Lessons from Loss - One Year Later

The one-year anniversary of a parent’s death is a milestone for any adult child.  Bearing witness to a year of "firsts" without your parent: of birthdays – yours and theirs; of holidays, big and small; of national and political events; and of family happenings; all of which would have had an impact on them and of which they would have influenced your response to, can be an emotional roller coaster. 

As I conclude the one year anniversary of the death of my mother this week on July 23, I am struck by the dichotomy of how hard and how easy it has been to let go of her memory. As the ten-day period approached of the time she was admitted to the hospital to the time she died, I found myself reliving moment-by-moment what happened last year and dreading what was coming each day. 

There was the call that she needed to go to an emergency room; then having her admitted to the hospital; the subsequent cancer diagnosis; then a call that she was in organ failure post-surgery; and finally the decision to bring her to The Residence of ArborHospice for the last 36 hours of an incredible life.  

Physically feeling nauseated each step of the way, I had to remind myself that I knew what the outcome was this time, and I had some control.  I also am astounded at how much I have learned from my mother since her death, and wish I could tell her in person how much I appreciate those lessons.  

I have to acknowledge, however, that we did not have the type of relationship where I could have told her in person.  I am so thankful that a week before she was admitted into the hospital, we had a half-serious phone conversation in which I acknowledged that she might have been right about something for the past thirty years – we both laughed, and moved on to another topic.   

One year later, having grown in knowledge about that topic, I am grateful she had me learn about it the way she did.  She was not perfect, as none of us are, but was wiser than I gave her credit for.   

Now this year of mourning is over, and while we never truly are done on our grief journeys, I know that the intensity of the journey will change.  Some days will be worse than others, but I know with support from family and friends who have been on this journey before me  that I too will be able to remember more of the moments that bring smiles and laughter than tears.

This blog entry was written by Gloria D. Brooks, Arbor Hospice President & CEO. You may contact Gloria by commenting below or emailing her at gbrooks@arborhospice.org.

Music Like No Other

The Threshold Choir is not your ordinary choir, and Arbor Hospice has the pleasure of hosting them for patients and families. This choir shares a gift of a cappella music with hospice patients at their bedsides at The Residence of Arbor Hospice and in homes throughout the area. Using soft, harmonized voices to offer peace and relaxation during a significant and challenging stage in life, the Threshold Choir touches the lives of patients and their families.

Eight choir members have become Arbor Hospice volunteers, frequently visiting The Residence. They create a serene and beautiful setting for those who are going through the end-of-life experience, bringing comfort and peace.

The Threshold Choir has more than 150 songs in its repertoire. Songs are original and generally non-religious based, written by Threshold Choir members from around the globe. No instruments are used, only the melodic sound of their voices.

Music reaches deep into the spirit of people. Research has shown that patients who are actively dying are more relaxed and have decreased anxiety with this form of music therapy. Their blood pressure, heart rate and pulse decreases, breathing becomes deeper, brain waves slow down and body tension is reduced. All of this helps to create a peaceful transition.

Arbor Hospice is grateful to the Threshold Choir members who regularly bring the gift of music to our patients.

If you were nearing the end of your life, what kind of music would you want to hear?

The Hardest Question

The family dropped by The Residence of Arbor Hospice unexpectedly instead of setting up an appointment, which is the preferred course. So, out of desperation, they tried my line. "I'll do it," I enthused looking for an excuse to leave my computer and interact with family members.

Introducing myself to the team of five, I learned they were all visiting from out of town. Looking exhausted as families so often do by the time I meet them; California, Colorado, Washington, they were all here from somewhere else trying to do the right thing for their sister. "I can't care for her at home any longer," confessed the daughter, who was doing her best but needed support. Two days of meetings with the oncologist, the internist, the surgeon, had left them spent and bewildered. What was the right thing to do?

After the tour, I responded to a few questions, "do you have physical therapy and occupational therapy," asked one. No, I explained that our focus was on comfort care and that if rehabilitation was needed, their sister/mother would be better off in a skilled nursing facility.

When all their questions were answered to the best of my ability, I asked the stumper question. It's the question I've come to learn that stops them cold. I have only met one family who could answer it right away.

"What's important to your sister from this day forward? If she can't be cured, how does she want to spend the remainder of her life?" It is my experience that these are the questions that often don't get asked during the frantic encounters with our medical system. These questions and many like them, are asked of patients and families when a loved on is enrolled in hospice and then the hospice team works to make it happen.

"Well, she likes baths; do you have a place for a bath?" I showed her the spa room with a large jacuzzi-type tub. "She lives on the water and loves looking out on the water." I showed the pond and the beautiful gardens. "She'd like this," remarked the daughter.

I have found that when we focus on what the dying person wants, by giving them a voice, the patient and their family is energized. The mood changes from doom and gloom to one of possibilities. There is an immediate shift in energy.

So, what about you, do you know what you want at the end of your life? Here are my top three wishes:

1. I'd like to be outdoors when I die, preferably under a tree with the sunlight on my face (unless it's  
    winter of course, then I'd like to be by a sunny window).

2. I too love baths, with lots of bubbles, please.

3. Funny YouTube videos like Ellen DeGeneres - Here and Now should be playing and if we laugh
    too hard, please play some Carol King and the Beatles.

This blog entry was written by Margaret Adrain, Arbor Hospice Vice President of Marketing and Business Development. You can contact Margaret by commenting below or emailing her at madrain@arborhospice.org.