--Michael Collins, Apollo 11 Astronaut
Life at Hospice runs backwards. Each day will be worse, and when it's not, when today the loved one smiles once, or eats more, or curses the nurse, we outsiders who visit say oh! she's such a fighter, or he's so tough, or the doctor gave her only two weeks but, look! it's now five...
What silliness we speak. They're all leaving, sooner rather than later, and it's not because they're weak-kneed cowards.
They -- and soon everyone reading this -- will be explorers, too.
Michael Collins said it well. A hundred years from now, he said, humans will still remember the Apollo 11 landing on the moon, but more as a footnote. What will endure is the journey of Apollo 8, the first of the missions to escape the Earth.
Leaving behind everything familiar is the heart-breaking part. Explorers are honored and remembered not as much for what they found, but for their courage to go. After all, many of the "Great Explorers" got lost, didn't know where they were when they arrived, and never made it home.
I know Rich has to go. He doesn't want to. And I wish he were not taking so much of me with him.
Candace
1 comment:
The exhaustion and loneliness of caretaking is something that has to be experienced, I think. The love and support of friends is essential to help get you through, but when it comes down to it, you are traveling this path alone. The person who is leaving is in transition, and the caretaker is not at that point yet. The caretaker witnesses and loves and is there for every part of the transition, both welcome and unwelcome. The caretaker tries to provide physical, emotional, and spiritual comfort as well, while at the same time needing that themselves. It's a hard path, but it's an amazing gift to give. You are walking that delicately balanced line beautifully, C. Love, Paula
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