I realize there are many grief resources out there. The hospital shoved us an envelope of resources as we were walking down the corridor dazed, still with Dad’s blood on our shoes. We threw it out later as anything associated with ICU was discarded due to the trauma associated with that place.
The above sheet was provided by the funeral home and crematorium as part of their package. It’s neatly presented, like a handy one page tip sheet. It’s just missing the bow. I shouldn’t be so facetious, the intention is good, my mindset isn’t today. There were other tempests on the horizon that revealed themselves this morning. “You Want it Darker” by Leonard Cohen is going through my head.
The day is an especially grim one, more air conditioning follow up work which is associated with pure trauma, as the installation had started on the second last day of Dad’s being at home in July. The AC baggage is still too heavy to unpack.
I found myself on my lunch break, feeling bleak as ever, so I figured I might as well go through the list, and see how I score in the grief stages. I only made it to analyzing the first stage. I’ll try again tomorrow…
SHOCK
Yes. Death was unexpected. Throughout the entire experience, right up until the night before, our family (and Dad), as well as medical professionals, shared a belief that this was an entirely survivable event.
That sense of the world going on around me in dulled shades of grey since the Day of the Breaking fits in well to this concept of trauma and dissociation.
I remember leaving the room on July 29. The ICU had had a change in staff at 8:30 am, and everyone was buzzing in the hallways. Life was continuing for everyone around us, but we were frozen in that minute. 9:18 am.
The doctor jumped on me as I began to leave, vulture-like, asking for/demanding Dad’s eyes (my g-d, his eyes! I support organ donation 100% but this was done with such blunt harshness and disrespect. His eyes, although depleted and upsetting were one of the last signs of life we clung to that last week.) The doctor stopped and then said carelessly “oh, I guess all his organs are too damaged to be used — but what about for science?”*
This incident left me with such a deep trauma it has haunted my days and dreams ever since… Anyways, I digress…
… I followed the Doctor With No Humanity back to his chair, to express to him this wasn’t just simply the death of a 74 year old man in an ICU bed, but that this was something greater… a loss to society… I tried to sum up the beauty of my father’s life in 30 seconds, failing horribly, but still desperately fumbling for, touching on his essence. He listened politely, an iron-like impenetrable armour guarding his demenour… but I digress again…
…yes, after that, I remember continuing to walk away from the room, Dad still lying there in the bed, machines silent, Mom and my brother standing vigil. Trying to leave. I still had to go through all the protocols for infectious diseases…taking off those hell rags I had to wear for the damn MRSA for the very last time. Hundreds of changes and one last change… for the damn MRSA the damn hospital had given him… but still I digress…
… I remember passing by the staff outside Dad’s window, the ones who had seemed to care days earlier and be supporting his recovery, and who had offered hope during setbacks. They were grinning stupidly and making jokes with each other as I made my way by. They turned and grinned at me with these joker-like grins, mid banter, wildly inhumane and inappropriate. These were not grins of kindness or empathy, but grins stemming from a total lack of awareness and being unable to read the room.
>>>Let’s take a brief pause here: Let’s strip down to the basic tenets of what makes us human. We live, we die, we feel joy, we feel pain. And when someone has died, a semblance of respect to those left behind, even if you don’t feel it, even if you’re a bloody psychopath, is appropriate. Please. Go through the motions. Be silent if nothing else. Please. We are human. Remember Albert Camus – The Prisoner? In all things of the sky and earth. Please….<<<
I realized then that the nurse’s smiles were not real. Those smiles we had interpreted as kindness- the same ones that provided reassurance to our family in the days prior – were simply masks that they don, along with their scrubs, at the beginning of their shift, in order to survive this hell ward. Self preservation. I get that. I worked in health care. I dealt with all kinds of horrors and sadness and grief and had to protect my heart. Just, don’t smile. Please don’t laugh minutes after someone’s beloved father has died a horrible, sad death. Put on another mask, for g-d’s sake, anything…
Okay, so, well, I’ve gone way, way, WAY off course here. It’s safe to say I’ve lost the way entirely. You want it darker? I’ve got it darker. But yes, shock. There is shock.
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
(TS Eliot, The Hollow Men)
***
* For any ICU physicians out there reading this, I recommend the following (hastily written by blogger) script instead:
Hi. Are you [insert name of deceased here] next of kin? [eg., Richard Davies’ daughter] I’m so deeply sorry for your loss, I realize it has been a very difficult time. I need to talk to you a minute, maybe you can come over here to a quieter spot (out of the frey) and sit down?
I’m so sorry as I know everything is so raw right now, and you’re probably in shock… the hospital has to ask some questions because of the timing. You’re familiar with the organ donor program? Had you talked to your Dad about this program? We were wondering if you’d like to donate his organs? I know this is very difficult and I’m very sorry to be asking. Would you be interested in donating his eyes to a recipient?