Saying Hello to Strangers

I walked into the hospital room of my next client.

I have done this time and time again. I smell the cleaning agents used on the equiptment and the bleach on the sheets. I notice the harsh whiteness of the light, and the frail body encapsulated by the large hospital bed. If you close your eyes and listen, you can hear the fear on the edge of people's voices.

Death is coming soon, and they don't know what he looks like. They are waiting for a stranger to appear at their arm to lead them away to a different place, and yet they've always been told not to talk to strangers.

Sometimes the client is ready for this meeting, but the family is not. They stand blocking the door keeping a lookout for anyone suspicious. They know, deep down, they'll never stop him from arriving, but they remain vigilant.

Sometimes the family has accepted this visit from death, but do so with such remorse and bitterness you can taste it in the air. It's sour and unpleasant. As a caregiver, you feel out of place. The family looks at you closely, just to make sure you aren't the awaited stranger, and is disappointed that you only offer comfort and not absolution.

Sometimes... This time, a banquet is waiting. Death is welcomed with open arms by all. The families leave the light on for him, and welcome all that enter that room. The client smiles at you, shakes your hand, and the light in their eye betrays their failing body. They know there is nothing to fear. They feel lucky they get the pleasure of one last (or a first) massage before they go. Their presence takes over the sterile room, and walking in is like walking into a haven. Your skin warms to the sunlight streaming in, and your ears open to the sound of laughter and joy. You leaving wondering if that client refreshed your soul more than you relieved their pain. It leaves you pondering, hoping, wishing that you will die with the grace and beauty that you were privileged to witness on this day.

It's all I think about.

When you go to see a shrink they ask you 'Do you think about death, often?"

I do.

I think about it everyday.

It comes with the job, of course. I'm constantly wondering who will be 'with us' on each given day. I hold their hand when they ask me "how will I know it's time?" I hope that their deaths are peaceful and they are surrounded by loved ones. I think about how I can make things easier for them, more comfortable, less painful. All of this is what I expected from my job in hospice.

What I did not expect was the proliferiation into my daily life the topic of death would become.

I watch as family members struggle over living wills and I wonder "Do my parents have a living will?" It's just a passing thought at first, but I can't forget about it. I'm constantly reminded by my job and it's my duty as a daughter to make sure I know what my parents want when they die. Finally, I ask my mom if she has one. She doesn't! She's a hospice nurse and she doesn't have a living will! Oh man. This worries me. I expected my Dad not to have one, because he avoids the topic as much as he can, but my mom?

Every time my mother weezes from her damaged lungs (second hand smoke from her parents), every time she has to stop walking outside because the humidity makes her short of breath, every time she asks us to stop making her laugh because it's hard for her to breath, I wonder "when will it be too much" She has told me in person what she wants, but I have two sisters who weren't there when she said it. She needs to write it down.

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I have been thinking about my friends and families earthy exits to the point that I need a break from thinking in general. I force myself not to think about it and instead my mind wanders to myself.

I'm 30 and single. I have never told anybody what I want to happen. I have a list of people living all over the country that need to be informed, but who is to know how to contact them? I've considered making a list and putting on my computer of what to do in the event of my death. It makes me feel a little off, though. How do you call up your friends and say, "If I die will you make sure this happens? Oh, and do you want to go out Friday night?"
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So, I've become obsessesed with thoughts of death. How people might die, what will happen when they do and how they will notify the right people. I'm glad that I haven't ignored this topic until my death bed, but at the same time I'd like to think about something else for a while. Like shoes, or chocolate or boys.

Some good has come out of all this talk of death. I do know what song my mom wants played at her funeral.. in fact she wants a mix cd illustrating the times of her life musically. It made me smile to know this about my mother.