sharks

Getting the courage to "open the wound" and then getting deserted. Though it was not the fault of the deserter, family emergencies happen. It will add time to the recovery process; because the trust that was initially there has now been tampered with. Bringing all the raw emotions, that have been placed in a deep dark hiding spot, back to the very front of the mind. Just to disappear and not help through or give things to consider when thinking about them. Like leaving someone in the middle of a pool of sharks and then throwing in the bloody fish. How is one expected to come through without some help? The emotions were put away in a dark far away place because they are too hard to face, too much to handle. The books that were supposed to help have been read and they just add more sharks to the pool. They helped realizations come forth but knowing the problems just adds more hurt, how do I get to the side safely and pull myself out?

imminence.

If death was something you knew you would face in the near future, let's say 2 weeks, what would your attitude be? Would it be that of rejection and resentment? Or would you want to ask all the questions you had, make amends, and try to experience the things you had wished to experience before your last breath? How would you make your death personally meaningful?

_______________________________________________

The following is a story about Old Sarah(*):

     "By far the most dramatic instance of timing and planning was the dying of Old Sarah. About two weeks before her death I received a radio message from Old Sarah summoning me to Arctic Village on a specific day. Nothing like this had happened to me before but I can remember thinking "she intends to die on that day." Dutifully I gathered three of her family in Fort Yukon and flew them to Arctic Village on the day designated. I was right about her intentions but wrong about the date. She had a son in another village and wished me to bring him to Arctic Village. She allowed enough time for me to bring in the last person. It was quite a company of people as was fitting for the undisputed matriarch of both the family and the community.
     "During the morning of the next day she prayed for all the members of her family. At noon we had a great celebration of the Eucharist in a her cabin complete with all the hymns and prayers. Old Sarah loved every minute of it, joined in the prayers and the singing and was quite bright throughout the service. Then we all left and at six in the evening she died. For the next two days the entire village turned out on the business of Sarah's funeral. Some of the women prepared her body and completely cleaned her cabin while other cooked vast quantities of food, much of which Sarah had bought for the occasion, for the workers. The mission house was turned into a carpentry shop for making the coffin and teams of men took turns picking and shoveling a grave in the frozen ground. All the village packed into the church for the service and accompanied the coffin to the graveyard, singing hymns while the grave was filled in with dirt and placing hand-made crepe paper flowers on the mound before the final blessing. Then there was a great feast for all the village. The burial customs were similar to these in all the villages but never before or since in my experience were they planned and shared so much by the one who died. Old Sarah's dying was a priceless gift to all of us."

___________________________________________________

     This death was truly a celebration of life, a coming to terms with mortality, and a gathering of people who had known her. When thinking about the services provided to the individuals in our lives that have past what is similar? What is different? Do we let our loved ones die in familiar surroundings with familiar faces? Or do we send them to the sterile machine infested hospital room where they are monitored by strangers with the titles of nurses and doctors? Trying to prolong the inevitable in a lonely unfamiliar space. What favors are we doing them if they are in this lonely environment? A couple extra hours? Days? Would it not be better to let them come to terms with their death in a place they've always known? With the people they love?

     I want responses. What would you want to accomplish? How would you feel? What would your immediate response be? Just think for a few minutes (or longer if you'd like) about all of this.


*This story is an excerpt from: Dying Among Alaskan Indians: A Matter of Choice by Murray L. Trelease from Death The Final Stage of Growth by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

