Nursing Homes and Hospice Care

Many people in nursing homes and hospice care are without the loving presence and spiritual support of friends or family. There is a great need for compassionate volunteers, but not everyone is up to the task of assisting people in their transition. It takes a special person to walk in, meet someone for the first time, talk intimately with them, and hold their hand, all the while knowing they may not be around the next time they come to visit. Yet, this blessed gift of friendship is crucial in helping a soul leave peacefully. Linda Woods (www.linda-woods.com) visited her friend, Irving Faust, while he was in hospice. As a result of her experience that day, she now volunteers regularly at a local hospice. Linda shares her story about assisting Irving Faust in his transition:

I was not prepared for the vision in front of me. Irving lay in his hospital bed unconscious, his breathing labored, struggling to let go. He was on oxygen and every breath was intense, difficult and uncertain. When I received Naomi’s email about Irving’s condition, I thought I would at least be able to talk to him, look into his eyes, and squeeze his hand. Not so. His angels had other plans for my visit. Plans that would definitely ease his transition, and plans that would shock me and change my life forever.

It was 11:20 a.m. when I walked into the room. His daughter Martha had flown in from Denver earlier that week and was scheduled to fly out at 2 p.m. that afternoon. We introduced ourselves and shared our memories, tears and emotions. I talked a lot about my relationship with her father, who had treated me like one of his own. He was always listening, always encouraging, always accepting. Now, here he was in the final hours of his life. After struggling with cancer for over three years and trying several holistic treatments, he had finally passed through the stages of death: fear, denial, anger, and finally and most difficult of all -- acceptance. I knew that Irving could still hear us. But how could anyone comfort him at this time? How could we possibly know what he was feeling? Was he frightened? Was he seeing into other realms? On some level, was he conscious and waiting for the moment when Naomi and Kathy would arrive?
I sat by his bed and the tears welled up again. The nurses were telling us that he would probably make his transition later that evening. I hadn’t seen many people die. As a young girl, my grandmother had passed in front of me. I stood there helpless, with my mom, not knowing what to do. This time though, I knew I wanted to help, some how, some way. Intuitively I knew that I was a healer, but had never acknowledged myself as one. Being a healer did not mean that I could cure illness. That kind of healing only came from God. Being a healer to me meant that I could direct Source energy where it needed to go, and extend love, healing and comfort to someone in their most difficult moment. I had never actually offered my healing services. Instead, I was always promoting others as being more enlightened or gifted than myself. Oh, I had practiced my healing abilities on students in my Healing Touch class and on participants in my Reiki class, but never on a person who really needed my help, and certainly never with anyone who was facing his final moments. I knew about the power of intention. Anyone could use that gift to help others. And I knew about the power of “laying on of hands”—especially to comfort a young child in distress, or an elderly person facing loneliness, or anyone who needed the warmth and closeness of human touch. These were gifts that we all are able to give, with no special training, and I wanted to give those gifts now.

As I stood there, looking at Irving, a message raced through my head, “Do the ’chakra spread’.” I had learned this gentle technique in Healing Touch Class four years before and had not used it since. It was designed specifically for people who were in transition and trying to make a decision, and it was certainly appropriate now. It involved working with the body’s energy fields above seven specific areas, (called Chakras), including the solar plexus, throat, and heart. The message that I received was fast and fleeting, but it came on strong and I paid attention. I told Martha what I had heard and she listened intently. “I’ll ask Mom,” she said and picked up her cell phone. Martha was no stranger to Healing Touch. She had practiced as a Reiki master and massage therapist for years and knew the power and gentleness of the technique that I was suggesting.

“Make sure you want me to do this,” I said, “because it’s been known to speed up the process.” Martha understood completely.

My mind began racing, “Who do you think you are? You walk in here during his final hours, and suggest something like that, when these people have been through so much. This is a family matter…and YOU are not family. How dare you come in here and suggest something like that. Another thought guided me higher and I knew that I had a genuine desire to help if I could. Naomi and Martha were more than receptive, and I could sense on some level, that Irving was receptive also.

When Naomi arrived, I could tell she was exhausted. She sat down and allowed me to help her relax with energy work while we waited for her other daughter to arrive. Kathy was on her way during her lunch hour, but running late. The moments ticked by. Finally, Martha said, “I think you need to work on Dad now.”

I walked over to Irving’s bed and spoke to him. “I know you are seeing angels, Irving. My angels are telling me to work with what’s in front of me, and YOU are in front of me now.”

