For a while now, I've been working as a courier for a local hospice company. Many consider this a terrible job; scooting from house to house in which someone is going to die. My route takes me each day to our 5 bed unit at the local hospital as well. We just had two people die last night.
I think of this often, on my way in and out of the hospital: I take the elevator up to the third floor, and as I approach our wing, you can take a right and it takes you to the maternity ward; I don't know how to put my thoughts into words here, but here we have life and death, side by side.
On the west viewing side of the hospital we have women crying in pain and then crying with rejoice, followed by the tiny little cries that we all hope will lead a long and fulfilling life. Then, on the other side of the wall, there is quiet, sometimes accented by the cries of those who surround a life that is leaving this earth. Are they in pain? Are their thoughts plagued with regret, or rejoicing with happiness of a life they truly wanted to lead? Are they surrounded by loved ones, or are they visited by one of our caring volunteers that take time out of his or her life to spend with a dying stranger?
This morning, I heard fairly loudly a prayer being offered by one of our chaplains, and I wondered if that brought any comfort to the dying and to the family.
I used to work at a retirement home. Some local high school students came to the retirement home one year to host a "senior's prom," and they decorated it and dressed as if it were their own proms. Our "prom queen" couldn't dance; she was legally blind and could barely get around. Our "prom king" was a community fellow that came by to give dance lessons (he was no spring chicken either!). When their names were announced, he promptly went over to his queen and serenaded her. She was beaming from ear to ear.
She died last night around 4 am. I will think of her often, the "prom queen."
Showing posts with label dying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dying. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Whether you agree or not...
War is an awful thing on all sides. Whether you are on the offensive or defensive, someone is dying, missing, away from family, and there are those who are left behind, whether they are grieving a life lost to the war, or waiting for their loved one or friend to come home. There is always someone out there dealing with the aftermath, and it's brutal.
Here in the U.S., there are so many who oppose the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and so they then oppose the military and their families as well. I can't help but have a heart for those who choose to do what I could not-do a job in which I may one day be asked to go to war.
Over the past two or three years, I'd say, I've tried to make it a point to shake hands and thank whomever I encounter in uniform or if I somehow find out that they serve or have served in our military. For something so simple as a handshake and a thank you, you would be surprised at the reactions I get.
On campus one day, I stopped by two recruiters to do the usual shake and thank, and they asked me to sign up. "No way-one, I have cystic fibrosis, so the military wouldn't take me anyway, and two, I just couldn't do it." He asked if I have children. "Yes-I have a son." "Would you let him sign up when he is older?" "No-I wouldn't want him to." "If not him-who?" "Well-good question." Every soldier is someone to somebody. Anyway, I asked them how the day was going. They said I was the only person to thank them; they are prone to swears, name-calling, even spitting. I'm sorry, but just because someone in the White House or the Pentagon thought it was a good idea to get this ball rolling doesn't mean these two men signed up for that (or maybe they did). But I don't think they deserve to be spit upon.
During my to-be sister-in-law's bachelorette party at a hockey game, we ended up sitting behind several military guys. When they left for drinks*ahem*another man commented that we were sitting behind some "joes." I didn't even know what that meant (and it was explained to me!). After they returned, I tapped the guy in front of me on the shoulder and shook his hand, told him that I wanted to thank him for serving his country. He gave me a quizzical look and turned right back around to watch the game. About half a minute went by when he turned around and said, "I want to shake your hand. You are a real American. No one does that." Later on he showed me a picture of his child. He didn't say much (maybe that's because his friends were doing all the talking!), but just that short exchange with him change my night.
It is Saturday morning as I am blogging, and earlier I was online and on the phone looking for a group that volunteers to meet military personnel at airports and greet them home. Fort Carson is the closest one to me, which is a bit out of the way, but how much has that soldier gone out of the way for you and me?
Here in the U.S., there are so many who oppose the war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and so they then oppose the military and their families as well. I can't help but have a heart for those who choose to do what I could not-do a job in which I may one day be asked to go to war.
Over the past two or three years, I'd say, I've tried to make it a point to shake hands and thank whomever I encounter in uniform or if I somehow find out that they serve or have served in our military. For something so simple as a handshake and a thank you, you would be surprised at the reactions I get.
On campus one day, I stopped by two recruiters to do the usual shake and thank, and they asked me to sign up. "No way-one, I have cystic fibrosis, so the military wouldn't take me anyway, and two, I just couldn't do it." He asked if I have children. "Yes-I have a son." "Would you let him sign up when he is older?" "No-I wouldn't want him to." "If not him-who?" "Well-good question." Every soldier is someone to somebody. Anyway, I asked them how the day was going. They said I was the only person to thank them; they are prone to swears, name-calling, even spitting. I'm sorry, but just because someone in the White House or the Pentagon thought it was a good idea to get this ball rolling doesn't mean these two men signed up for that (or maybe they did). But I don't think they deserve to be spit upon.
During my to-be sister-in-law's bachelorette party at a hockey game, we ended up sitting behind several military guys. When they left for drinks*ahem*another man commented that we were sitting behind some "joes." I didn't even know what that meant (and it was explained to me!). After they returned, I tapped the guy in front of me on the shoulder and shook his hand, told him that I wanted to thank him for serving his country. He gave me a quizzical look and turned right back around to watch the game. About half a minute went by when he turned around and said, "I want to shake your hand. You are a real American. No one does that." Later on he showed me a picture of his child. He didn't say much (maybe that's because his friends were doing all the talking!), but just that short exchange with him change my night.
It is Saturday morning as I am blogging, and earlier I was online and on the phone looking for a group that volunteers to meet military personnel at airports and greet them home. Fort Carson is the closest one to me, which is a bit out of the way, but how much has that soldier gone out of the way for you and me?
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