetime. After his death, my sisters chose me as the one to write the eulogy – something I had done for my sister 8 years before. When my mother died a year after my father, once again I stepped up to the plate. 

I’m a writer so it makes sense that I should assume this role. But eulogies are without the most difficult pieces I’ve written. Many crumpled pieces of paper on the floor! Lots of hair pulling and tears. I’m proud of the eulogies I’ve delivered. But I’m in no hurry to deliver another one!

Check out this article from Modern Loss. 

http://modernloss.com/the-eulogist-navigating-grief-through-narrative/

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