I held his feet, very gently, and let the warmth of my hands soak into the fabric around his skin. At first, he seemed agitated but slowly his breathing became calmer. I remained at his feet for a while longer and then placed one of my hands on each of his knees. His breathing slowed to a steady, peaceful pace. After awhile, I raised my right hand above his body and smoothed out his energy field from his head to his feet. Opening his heart chakra was the next step, and I trusted that I could help him; trusted that I could do this, and let go of the worry, the anxiety, the thoughts of inadequacy, and the feelings of unworthiness. I just let go. I bent my fingers and placed the lower knuckles of each hand so that they faced each other. All eight fingers were pointed downward, with thumbs held straight up. I simply pulled my hands apart as I opened the energy field above his body. (My hands resembled a soft retractor pulling open the air above him). I did this motion several times slowly, deliberately, while sending an intention of love and healing. This helped Irving open his heart. He was barely breathing now. Naomi stood up and came over to us, placing one hand on his shoulder, and one hand on top of my hand, which was now stationary over his heart.
Then, in that brief, quiet moment, Irving took his last breath. All was still, but I was shaken to my core. Never did I think that Irving would pass so quickly. I thought he would make his transition later that evening—not now—not while I was working on him. Oh God! I felt so responsible for accelerating his death. Naomi, who was much calmer than I was, reassured me that it was all in Divine Order. I was meant to come to hospice on that day of all days. I was meant to be by his side to help him make a peaceful transition. The time was 12:10 pm, and Irving was on his way home.

I know now that Irving gave me the ultimate gesture of respect. He trusted me in his final moments and acknowledged me as the healer that I am. Irving’s death was an experience I will never forget and the catalyst that sent me on to begin my own healing practice. Now I am helping others in transition – no matter where they are in their lives, and I’m teaching them to be healers also, showing them how to use their hands to send love, intention and healing to others. Thank you Irving, for trusting me, in your greatest moment: going home - going back to Source.

Assisting Irving in his transition was a very valuable gift to the entire family. It alleviated his suffering and allowed his soul to pass peacefully. The family had an understanding of what Irving wanted and were able to help him transcend.

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For more information, you might enjoy reading the complete book More Than Meets the Eye True Stories about Death, Dying, and Afterlife available on Amazon.com.

Dealing with Guilt and Grief

No matter how much we give or do for a critically-ill loved one, it is common to feel that we have not done enough for them. Guilt can be debilitating and keep us stuck in the past. It is important for the caregiver and family members to heal their grief and let go of guilt. A dear friend of mine, Jake Matson, tells his story:

My grandmother had a stroke and was placed in a nursing home. I hated for her to be in a home and I was mad at my mom and Aunt Sue for putting her there. It was a long time before I would go to see her because I kept hoping she would get better. I guess I knew she was bad off and I didn’t want to see her that way. Finally I met my parents at the nursing home and went inside to see her. At that time my grandmother was very coherent, but she looked like she had aged 15 years since the last time I had seen her. She couldn't do anything for herself and the home provided the constant care that she required.

On the 3-hour ride home I kept trying to think of ways to talk Mom into letting me take Maw-Maw into my home (even though deep down I knew it was a bigger job than I could take on). Maw-Maw did so much for me and I felt like she deserved better. I kept thinking how horrible it must be to live in a bed in a strange place with only a TV for company. I vowed to visit her once a week.

The first time I went alone, I sat in the parking lot trying to talk myself into going inside. I hated seeing Maw-Maw in that condition. I walked in and she was so happy to see me. She complained about the food the home served, so I went to McDonald’s and got her a kid’s meal with a malt. She kept raving about how good the chicken nuggets and malt tasted. Since she only had the use of one hand, she couldn't eat like a normal person. It was very sad to watch her struggle to get the food to her face, only to have it fall out of her mouth. When it was time for me to go, she begged me to stay, “Please don't go, please stay longer!” she pleaded. I promised I would return the next week. On the way home I felt sad and vowed to go back the next week. I was mad at myself. I should have given her more of my time. Why did I wait until she was dying to spend time with her?

Over the next few months it got easier for me to see her. The visits were more upbeat. I went alone most of the time because I didn't want my kids to remember their great-grandmother this way. Maw-Maw was rebellious. She hated the food, she hated living there, and she fought with the nurses and aids. She asked me many times to get her out of there. She was more like a child wanting attention, and that didn't make it easy on me; I hated for her to be there too.

