How I Do It

This past weekend a friend asked me "How do you do it?" He was referring to my working in a place where, on a regular basis, people die. (I work in an assisted living facility.) My answer was embarrassingly incomplete.
I have since given his question a lot of thought. How DO I do it? I certainly don't take it lightly. Nor am I depressed when one of our residents dies. Sad...yes. Tears do flow.
Today I think I'm closer to the answer I wish I had days ago.

I have noticed that most people become more honest towards the end of their life. Honest with themselves and those around them. They are past the point of beating around the bush when it comes to life's important questions. The past is done. Sometimes completely forgotten. The future is not something that they are anticipating. There are those who want to know that "Yes, there will be another meal today." or that "This afternoon we will have music in the dining room." But for the most part...the closer a person gets to the end of their time here on earth...the more present they are in the moments they have. And...the more present I am with them...in those moments.

In the cases where the person has dementia...and they've flipped into a past time...I am there with them. Our conversation may be about them getting ready for a dance...or how they need to get home soon to finish sewing their daughter's wedding gown. It doesn't matter. They've invited me into that moment of their life...and I'm there with them. "Tell me about your beau." or "What does the dress look like?" I can be there too.

Many of our residents are Catholic and they talk about going to heaven. Most of them are tired and have days when they share with me, "Growing old is the pits." A moment later we can be laughing ourselves silly over some unexpected comment another person makes. Moment to moment. We travel together. My time with them is the most important part of my job. And thankfully...it brings me the greatest joy!

Because they live together and eat together, they become family to each other. Everyone notices when someone at their table is not there. A missing place mat can cause quite a stir. When someone there dies...although life does go on...it effects those left behind greatly. After such news, the conversation will often center around "I could be next. You never know." It weighs on their minds.

Although there have been a few cases where a person has died unexpectedly, usually there is a decline ahead of time and hospice becomes involved. As their days become numbered, we are allowed to go in and say goodbye. If a family member is there, I always ask permission. If not, I let the caregiver know. I don't know who these people were back when they were "in their prime." I only know them now. I have no history to get past. I only have the present to be in. I tell them who I am, touch them softly, call them by name and tell them I love them. I thank them for sharing their time with me. I tell them that I will be praying for them and that all will be well. "God is with you...and will never leave you." Sometimes I pray out loud then and there. Sometimes I pray quietly. Usually I give them a kiss.

The first woman I sat with I didn't know well. She had been in a wheelchair, her legs had been amputated above her knees. She didn't come in the coffee shop very often. I talked about the pictures on her walls, the "treasures" that surrounded her. I sat with her for two hours...longer than I've sat with anyone since. A couple days after she died, I had a vision. It was Katherine. Not the Katherine I knew, in the wheelchair with no legs. It was a younger Katherine...whole and peaceful. She smiled and her eyes were full of love. "Thank you." she said. And that was it. She was gone.

How do I do it? I let God love these people through me. And I end up getting to love them too! It's more than "the circle of life." It's one precious moment after another.