professionalism vs compassion

Hospitals are a place where the sick go to heal, the terminally ill go to die, and the healthy go for check ups, shots, and to visit loved ones. The employees of the hospital have a line to walk. Procedure-oriented patient care or patient-oriented procedures (*Ross). They have to decide whether the procedures or the patients are more important. In my experience, a great number of physicians have lost track of the reason behind medical care and are focused on getting the paperwork done, following procedures, and getting in their hours. Visiting the emergency room more than the average person in the past couple years I got to experience how a lot of different doctors treat patients. Especially young ones with tattoos. They either treated you like a problem to solve, not a person to help. Or like a junkie trying to get a fix. What is going on in our society? I thought medicine was about helping people, about taking away pain, and figuring out a way to keep the healthy healthy and get the sick back to being healthy. It is a shame that the emergency room physicians see so many junkies that they can't differentiate between the truly ill and those out for a fix. We have such a messed up system and it's takes away from the patient-physician relationship. It makes physicians make bad calls because they're trying harder to save their asses than to make sure the patient is getting the proper care, proper tests done, and doing what they went to medical school to do someday. It is a hard line to walk... compassion and professionalism, but our society is making it more difficult than it needs to be.

*DEATH The Final Stage of Growth, by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross.

final bow

Reading through DEATH The Final Stage of Growth by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and listening to Summerland by Lunatic Soul caused, in a beautiful way, a moment of clarity, realization, awareness, and awe. It was a beautiful experience.

Our bodies are finite (Ross). We are all going to die, but we don't have to look at it as a negative thing. We can come to terms with the reality, and beauty of death. We can come to the realization that it is our "big moment" (summerland). We are taking our final bow in this life, letting loved ones reminisce over the times shared both good and bad. Death is beautiful.

sweet old men

A sweet old man of 80-something talking to me over the phone and discussing every answer he gave with his wife. Another man in the same age range who said I have a lovely voice. Both made my eyes well up with tears. It's so bitter sweet. These individuals at the brink of the end of what we know in this consciousness. One so intertwined with the love of his life. The other handing out compliments to nervous young girls over the phone. They may have lived similar lives, or their lives may have only resembled each other in the most basic of senses. It's crazy how much we all have in common, how much of the same things we all go through, we all experience. How many of our "original" thoughts have been thought by so many others. At the same time though, it's crazy to be in a room full of people and feel like the only thing you have in common with any of them is humanity. It's like like a rope, and we're all strands in it. We all follow the same pattern but we get there with different kinks, some of the us live longer, some of us are discolored. Another crazy thing is how different experiences bring us to the same conclusions about beliefs, lifestyles, etc. How some embrace and some live in fear. It all seems so sad though, when you speak to a sweet old man over the phone. Thinking I wonder if his family appreciates him, really knows him, takes the time to listen to his life stories, reminds him that they love him, makes him feel important. I hope my grandparents know I love them. I know so little about their lives before I became a part of them. I really should speak to them more and do more thoughtful things for them. We can get so caught up in our own lives, or in helping people in other countries, or even volunteering down the road. We can forget about the ones that need and appreciate our love, concern, and service the most. The easiest way to develop love and nurture it is to serve and it's sad that the tendency is to neglect the ones in our lives who deserve, need (or both) it most. Here's hoping this gets at least one person to show their appreciation for the ones in their lives that need or deserve it most.

routine

sleepily, I wipe my eyes as my brain tries to fight the fatigue. another morning, as they always go. I stare at the top bunk, I don't want to get up. but I rip the blanket off letting the cool air attack my warm skin. off to the other room to get ready for the day, a quick shower, some mascara, jeans, and the first shirt my hand lands on. back pack already packed with distractions for work, I make a small breakfast to eat and wash it down with a bottle of water. grab a couple snacks and throw them in the back pack. then over to the lap top to scan the news feed on facebook. glance at my phone to check the time, put on some shoes, and I'm out the door. down three flights of stairs, down the hill a couple blocks, up four flights of stairs and I'm here. ready to brave social interaction in the work place, to plaster a smile on my face and say hello. I manage some small talk while turning on the computer. as soon as the screen is up I quickly put on my headset so I won't be bothered anymore, pull out a book, drawing pad, and pencils. I begin to sketch while waiting for the calls. a lot of voicemail boxes today, today will be a good day.

