In Memory of my Grandmother

April 19th, 2008

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The body of my maternal grandmother, Jane Ellen Overall, died this last week on Wednesday, April 16, 10:03pm, at the age of 82.

I was taught to believe that her spirit lives on and is now reunited with her husband, my grandfather, who passed away over twenty years ago. On some level, I want to believe that. It would have made her happy.

On another level, I have to admit that I don’t know, and may never know, if our spirits continue, shaped by our physical lives and personality, after our bodies die.

I know what I don’t believe — in a heaven of eternal reward and a hell of eternal punishment. They don’t fit with my concept of the Ultimate nor with my experience of life. If life is a combination of a myriad of experiences, then I would expect the afterlife, or future lives, or whatever if there is anything, to be a similar combination. I suspect that anything eternally without change would be numbing after a while. And the universe is too varied for that.

Perhaps when we die, we get what we expect — a kind of mentally constructed reality that lasts as long as we need it to. That might be nice, or not, depending on what one expects consciously and unconsciously.

Perhaps when we die, the part of us that is not physical regains its full non-physical awareness. Perhaps there are things that can only be experienced and perceived within our human form, and things that can only be experienced and perceived in non-physical existence. One is not better than the other — just different.

All of this assumes that there is a non-physical, or spiritual, or energetic, part of us that survives after the physical body dies. For the most part, I do believe that. But there is a niggling uncertainty that I have struggled to live with. Perhaps we all do.

Because really, truthfully, we do not know.

But because it was her truth, and her dream, I wish my grandparents happiness together again in each other’s arms.

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In the hospital waiting room

June 7th, 2006

Sitting vigil with the ill or dying or their family is an awesome task in the original sense of the word. It is a sacred and frightening and joyful and uncomfortable and intimate honor and duty. I hope that these words and ideas are helpful to you when you find yourself sitting in a hospital waiting room or at a friend or family member’s bedside.

First, remember to breathe. Breath is the life force moving through and enlivening us. In traumatic times, our breath changes and sometimes stops. Take slow, deep breaths when you feel yourself closing up, getting uncomfortable, or feeling insecure. Your breathing with intent will help your friend to breathe more easily. Have her breathe with you.

The same goes for grounding. It sounds elementary, but breathing and grounding are many times your best tools for working through strong emotional pain. By grounding yourself, you automatically help your friend ground. If you find yourself not grounded, don’t berate yourself — just breathe and ground. If you can, guide her through grounding as well.

Open your heart to the experience. When we are faced with illness and death, we often close ourselves down in orderto numb or escape our feelings of sadness, helplessness, and grief. If you close yourself off, you will not be able to connect or empathize with your friend. Opening your heart works sympathetically, just as breathing and grounding do. Your open heart gives your friend permission to feel and experience her own insecurities and fears with you. Opening the heart in these times can be scary and uncomfortable. That’s okay. Allow yourself to feel those emotions and then call on the Goddess to give you strength, comfort, and compassion.

Never underestimate the healing power of touch. Humans thrive on touch. It is the easiest way to connect, to show that we care. When in situations like this, often the patient and the family lose touch. They do not touch each other. They are not touched by others. People not directly affected tend to withdraw, as if they will be contaminated if they touch and connect. Holding someone hand, rubbing their back, giving them a gentle hug with your hand gently but firmly holding the back — all of these communicate love and comfort without any words needing to be spoken. One no-no, however, is to pat them on the back when embracing them. No matter how gentle, this patting sends the message that what they are experiencing needs to be repressed and shoved back into the body.

Listen more than you talk. By opening up and just listening to whatever your friends says in her time of need, without always responding, without any judging, without chattering on, allows her to explore her feelings. Let your friend feel her feelings, some of which she may be horrified or discomforted by. Let her know that it is okay to have all sorts of emotions, and fantasies. Her wondering what the future will be like will not cause bad things to happen.

Enter the silence. We are very uncomfortable in silence and often search for any way to relieve our discomfort — watching TV or talking about anything but what is happening are frequent ways of numbing ourselves from ourselves and our situation. Resist the temptation. If you can, find soothing music to play. Or if the waiting room is too crazy, suggest that you two have some quiet time in the hospital chapel — usually there is no one there, and if they are, they are there for the same reasons.

Don’t be afraid to cry, too. If your friend is crying and you feel tears welling up, don’t repress them. Let yourself feel fully and empathize. If you remember to breathe and ground, you won’t loose control of yourself. You are holding the container for your friend during this time — the sacred space in which she can find comfort and healing while in the center of a whirlwind of fear and hope.

