Holding My Breath...

I was aware that I was holding my breath. The middle-aged daughter of the hospice patient had just asked an important question, and I suspected that she did not know the answer.

Although I was seated behind a video camera just a few feet away from the daughter and the patient, who was on the cusp of entering her tenth decade of life, I had become invisible to them as they engaged in a conversation about Mary's (as I shall call the patient) life.

Over the past hour, they had discussed Mary's parents and siblings. She told her daughter about the death of her father, which required that they move in with other family members during difficult financial times.

They talked about how children and teenagers entertained themselves during the Great Depression, about what dating was like during the 1930s and 40s.

Mary recounted life in Detroit during World War II and what it was like when family members and other veterans returned home.

"I haven't thought about some of these things in such a long time," Mary concluded. "It was such a different world."

As the conversation neared its end, the daughter asked Mary how she wanted to be remembered.

"As a loving mother," Mary said.

What life lessons did Mary wish to share with her grandchildren, the daughter wondered? That's when I found myself holding my breath.

After a moment's hesitation, Mary said, "I've come to the conclusion that you had better show kids how to live by living that way yourself and then talking about it. You say, 'That isn't the way we do it in our household, this is the way we do it.' There will be no lies in our family. You always tell the truth."

What life lessons do you offer to family members and friends?

This blog entry was written by Dennis Sparks, Arbor Hospice Volunteer. You may contact Dennis by commenting below or emailing him at thinkingpartner@gmail.com.

Just Because I'm Sunburned Doesn't Mean I Was On Vacation

I really don't like heat. Growing up in the oven that is the Arizona desert, I discovered early on I prefer a cooler climate. Dad and Mom, on the other hand, were originally from Buffalo and couldn't ever be warm enough. They welcomed Arizona's heat. Inevitably, both my parents required additional care later in life and I found myself spending extended periods of time in my native climate. Some of those times were during the heat of summer - you guessed it - my least favorite season there. In fact, when it was time for Dad to move to an assisted living facility, I single-handedly packed up, cleaned up, cleared out, sold and moved everything from my childhood home in temperatures well over 110 degrees.

I had made the ultimate sweat sacrifice. I had been the good daughter, the responsible, loving, adult child. I did it all and returned to my job weary, parched and sunburned. Rather than the understanding I thought I would receive for the super-human feat I had just accomplished, I found myself facing co-workers who made nothing but jealous comments about my time away in the sun. I learned some valuable lessons from that experience, including that was not the job for me and caregiving often involves being misunderstood.

Oh, how I wish I knew what I know now. For example, this is National Family Caregivers Month. Blogs (like this one) and other online resources are available for caregivers. You don't have to face your caregiving challenges - whatever they may be - alone!

This blog entry was written by Laura Adams, Administrative Assistant to The Arbor Hospice Foundation. You may contact Laura by commenting below or emailing her at ladams@arborhospice.org.

What Will Your Legacy Be?

"You are doing this not only for your children and grandchildren," I explain to Arbor Hospice patients and their families as we begin to plan a video of the patients' life stories. "This video," I say, "is for generations not yet born, those who will follow you but will never know you personally."

During the videotapping, patients and their families typically describe the events of their lives - when and where they were born, the births of siblings, memories of grandparents and parents, and so on.

But patients also often tell stories that illuminate their legacies - stories, for instance, about the challenges they faced and the lessons they learned that offer wisdom and guidance to future generations.

What is usually revealed in these stories is that our legacies are shaped through an accumulation of daily actions, particularly those that contribute to the quality of the lives of others.

At any point in our lives we can affect our legacies by:

• Reflecting on our values and important goals and making adjustments when appropriate
• Preparing a written "legacy statement" explaining the values and personal qualities we want to demonstrate in our daily lives
• Determining the extent to which our daily words and actions match those values and goals and making necessary changes.

By reflecting on the nature of the legacy we desire to leave and by taking deliberate steps to cultivate the qualities that will produce that legacy, we are likely to look back at the end of our lives with a sense of satisfaction and completeness.

The accumulated effects of these actions across a lifetime will be the source of the wisdom we share with those we love and those who follow us whom we shall never meet.

This blog entry was written by Dennis Sparks, Arbor Hospice Volunteer. You may contact Dennis by commenting below or emailing him at thinkingpartner@gmail.com.

Grieving at the Holidays

My first response to the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday was to start thinking about what to cook. I love to create expansive holiday meals for my family and look forward to menu planning, decorating the table, choosing flowers and using family heirloom china that has memories attached to each serving platter, plate and cup.

Then, my thought turned to the realization that this would be the first Thanksgiving without my mother, who died four months earlier. This year, there would be no negotiating about whom to visit on what day for this family divided by a thirty-year-old divorce, with parents and siblings who don't get together at the same time. No discussion about what time to serve dinner to accommodate everyone's schedule. No admonishment to "not overdo it this year - cut back on what you are serving" meant to spare me from time and calories, not realizing how I loved this work and opportunity to create memories with my family.