fading

he's fading now
though gone for months
his memory now
fills my thoughts
trying to sharpen
the blurred edges
of the snapshots
in my mind
his hands
that grasped mine
in times of pain
and happiness
the tears he hid
from all but me
the love so potent
almost suffocating
the words so bold,
brimming with sincerity
cannot let him be
forgotten
will not let him
fade.

he waits

he fills my dreams

like he waits for me

I will not find another

we truly were meant to be

we converse in slumber

like we did day to day

it seems I'll join him soon

his questions lend to that

the words flow so freely

without any second thought

it makes me miss my fiance

best friend, lover, soul-mate

he poured his heart out to me

loved me till his last breath

visits me in my dreams, even

in death he tries to comfort me

to take away the pain

the pain dismissed for hours

but only in my slumber

the reason I sleep all day

a desire so heavy and real

I want to join him in his eternal sleep

but I'm afraid the end is the end

that I won't even see him in my dreams

void

everything in black & white

cold & heartless

no tears or anger

no joy or giggling

the empty structure

dark & twisty

void of feeling

with color just out of reach.

breathtaking

warm drops touch cracked lips, seeping into crevices. tongue relieves the pain of the deserted skin and the taste is of the ocean. salty, it takes the minds eye to the view. the vast water, waves crashing into the rocks to the left. in front of me a beautiful man giggles like a little boy writing messages in the sand right, glancing over his shoulder to look at his love. feeling the weight of this emotion he holds so strongly for me. feeling entwined like strands in a rope. it's like our hearts, minds, bodies were meant only for each other.

shadows

Memories seem to fade over time, they turn into shadows of the life that we've lived. It's hard to think back over times past and notice the details start fading and then disappearing all together. Trying to recall times that made you laugh, made you cry, and made your breath stop at moments.

It makes the memories currently being made bittersweet. Concentrating so hard to concrete all of the details into my mind, and at the same time trying so hard to have a good time. It seems so difficult. That's why it became a habit to have a camera in hand at all times, but no one likes the photo-happy girl snapping shots all evening. I'm just scared to forget. The things I'm trying so hard not to let slip away; I don't have room for anything new but I don't want to forget any of it-new or old, good, bad, happy, or sad. Not a single moment.

city streets

The city streets in the early morning, while everyone is still in bed or at least in their homes getting ready. Quiet, empty, serene. A place that holds so much bustle during business hours. So much traffic sees these peaceful roads, but they do get a rest just like us. There is a time when those who can't find rest can find the peacefulness that the rest who call this city home rarely, if ever, get to see. The country is known for it's peaceful nature, but if you look hard enough you can find peace and beauty in every place, in every thing, in every person. You just have to look.

stranger

Walking along a lonely path. A fork forces a choice in direction, feelings of anxiety, of fear-overwhelm. A decision is made. Strolling unsteadily, but not looking back; the walls surrounding are foreign. The people new, different. Even the physique that embodies the energy seems alien. Change in scenery, lifestyle; taking anything that was left of what was thought to be known. Coming to a halt, crippled by headaches that make death seem a friendly escape. Passions, motivations, creativity, cares all evaporated. A distance between two individuals comes to attention. One known, comfortable, normal; the other unknown, strange. Looking at the reflection in the glass a stranger stares back, touching hair and cheek with callused fingertips and still not knowing them. Carcass disintegrating more quickly than those of peers, soon enough, there will be nothing, nothing left. At an impasse, body and mind pulsating with terror.

Concerts!

Little vacations from reality. Surrounded by tons of people, dripping in sweat, singing loudly- words that all mean different things to each of them, creating new memories with an ocean of strangers. This is what I used to live for. After a recent trip down memory lane (which was fun) I realized I've come to truly enjoy a different way to watch live performers. A little spaced out with a crowd in the same state of mind listening to the beats and pauses, letting the music pulsate through my being. The next time I see a show this is the experience that would bring the most joy and this is the experience I will be going for.