Help for the Helpers?

                            When you reach the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.

                                                                                            ~ Thomas Jefferson

I visited with an old friend this week and much reminiscing and catching up was shared.  At this stage in our lives, we spent some time on health issues. He raised an interesting point, one that I sadly admit I had not considered. He spoke about searching for a respectful, compassionate oncologist when his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. He shared that one doctor dismissed him after being introduced, without even a greeting, and summarily banished him to a seat in the corner, behind her computer screen which effectively blocked the view of his wife.  He felt disenfranchised and hurt.  He said, “there is no support for the men in this equation when your partner has cancer.”

I caught my breath because he is right.  There are a lot of expectations on the male partner when a woman has a diagnosis of cancer, particularly when it is one that seems to have sexual connotations. Women struggle with how breast cancer treatment will affect their body image as well as their desirability and need the support of their lovers and husbands to help them through. Conversely, the partner of a man with prostrate cancer, in the midst of stepping up and caring for him, might also be dealing with fears and worries about losing an integral part of their relationship as a result.

What is the impact on these supportive partners? Who is considering and helping them? If you are or have been in that position, what do you need?  Please comment and share!

The Art of Dying 5

The New York Open Center’s conference, provocatively titled, was an amazing experience. Rather than being about the process of dying, this conference offered stimulating investigation into the nature of reality and consciousness, asking the question, “Does consciousness continue after death?” Different viewpoints were explored – the Tibetan Buddhist view was represented by Robert Thurman and Kunchok Gyaltsen, a Tibetan herbal doctor. Thomas Moore talked about care of the soul, which he believes continues eternally.  Rabbi Simcha Raphael gave a lively talk about the transpersonal, Jewish/Kabbalistic view which had similarities to Tibetan teachings of the Bardo. Henry Fersko-Weiss gave a beautiful presentation on bringing the sacred back to the deathbed as he talked about End of Life Doula training.

While I have never been personally concerned with life after death, most of my clients are. There are so many different concepts; while humans have puzzled over this question for millennia no one can say with certainty that they have the answer. It is indeed hard to conceive that someone so vibrantly present can be completely absent, totally NOT after they die.  And since no one has ever truly come back to tell us, many people rely on faith and some, like me, don’t worry about it too much.

Dr. Eben Alexander had a lot to say about his near death experience and sounds very certain about what he feels is true.  It was fascinating to spend the whole weekend listening and discussing different beliefs and possibilities.  We were also treated to a scientific study on the single dose use of hallucinogens to assist cancer patients with existential dread and anxiety.  Dr. Stephen Ross from NYU Medical Center is about to launch a third study into this, which, along with a very intensive therapy model, seems to be quite effective.

Having recently left my job at the Hospice, this conference could not have come at a better time.  I reconnected with some old associates including my former mentor from my Masters program.  One of my recent colleagues joined me for a day.  New friends appeared and connected and I advocated strongly for the inclusion of bereavement work in any conversation about dying. 

To decompress, two new friends joined me for a romp in Central Park where we joyfully rode the Carousel and sang in Strawberry Field.

Common Ground

      “Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there..”

                                                                                                            ~ Rumi*

Why are we always so hard on ourselves? In the 4 years I have been practicing grief counseling, 3 in a hospice setting, I hear a repeated refrain: “I thought I was doing so much better but I am not.”  The self-judgment contained in this statement interferes with the process. And that is what grief is: a process, which implies that it is fluid, changeable and on-going.  If grief takes us on a journey through the unknown terrain of our emotional fields, why are we so unwilling to simply notice where we are?  Instead, we judge it, as if what we feel is somehow incorrect.  “I am supposed to…”  “I should be…” and the worst one:  “They say I should….”

This seems to be a common ground in grief – nearly everyone questions whether they are grieving in the right way.  In Hospice, clinicians use the phrase “grieving appropriately.”  What does that mean? What is appropriate expression for you may be alien to me. In some cultures it is appropriate to wail and keen; in others, to present a calm façade. But there seems to always be expectations that somehow, the way you are feeling it might not be quite right. The person who is quiet in their grief is commended as “strong” as if allowing emotion to be felt and expressed is somehow wrong. And the wailing person is sometimes seen as needing medical intervention!

It is natural to question how we are doing but is it necessary to be convinced that someone else has a better handle on coping then we do? Yesterday, while sharing a bit of my own grief experience I caught myself saying, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Then I said, “well, actually this IS the way it happened and I have had to find ways to cope, to adjust, even to LIVE within that happening.” There did not seem to be any other choice.

Out beyond self-judgment is the field of exploration. As we navigate our grief without a map and even without a destination, we might discover a new sense of self. How did those early adventurers find their way as they traveled to unknown lands?  They explored, they observed, they took measurements and guidance from the stars.  We grievers can do the same: we can explore our relationships, we can discover how loving has changed us. We can take the love we shared along with us as the guiding star, even though our loved one is physically gone. And we can leave self-criticism back on the distant shore.

       “Sometimes when I am down, I am my own worst enemy. Let me be my friend.”

                                                                                     ~ Martha Whitemore Hickman**

*Mevlana Jelaludin Rumi, 13^th c. poet, as translated by Coleman Banks

**January 5 entry, Healing After Loss by Martha Whitemore Hickman, Harper Collins

Searching for Signs

Grievers often look for signs of their loved ones after they are gone.  Some people find pennies in their paths, some see butterflies.  A woman told me that lights turn on upstairs when she is downstairs and no one else is in the house. She is sure this is her husband and sometimes calls upstairs to say hello and to tell him to stop scaring her. Photographs show shining orbs or an aroma wafts through the room, seemingly without cause. But for every person who tells me they have seen a sign, there are 4 or 5 who say they wish they could. They long for some tangible message from the beyond that lets them feel that their lost loved one is still present, still looking out for them.
 
But if the desire for a tangible sign is a yearning for connection, what if our loved ones ARE showing up – in such subtle ways that we are missing the signal? Does a sign need to be a paranormal, graphic gesture? If we could see these random remembrances of them as connective threads, we might discover that our loved ones are present in our lives on a daily basis.  What about the random thought of something they said, a memory that suddenly arises and makes us smile?  Isn’t this a sign of our continued connection with our loved one after they die? 

 I challenge you to consider this: if our dead loved ones live on in our hearts, then they show up in our thoughts and memories. They show up when we don’t know what to do and suddenly remember what their advice would be.  They show up in a gesture that is just like theirs, in a song on the radio, in their favorite flower that blooms in the garden.

 
I challenge you to notice that they show up every day. The signs are there if you just pay attention.