Do magic. If you need to cast a quick circle of protection around you and your friend, you can do so easily by visualizing the energy coming up from the Earth, circling around you, and into you. If you need to call on the elements, a silent or quietly spoken prayer invokes them just as well as a full-blown ritual with props. The gods always answer our calls. If your friend is pagan or religious, don’t be afraid to suggest that you two pray together. The words will come directly from the heart to the Goddess. Your friend may be comforted by the sound of your words, asking for strength, comfort, healing, and peace. If your friend does die, a prayer, asking the Hecate (or whoever is special to her or the family) to take her into Her arms and guide her to the next step on her journey and to comfort the living left behind, is good too.

One last thing — no platitudes. No “it’s for the best.” No “it’s the will of the gods.” No “everything happens for a reason.” No “it will be alright.” All of these may be true, but they are not what your friends needs to hear right now. There is nothing to say that can make death better or easier to deal with. Again, you breathe and ground, touch and listen. Letting your friend know that you are there to support and love her is more helpful than any “easy” platitude you can say. If she rails against the gods for this happening to them, don’t admonish her or correct her with theology. Again, not helpful right now. Hold the container and let her express these difficult emotions. If she asks you what you believe about illness and death, tell her gently and openly. But expect that this may still not help her right at this time. It will not dull her pain or make her grief any easier to walk through. Later, it may grow as a seed planted and give her comfort.

I pray that you find a connection to the Goddess during these times and that you find strength and compassion to help your friends, your family, and yourself. Remember She is always with us, even when we feel all alone.

Death: the great adventure! No refunds

September 28th, 2005

I woke up from a dream this morning in which I was visited by a young woman and her family to talk about the death of her husband and to plan a memorial service for him. The woman primarily needed someone to listen to her as she worked through her emotions surrounding his death and what had happened to him afterwards. She wanted some reassurance that whatever it was that happened after death, that he would not be in pain.

This got me thinking this morning on my walk to work about how I envision whatever happens after our deaths. Blame it on all the reading I am doing for my death doula training…

I have to admit upfront that we do not and cannot intellectually and logically know what happens to us after death. Knowing what happens after is not the same as knowing that the capital of Iowa is Des Moines. Not everyone agrees. It is not a fact that you can point to and say, “This is how it is and I know because I have been there and remember.” Well, there are plenty who could say that. But I think we can safely say there is no verifiable proof one way or the other. While I do not know, I can imagine and envision what may happen. And I imagine quite a bit.

I imagine that when my physical body dies that the part of me that is spirit and aware will continue to exist. I imagine that I will get to sleep for a while and then awake refreshed and ready to decide to either meld my spirit with flesh again or become one of the Ancestors. I imagine that I may feel totally detached from humankind and decide to explore the universe from a vastly different perspective. I imagine that when my spirit separates from my dead body that it will be simply reabsorbed into a great energetic ocean that enlivens the entire universe.

Sometimes I imagine that the thinking, feeling, perceiving part of me is intrinsic to the flesh, and that when the body dies, what we like to think of as spirit ceases to exist. This is not as horrifying to me as it used to be. In this case, I will not feel the pain and anxiety nor the happiness and joy I feel now. But I can take comfort in the fact that I can arrange to have my body disposed in such a way that it is more easily reabsorbed as part of the world around me. I don’t have to be the end of the food chain. I also take comfort in the fact that I will be remembered and that I have done things in my life that, hopefully, have made a difference to others.

Faith occurs in holding the paradox. I don’t know, but I can imagine. I can imagine different scenarios, and I am okay holding what seems like paradox. Both/and rather than either/or. None of these imaginings are any more true than any of the others, or than any of those that humans have imagined in the past and called “truth.” And I do not fear any of them.

I do have a fear, and that is the possibility that my body will die and my awareness will continue to exist, but in isolation, being trapped inside itself and having no reference to anything else. To spend eternity in the darkness, without touch, without sight, without any way to make connection with anyone or anything else. To be utterly alone and alienated. To me, that would be Hell. Without a body, physical torture means nothing. Without a body and no one to accompany and nothing to perceive, I can imagine that but not without shuddering deep inside.

This may be why death is so feared. At the bottom line, at our most naked, we face the great unknown, the mystery, and come away awestruck but still not knowing until this body, this human that we are, dies. What an adventure!

Death is a healing

February 16th, 2005

Death is a healing
torn and tired
spirit stretched impossibly
over worn, fragile
flesh
tears shed and wounds
scarcely healed
white scars; red eyes
smells that live forever
scents no one else notices
pungent in the pinched room
electronic bleeps keep
time with the labored heart
a torturous tarantella
a ghost fist loosens its grip
death is a healing
not a failure