Tag Archives: death

Hats of many colors

I wear a lot of hats in my work life. Three of them are braided together for maximum service. I am a non-medical caregiver/companion. I am a commissioned lay chaplain. I am a Death Doula.

During the course of my relationship with my clients, I learn their quirks, their wants, needs, and their humor. I get to witness their family dynamics working and sometimes dysfunctional. I see them at their most vulnerable. I bathe them, change soiled clothing, help them maintain mobility, and because of and despite the messiness of aging, I fall in love with them and their lives.

As a lay chaplain, I feel comfortable and confident speaking to them about difficult topics such as death, dying, and how they want/need things to go as the reason for hiring me becomes more intrusive on their physical and therefore spiritual journey. I help them articulate what’s most important to and in their lives. To me, it feels holy.

As a Death Doula, I work in tandem with hospice. I help the families and my clients to understand what is happening, what is likely to happen, and insure the end of life is as smooth and comfortable as possible. I sing to my people. I read to my people. I hold vigil and space in silence. This feels sacred to me.

When my person dies, my love does not. Although I make myself available, families often go the way of the winds after my purpose with their loved ones has been fulfilled. The anchor has been lost and they drift away into their new normal. It’s not my favorite part of what I do, but I understand that vulnerability is not comfortable and I’ve witnessed them being so.

This past week I’ve lost two people I loved, cherished, and cared for. I’m currently serving a third. It’s hard. It hurts. It’s living and loving grief in a complex respect and surrender. I don’t have all the answers but I’m good at what I do.

As an accused angel in a meat suit, I will continue to serve, adapt, grow, learn, and embrace my own inevitable death because that breathes life into my soul. This is my happiness and my calling. It is my honor to walk my people home.

Remind Me

I’ll kiss you good night 

Holding you tightly in my heart;

But only if you’ll return.

In the dawning hours,

Brighten the sky

Like you did upon entering a room

At midday remind me

Again of your voice

As a bird lingering in a nearby tree. 

At supper, with the table set,

Join me as the clinking clatter

Of silverware and glasses 

Savoring the living moment.

And at dusk, as clouds draw dark,

Cleanse me with your tears

Shed as fluid reminders

That my love was not in vain

But returned tenfold even still.

Feels

I want to feel what I feel

I don’t want to be told:

It’s for the best

It’s gods plan

Snap out of it

Or insidiously

Get over it

I need to feel what I feel

The well wishers are wrong

Sometimes insensitive

To my patchwork heart

Whose whole is filled with holes

I know change has come

I know, eventually,

I, too, will change.

While I’m here in this moment

So different from what I knew

(Took for granted)

I require feeling what I feel

Without excuses or platitudes.

I am human.

I want to feel what I feel right now.

Strange Headspace

Speaking words of comfort

for a man I never met

to people I didn’t know

Committing his eternal soul

to an unknown God

My phone providing a 21 gun salute

then Taps to honor the Marine

I read Seneca

while breathing clouds of wisdom

into the icy air

As I stood next to the vault

I realized I was standing by myself

Watching myself

Disjointed, disassociated, but grounded

like him.

How high the darkness

How high do we go in the dark?
Or is it always down?
The depths of anguish
Deep depression
Heavy grieving
What if the darkness is merely a threshold?
A catalyst for changes that must happen?
A step that isn’t there
To support our heart-stopping air
A shift in vision of what was to be
To what is in this moment
Chastised for arriving at rejection’s door
Huddled in the clothing of innocence
The wailing lamentations of a heart
Breaking open to possibilities not yet named
Climbing out of the pit of despair
To observe the mountainous task
Unasked for
Recognized at last, not as a destination location
But a roadside attraction, a must see,
With the oddest of bedfellows
Now clothed in the light of new understanding.

A Pilgrimage

Death offers the warm embrace of peace
A loving homage to the newly deceased
Life used to stay busy; feel overly productive
The spiral of drowsing is overwhelmingly seductive
No more errands or things to do
No more arguments of personal truth
With warmest lust on the coldest skin
An allegiance unfurls with the shifting winds
What was once taken for granted truly is sated
The breath comes no more from the body related
And yet as a witness to the dearly departed
A journey, a pilgrimage, a trail never charted
Speculation like specters gather for court
Dressed in saint’s clothing, suspended transport
the breathing world is holding hands with Death
leaving lamentations from the loved ones bereft

Blooming Pebbles

Each breath is a step towards Death

Yet we take for granted the breath

not the inevitable destination.

Remembering to breathe is acknowledging life

It is the act of inflating our lungs

with air that has formed words

of love

of hate

of anger and grief

Exhaling out our life’s resistance

to succumb to a fate

written finitely on the pebble

which blooms as our gravestones

in our final hour of mortal coil.

Campfire confessions

Grounding one’s heart
on the hearth of a campfire
recommitting branched souls to dust
smoldering with barely seen confessions
blazing with a lust to remain relevant
extinguished by time
returned to the mother

Rejuvenation

A walk in the wild wood timber
When the leaves have all blown down
The wintery wind whips omens
Of the King who’s lost his crown
No longer sanctified or honored
Or otherwise enshrined
The gloom embraces obscurity
Elemental slumber consigned
Deep beneath the gloaming soil
The spark of life remains
Guided by the ancient ways
A labor of growing pains
For when the woods again awaken
And the leaves return to green
The King will once again be born
His life, again, be seen

Behind the Blinders

To the face I did not know
The one whose name is clandestine
Spoken whispers, just below hearing
Your breath did not share my space
I never knew your laughter
Nor could I recognize your voice
Your eyes and mine have never met
But I grieve the loss of you.
The you were human, like me.
The you who had happiness and sorrow
The you who was quiet or loud
The you who was every bit as breathing as I am
The you who was every bit as worthy of love
The you who was every bit as alive
You were invaluable to the fabric of the Universe
I stand as witness that you existed
I attest to your right to dignity as a human being
May love now surround you with grace and mercy.