A way to go

For two weeks now, I have been the new Bereavement Services Coordinator for a hospice organization in Alaska. So far, it's going well. I had the privilege to have worked here this past summer while I was a resident. During that time, I served as the interim chaplain of sorts while they transitioned from one chaplain to another.

My job is to see to the bereavement (grief) needs of family and friends after our patients die. These services have many different forms; however, part of my job is spending time with and counseling those who are experiencing particularly complicated or at risk grief, and during these times I get to function basically as a chaplain (which i'm trained for).

The office is a good place to work. The organization is growing steadily, which means there's plenty of work to be done by all, includinga a 4-month back log in bereavement work that hasn't been done! (Job security for me, I guess.)

Recently, one of our patients died (I know, big surprise for a hospice organization), and the nurse thought the patient's wife needed a bit of extra support. So, I went to the house to spend some time and walk with her through, at least, her first bit of time grieving. But this blog is not about that time. It's about how he died.

I've been to a few different seminars or whatnot on death and dying. And to get into the perspective of a grieving person, presenters often have participants do certain exercises which engage our sense of loss. One exercise was to draw a picture of how we want to die. For the majority of people, the answer is similar. We want to die at home, in our bed, with our loved ones around us and without pain/suffering. (Consider trying this exercise yourself. Just answer the question: When you die, who, what, when, where and why?)

The night before this patient died, his elderly wife was trying to stay up to take care of everything, the busybody she is. But her husband, now bed bound, insisted she come to bed, because he sleeps better with her nearby. "He made sure to give me a hug, and he kissed me saying, 'Good night sweetheat,' like he always does," the wife told me through her shiny and watery eyes. He went to sleep and died during the night.

But his wife didn't realize. She got up and went about her morning routine, assuming her husband was sleeping in. Even their live-in care giver, when she peaked her head into the darkened room, thought the patient was sleeping peacefully. It wasn't until the nurse showed up to do her routine care that his death was discovered. The nurse said as soon as she turned on the light she knew from his coloring he'd been gone for several hours.

But, what a way to go? In bed next to his beloved sweetheart this man transitioned from this life to be with God the way most people want to do it--in bed, loved ones near, without pain, at home. Talk about a way to go.

I'm glad to be a part of an organization that helps provide people with a peaceful and dignified death. I've been present for numerous tragic, heart-wrenching and just plain ol' not-peaceful deaths in the ER that involve chest compressions loud noise, anxiety and pain without the presence of loved ones. It's nice to see the other side of the spectrum.