Dying Matters Awareness Week

I am continuing to reblog for death awareness week and #YODO

In my last blog I mentioned about blessing a dead baby in my first month of employment as a hospital chaplain. During that same month another woman’s situation touched me. She was terminally ill. She was 61 and a wife and mother. She did her husbands books for the family business. She had been trying to hand things over to him so that he would know what to do when she wasn’t around. The problem was he wasn’t ready to accept the fact that she was dying. The woman was a churchgoer and had been referred by her vicar to the chaplaincy service. 

She came into the hospital for symptom control but she was obviously dying and suffering. She was very nauseous and had an NG tube draining yuk from her system. I had chatted with her a few times but the other chaplain was seeing her mainly. Whilst I was stood there one day she just suddenly piped up “What do you think will happen to me when I die?” This woman wanted to be comforted at that point and reassured. How could I do that? I told her that I wasn’t completely sure but that I felt we went into the arms of a loving God. I told her I had a poem/prayer that I felt expressed what it might be like and I offered it to her as something that gave me comfort and I hope it was of some use to her. I gave her Janet Morely’s “And You Held Me” prayer. She told me she found it helpful, and she did seem slightly more at ease. She was moved shortly after that to the hospice.

That whole encounter made me think about what do I really believe about death, dying and heaven? And also how can I express those beliefs. I was struck by the sincerity of her question and the importance that I answered it and didn’t dodge the issue because of my uncomfortableness.

This is the poem

And You Held Me

and you held me and there were no words

and there was no time and you held me

and there was only wanting and

being held and being filled with wanting

and I was nothing but letting go

and being held

and there were no words and there

needed to be no words

and there was no terror  only stillness

and I was wanting nothing and

it was fullness and it was like aching for God

and it was touch and warmth and

darkness and no time and no words and we flowed

and I flowed and I was not empty

and I was given up to the dark and

in the darkness         I was not lost

and the wanting was like fullness and I could

hardly hold it and I was held and

you were dark and warm and without time and

without words and you held me

Janet Morley

Another learning experience for me around this time was with a Greek speaking family. The patient was a young man who lived in this country. He had been involved in a motorcycle accident and was in our ICU.

Since starting work, one of the things I had taken to doing was wandering through ICU on a regular basis. It’s a hard place for relatives to be and I think being a visible presence helps, so that people, who may not ask for you, will actually have a chat when you’re passing. This way of being has led to several deep encounters with patients and their relatives.

This particular patient was unconscious so I couldn’t build a relationship with him. His Mum came over from Greece to be with her son. She spoke no English but took comfort from my visits. I would just stand with her beside the bed and I would put my arm around her and say a prayer. Her son did get better. When he woke up she wanted to go to a Greek Orthodox church and give thanks for his recovery. This was communicated to me via a sister who had arrived who spoke a little English. I was able to give them a list of churches and they went away very happy.

What struck me about that encounter was the importance of companionable silence and the power of touch as a communicator and healer. That mother was so grateful for my visits yet I did so little!

The following month brought along its own set of challenges. One of these challenges came in the form of a dying grandmother. I was called to the ward to anoint her and say some prayers at the family’s request. The son was hearing impaired and had a friend who would translate for him, his dying mother was also hearing impaired. The granddaughter was the only hearing member of the family, therefore a lot of responsibility had fallen on her shoulders. It was obvious from my first meeting with this family that there were some deep tensions within it. I said my prayers and left the family.

I was called later that night by the ward. The patient had died and the family wouldn’t leave the ward or the body. The situation was becoming disruptive to the other patients and it was late and people needed to settle down to sleep for the night. When I arrived I went behind the curtains and said some more prayers. The granddaughter was very distressed. I took her outside so she could have a cigarette. She told me she’d never been apart from her grandmother and how could she just leave her. Unknown to the woman, I walked her over to the mortuary and sat her on the bench outside. She poured her heart out to me. All the pain and discomfort that she had absorbed from life over the years came flooding out. I was able to listen and to honour that pain for her and acknowledge it in a way that nobody before had done. I then pointed out that we were at the mortuary and this was where we would be bringing her grandmother and that she could come back at any time to sit with her. She seemed to take some comfort from this and we agreed to go back to the ward and say our goodbyes for now.

She communicated her intentions to her dad and he got quite agitated. The noises he made that accompanied his sign language were getting very loud. He was insistent that the doctor had said he had to wait for a certificate before he left. What in fact had been said was that he had to “wait” before he could come back and collect a certificate.

This taught me a valuable lesson about communicating with hearing impaired people. It is very easy for miscommunication to occur and therefore essential that information is checked to have been received correctly. It’s ok to ask for confirmation of what has just been said.

It took me two hours to get this family to the point of being able to leave the hospital on that second call out to them. It was worth spending that time because they weren’t angry when they left and therefore didn’t bring any anger back with them.

I was asked to do the funeral and I felt it brought completion. I also felt the hospital was seen positively because I was able to be part of each painful stage of them laying their relative to rest. None of this family went to church, so it also was a stark lesson in that people and all faiths and none want the service of a hospital chaplain at times. I feel if they are greeted by someone who meets them where they are at and doesn’t expect them to come to where the formal religion is then a real transformation is possible. Why does the church and institutions get so mixed up by this? I’m sure God is not bothered in the slightest!