Living Taking Care Of The Dying, But Never Dealing With Death

Last week I accepted a new position as a Hospice & Palliative RN, this new position is one I have been working towards for the last year of my nursing career and I was excited. But as I got home that night, after the kids were put to bed an I was alone with my thoughts…It finally hit me. I am afraid of death.

I was laying down the other day thinking about how I just took on this new role and how I am going to be surrounded by death and the devastating aftermath it leaves once it sweeps a room...

I am afraid.

I know what you’re thinking. If I am afraid of death, why on earth would I accept the job? But this is a newly discovered fear; a fear that only crept its way into my life after I lost my father a few months ago.

What no one tells you about death is that no matter how much time passes, no matter how quickly you are able to go back to your real life…It still feels surreal. It still feels unfair.

I remember February 20th, 2019 like it was yesterday. I had just packed up my apartment in Michigan and had decided to start a new chapter in my life with my children and fiancée in Florida. So many emotions that day. Leaving my family and best friend, was the hardest part. I was anxious to be in a new place, yet I was excited to have my little family together at last. What was supposed to be an overall happy day for me, was about to take a turn for the worst.

We landed in Ft. Lauderdale and had just left baggage claim. I checked my messages and I had one from my brother. It read

“Hey sis I need to talk to you about something that happened.”

I thought nothing of it. Our ride arrived, I got the boys strapped into their car seats and attempted to process the change that was about to take place in my life. Then my phone rang. It was my brother.

“Something bad happened.”

He was... quiet.

“Pops died.”

Honestly, everything that happened after that is still a blur. I could hear him talking but I couldn’t make out the words. My heart was in the pit of my stomach, but I could feel it beating as if it was going to burst. And in a sense, it did. My whole body went completely numb. I couldn’t move. This easily became the worst day of my existence.

I hung the phone up and after sitting in silence for what seems like an eternity, it hit me. My daddy was dead. I started screaming. The kids began to cry in the back seat, frightened by my hysterical behavior. But I didn’t care, and I didn’t stop. My fiancee, Junior, pulled the car over, and I hopped out. The world was spinning, and I tuned everything and everyone out. Its hard to describe what that moment felt like, it was as if It was just me there with this darkness that seemed to strangle and suffocate me. I wept until I literally could not breathe…till today I cry myself to sleep the same way and it feels like the blanket of death stays with me each night.

When I officially accepted my new job, this fear of death felt different, knowing that this pain would be felt by all the families I will interact with each day scares me.

Hospice care focuses on relieving a patient’s symptoms, making sure that they’re comfortable, making sure that the remaining time they have left is meaningful and not spent in any pain or suffering. As a nurse, I have trained myself to put the needs of my patients first. But now, I am in pain. I am suffering; and it is my job to be there for and comfort others in theirs. How am I going to be able to ignore my grief, yet support others in experiencing their own?

I am tired of short changing myself. I want to allow myself to be weak and vulnerable, to cry all the tears that I have been keeping bottled up inside of me. I need to feel all the pain that I have been so desperately trying to hide from. I am not okay – and I am trying to convince myself that that’s okay. I am only doing myself a disservice if I pretend to be strong all the time. There’s that saying that goes “God gives the hardest battles, to His strongest soldiers” but I am tired of being one of His strongest soldiers. For once, I want my battles to be easy, simple.

And then He spoke to me.

Your battles are hard because you rely on your own understanding. You attempt to handle this alone and carry the pain by yourself when that was never my intention for you. I have never left you, never went anywhere beyond your reach, but you stopped reaching. It is you, daughter, who has forsaken me. And yet, I love you all the same. I desire to be one with you, to make you whole again, to turn your pain into power. But you must allow me to do so. Come talk to me about your troubles like you use to. Surrender your heart to me like you did way back when I filled you with my spirit. It is time for you to release everything that exalts itself against my words. They will only hinder your growth. I know the plans I think towards you, and you know too. It’s time to start acting like it. I chose you; And because I chose you, I have called you. You cannot see what I am cultivating in you now, but one day it will all make sense. But for now, you must trust me. I made you for this.

I have been afraid of what I will feel if I truly allow myself to try and heal from this. Today, I release that fear. I will honor my loss, because I deserve to.

Loss redefines who you are, but maybe it has a purpose. I am hoping that in this, I become closer to the woman God has destined me to be way back in my mother’s womb.

I can do this.