And then, I realized my own self-care solution this year would be to get out of town. For this first post-Mom Thanksgiving, my husband, son and I will spend four days together in another city, focused on each other, grieving this loss in a different setting. For me, it will be important to remember all of the other Thanksgivings spent with my original and married families, and how important it will be to create a new normal.

I will certainly grieve and miss her presence this year. Yet, at the same time, I will also celebrate the 48 other Thanksgivings I had with her, and hope that I can now reinforce how important holiday traditions are with my own son, and create new memories for years to come.

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.

Telling Stories

I have an interesting job that requires a lot of explanation. When I say I work for "Arbor Hospice," I often hear, "Are you a nurse?" No, I say. "What about a social worker?" No again. I don't bother giving my title; I get a lot of blank stares when I say "Communications Specialist." Saying I'm part of the marketing team doesn't sound right either.

When I talk about my job, I say that I tell stories. I have many responsibilities and do many things, but telling stories is one of them - and it so happens that it's one of my favorites.

I have the privilege of interviewing patients and/or family members about their lives and the care they receive from Arbor Hospice. I have spoken to men, women, children, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, neighbors, friends and caregivers. I have heard about a man's World War II experience, a woman's heartbreak when her husband of 58 years was diagnosed with cancer, a daughter who forced her mother to move in with her, the smiles our music therapist and therapy dog bring, a parent's worst fear confirmed and the solace found in grief support, among many others. Each person has an amazing story, perspective and outlook that I can only hope to have when I or a loved one is facing the end of life.

It's not always easy. And, if I'm being honest, I cried the whole way home after the first interview I had with a patient and family (the ride home was well over an hour). When my boss asked the next day, "How'd it go," I think I said "great" and left out the part about my tears.

So why do I do it (besides the fact that it's part of my job)? I've learned so much from my interactions with these individuals and it's such an incredible honor to hear their stories. They chose to let us enter their memories at such a sacred time, and they're willing to share their hardships, pain, wisdom and joy. How magical is that?

And, it's pushed me to see outside my narrow view. I've begun thinking about my own story - and what I hope that will be. It's still being written, but at least I know what's on the first page. For me, it's my family. I wouldn't be the person I am without them, and I wouldn't continue striving for excellence.

What about you - how do you want your story to begin?

This blog post was written by Jaclyn Klein, Communications Specialist at Arbor Hospice. You can reach Jaclyn by commenting below or emailing her at jklein@arborhospice.org.

How Do Men Grieve?

"How do men grieve?"

Eleven women shifted slightly in their chairs to take in my response to a question posed by a participant in an Arbor Hospice Parent Loss Grief Support Group.

Several participants had expressed puzzlement or concern about how men in their lives grieved - or didn't seem to grieve - the loss of a loved one.

The fact that I was the only male in the group, which is not uncommon, speaks volumes in itself about how men grieve and don't grieve, and participants hoped I could shed some light on the matter.

I began by saying that I obviously could not answer for all men, and that in my experience the ways men responded to loss were as varied as the ways women responded.

I said I've known women who have not shed a public tear at the loss of a loved one as well as men who were tearful at the mention of loved ones many months and years after their deaths.

Having acknowledged the ways in which men and women are the same, I noted that many men had been socialized not to reveal their feelings.

I also shared my observation that some men prefer to engage in activities to express and manage their feelings rather than discussing them with others in support groups or other settings that feel artificial.

In your experience, how do men and women grieve differently?

This blog entry was written by Dennis Sparks, Arbor Hospice Volunteer. You may contact Dennis by commenting below or emailing him at thinkingpartner@gmail.com.

I'm Not Giving Up My Keys

"I'll go, but I'm telling you now, I'm not giving up my keys," was the response of my 90-year-old mother when I called to remind her of her driving assessment test in the morning. "I only turn right." She exclaimed remembering that my brother taught her how to drive the three miles from her independent living apartment to his house via a route that included only right-hand turns.

I smiled, loving her feistiness. Last week, I received a call from "the home" as she calls it, to tell me that my mother was leaving a rock to prop open the fire escape door that leads to the ground floor directly across from her apartment, from which she starts her daily four loops around the building. "It's one mile!" she brags. Apparently, she's been reminded that this is a security violation but continues to prop open the door so that she can enter after her walk.

I hope when and if I reach her age that I am a bit of a rebel too. It reminds me that she is still alive, still able to fight for her "rights." I like it when her personality surfaces, when she has an opinion. I'd rather deal with her rebelliousness than the blank stare that is becoming more frequent. That confused look frightens me, her expression reminding me of the swirl of the icon on my computer screen when it needs to be rebooted.

I know we'll be having the "you're not driving anymore, mom" discussion soon. Any tips on how to make this happen and keep her whole?

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.