On Not Talking to Mother

My mother has been my irreplaceable confidant. I am so lonely for her: the mother of my past, of her younger days, the mother of our conversations, and the mother of all talkers! Now the words are few that she can utter.

Oddly, I want to tell my mother about my mother's demise. I keep wanting to pick up the phone to "call Mom" about this new beguiling anguish: Mom's dying. Mom had heard most all my other complaints, laments, yearnings, hopes, frustrations--and (far fewer) joys. Now the listening ear and the speaking voice are receding, retreating, leaving me alone. in the hospice, I can tell her I love her; read Scripture to her; touch her. But I cannot "talk to Mom" any more... Not yet.

Lamenting the Loss of Sacred Space

As I left my dear mother's hospice room (called a "comfort room"), tears fresh and hot in my eyes, my heart warm with both pain and love, I looked at, then walked toward, the Catholic chapel room. I pondered entering and praying there. But, no.

The jukebox in the reception room was playing loudly in the area right next to the chapel. Even if I entered the supposedly sacred space to weep and pray, the sound of "White Room" by Cream would have drowned out too much of what was needed in that poignant moment (no matter how aesthetically excellent that piece of music is in its own right in its own place).

Even a Catholic chapel could not save me from wrongful noise. I left and wept on my way...in the silence of the truck--and before the face of my God.

The Last Chapter

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee."--John Donne.

I will soon be with an aged loved for her last journey of this world. While tested in giving care for chronic illness (and with a very mixed record), I am utterly untested in helping someone die. Others have given counsel and prayer, but I have no experience; I feel fear and dread. Yet love compels me to take courage.

From The Book of Common Prayer

For Recovery from Sickness

O God, the strength of the weak and the comfort of sufferers: Mercifully accept our prayers, and grant to your servant N. the help of your power, thathis sickness may be turned into health, and our sorrow into joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

or this

O God of heavenly powers, by the might of your command you drive away from our bodies all sickness and all infirmity: Be present in your goodness with your servant N., that his weakness may be banished and his strength restored; and that, his health being renewed, he may bless your holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Dying Well

If anyone has suggestions for how a Christian with a terminal illness can learn to die well, please offer them here. Thank you.

I sent this to our two Colorado Senators

Dear Senator:

I read that 100 watt incandescent bulbs will be illegal to produce after 2012 and the same goes for 40 watts after 2014. If this is the law, it is a terrible imposition on the choices of American citizens.

My wife has chemical and environmental sensitiveness, and cannot stand fluorescent lights. They literally make her sick. This is true for millions of Americans as well.

Is there any provision for these environmentally sensitive people under this new oppressive legislation. If not, there should be.

Best,

Doug Groothuis

Loss of Contact

One of saddest of the many sad things about protracted illness is that the one suffering often loses some of or all of their ability to express his or her thoughts in speech and writing. This loss is painful, of course, for the one experiencing it; but it is likewise painful to the sufferers friends and family.

My aged mother, who lives far from me, has been experiencing severe physical problems for over two months. Her maladies have compromised both body and mind. When she is on opiates, she simply is not her normal self. But even when she is off of them, her pain, fears, and fatigue make her different from the person who would always so readily talk with me over the phone--the person who was a famously faithful letter and card writer. There is now more silence than speech; and no more cards or letters. I cannot simply call Mom to check in or to lament or to rejoice. I miss her voice, her cheerfulness, her faithfully-expressed love for me and my wife.

Others experience similar losses in other settings. The once-vibrant friend now struggles to find the right words and gets confused so often. Words slip away and an awkward silence ensues. We look into eyes and wonder what lies beyond them.

These long silences of illness, the absence of welcomed and wanted words, are among the most painful of pains for those suffering along with the wounded ones.

Yet even as his earth-bound, and disease-ridden creatures go mute, God continues to speak, to speak through the testimony of Scripture, through the loving acts of friends, and even--if we listen carefully enough--through the long silences of the suffering...