My greatest joy comes from seeing how contented folks are after Death Cafe. That causes me to believe that the act of speaking on these topics has been easy and comfortable. Hopefully folks take that positivity to the next conversations they have about death. And that will fulfill my hopes that by gaining ease in speaking about death we will be able to tell our loved ones and health care providers what care we DON’T want at the end. We will be able to avoid prolonged suffering and get closer to the “good death” that 80% of Americans say they want – but that only 20% actually achieve since our end of life care is dictated by our hospitals and providers…not by us and our loved ones.
November 28th, 2014
September 15th, 2014
Talking about death makes us better. That’s why I love Death Café.
On Wednesday evening, August 13th, I gathered in the Fox Room of the Rutland Free Library with 33 other folks for Rutland’s Second Death Café. There was no speaker – only two sponsors – Nancy Scarcello and myself. Divided between four tables – we gathered to talk about death. No binding truths were pronounced, but cake was served. According to the Death café website – Death Café’s only objective is ‘to increase awareness of death with a view to helping people make the most of their (finite) lives’. And this is but one way that the Death Cafe experience makes us better.
When we talk about death we are able to listen and learn from the experience of others. Everyone has definitely got a story to tell and Death Cafe has a huge element of storytelling. We can confess that we have never seen someone actively dying, then listen as someone shares a firsthand experience. We can share our own history as a cancer survivor and perhaps change someone else’s mind about conventional medicine. We can hear someone talk about the trials of an aging or diseased body and wonder what we might do if (and when) we are faced with such fear and pain. We are sometimes amazed to hear the conversational tone that is taken when seemingly secret sufferings are discussed. We learn that grief has respite too. We hear anger in the tone of those who feel an entirely other way when telling their story of loss. We learn that feelings about death are so varied that our own thoughts fit comfortably alongside the others. Death Cafe provides a space for us to listen and learn about death and dying.
Death Café is a place where sorrows can be shared. And I have heard that “a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.” While laughter can be heard at a typical Death Café there is a reason that each table has a box of tissues as a centerpiece. We can feel free to tell sad stories here; sad stories that are uncomfortably unwelcome to those outside of Death Café. They are somehow more easily revealed to strangers who bear our sadness without the hurt our own loved ones would surely feel if we revealed these same thoughts to them. It is even possible that we will discover an ease in the telling that will make it easier to repeat our death stories to loved ones.
Death Café is an opportunity for kindness. Many of us have heard it said that we should be kind to everyone we meet because we can’t know what burdens others may carry when we encounter them in our world. Death Café presents us with an opportunity to know a bit about the struggles of those who choose to share them. And it is clear that those who did so, felt supported by folks around them. Participants have reported to me that they were encouraged and comforted and felt a need to hear more from fellow humans at Death Café’s in the future.
January 6th, 2014
I feel that some forgiving is in order. The kind that means I must find some forgiveness to extend to another. But I need to forgive institutions. No individual persons need be included…. though I can make out some faces, in the murky soup of “this is how we have always done it” leaders. I need to forgive a system that has become far more powerful than the sum of their dangerously complex parts. One that I watch cause increasing amounts of suffering, while it purports to be alleviating it.
I feel I must forgive the transgressions of a system of care that dictates how we care for frail elders in most American institutions. I am sure other institutions could be held under a similar microscope, but it is health care that I have known the best and loved the most. I describe myself as a systems thinker with a front line focus. I have thrived on the crazy-making environments where activity levels are dangerously high for those on the front line, and that includes those receiving, as well as providing, care. That activity swirls around all manner of suffering that is met with every possible medical intervention to stop it. But so often it is just not possible to make it stop. And that’s when I found myself needing to lie. To explain to patients, their loved ones and the concerned staff members struggling to provide the care they felt their patients deserved…I had to lie. I had to pretend to believe that institutions and those who led them were truly most concerned with conditions on the front lines of care. And not so much the monies generated there. On these not so fine points, I could go on and on.
As you may already know…the book is coming. But I feel this forgiveness must come first. Let the anger at the institutions be the initial impetus for writing, but let the forgiveness inform my writing so that what I share is full of love and hope for a better end of life for frail elders. I am praying on it.
January 3rd, 2014
The truth is I’m afraid. Just as scared as everyone else I suppose. But maybe even more so for having witnessed the experience of frail elders as I worked to bring comfort and kindness to those in my care.
I know that my love and patience showed in my practice at the bedside. I know it was evident in my efforts to make change happen in institutions that meted out care to elders as though it were a punishment for their belief in the lie that we could fix their ailments of old age and make life last. My concern for the insensitive and sometimes cruel treatment of elders caused me to “rock the boat” that wanted stay the course and just do the job, follow the orders and maintain the appearance that all is well. I grew to question accepted practice and to ask polite but pointed questions of those in charge. My most frequently asked question was always “why are we doing this?”
“Please explain to me why we are causing pain as we stick needles and tubes into places they do not naturally belong. Please help me understand why we are tying this person down so they can’t remove those tubes. Please tell me why we are not honoring the hours days and weeks that are left by providing an environment that offers interesting sights and sounds and the company of caring others and all that is required to stave off boredom and loneliness. Please tell me why the monies must all be spent to prolong life rather than to enrich it. And most of all please tell me why we are not listening to the ones who say…I am ready to go now.”
And it is all this and more that strikes true terror into my heart as I fear the control that others may take of me at the end. The possibility of those tubes and those needles and the boredom and the loneliness and the angry hurried hands that will touch me as my body is cleaned in places I do not wish to have touched at all.
I fear it. All of it. Because I know what is possible and I know that there is only one way I can be certain of avoiding it.
November 20th, 2013