Mom and Aunt Sue hired a personal aid/babysitter. Why they hired a black lady to sit with an old New Orleans gal, I’ll never know. It reminded me of the movie “Driving Miss Daisy”. Every week Maw-Maw told me she was going to fire her. She treated her so badly, but Shea wouldn’t stand for Maw-Maw’s foolishness. She’d threaten to quit at least once a week. Shea must have really needed the money to stay with her. Truth is, Maw-Maw lived many more years because Shea saved her life more than once. Shea would stay seven or eight hours a day and Maw-Maw liked having her there, even though she would never tell her so. The aids at the home got used to Shea being there and they didn't do much for her after that. When I came to visit I would let Shea take a break. She deserved it! She was a saint!

Shea would have a wheelchair ready and I would push Maw-Maw up the hall and back, and sometimes I would take her outside. Maw-Maw lived for the day when someone came to visit her. Every week she would ask, “What did you bring me?” I brought flowers for her room every week, and we tried to decorate her room for every holiday. I always brought her something to eat and snacks for her to have later. I put up a bird feeder outside her window and she quickly came to expect that I would fill it during each visit. We laughed and told jokes. Once, I pushed her in a wheel chair down to a water fountain. I brought a fishing pole. We sat there and fished together and told fishing stories. I tried to make her laugh. If she was in pain I'd grab a nurse and ask if she could have a pain pill. If they told me she just had one, I would ask them to give her something else and let her think it was a pain pill. Maw-Maw would feel so much better then, not knowing she’d only had sugar water.

I would call my mom on my way to the nursing home and ask how Maw-Maw was doing. Mom would say, “Oh, she has good days and bad days, but the good days are less and less, and she is getting worse!” Mom even told me that I shouldn’t visit her anymore. Still, I was full of hope and optimism—thinking she was going to get well and get out of there. After all, she had conquered every illness known to man. I thought she was Superwoman. She defeated cancer more than once in her last 15 years. She lost her hair twice from chemo and grew it back. She had pneumonia several times. She broke her hip and still went dancing around. She had cornea transplants twice in 20 years. Even after her stroke I'd bet she could still drive a car with one foot and one hand if someone would have strapped her in! In reality, though, she was dying, and most of the good days she had was when I was with her. Even though her bodily functions were deteriorating, her mind was as strong as ever.

As time passed, Maw-Maw learned to tolerate living in the home, but we always talked about her getting well and getting out of there. I usually arrived around lunch time and always brought her food. She was diabetic, and I always got fussed at by Mom and Aunt Sue for bringing her food she wasn't supposed to eat. In reality she didn't eat enough to send her sugar level soaring. She loved the vanilla malts but never finished a whole one. I would stuff her closet full of snacks and Coke and things she liked. No one else visited enough to know that all she took was a bite or two. I encouraged my sisters to visit and bring her something; ANYTHING to brighten her day. One day I was running behind schedule and was wondering what to bring. I figured I would be there just after dinner, so I stopped at a liquor store to get the fixings for a martini. When I arrived she said in an ugly tone of voice, “Where were you today?” She quickly changed her tone, “What did you bring me? What's in the bag?”—trying to grab the bag from me with her one good arm. I told her I was going to make Martini's. She said, “Oh, Jake. I don't know if I should drink alcohol with all the medication I'm on.” I replied, “Just a little sip won’t hurt.” I set the bag of goodies to the side, having second thoughts. We talked for a minute or two and then she said, “Boy, are you going to fix us a drink or not?” I took a small Styrofoam coffee cup and made a Martini, poured half into another cup, then added an olive to each. She was so excited! She took a sip, spilling most of it on her clothes. She took another sip, spilling even more. Determined to get to the olive, she spilled even more. She couldn't have had much more than an ounce when all of a sudden she came to life with a sudden burst of energy and giddiness. She started telling dirty jokes, laughing and cutting up. She said, “Oh, Lord. If I pass now, I am going to smell like a drunk, and the nurses are going to think I been drinking all night. Don't tell Shea or Sue Ellen or we might get in trouble.” I didn't have to say a thing, within an hour she had everyone in the nursing home laughing. Maw-Maw had her wheelchair comic sit-up debut!
Even though I was nervous about Mom’s and Aunt Sue's reaction, I laughed for most of the 3 hour ride home. I called Dad to give him a heads up on what I had done. He laughed and thought it was great. I never heard from Mom or Aunt Sue, but a week or so later Shea wanted to know why we had a party without her. Everyone had heard about it. Time and time again, even at the funeral, many of our family and friends told me how she and the nursing home staff talked about that one visit.

In her final months Maw-Maw lost her volume. She still had presence of mind but she spoke very softly. She was not her feisty self anymore; not much on conversation. Every answer she gave was either “yes” or “no” without further reply. She slept a lot and didn’t want to get out of bed. She seemed to have aged 10 years in only a few weeks. It was getting harder and harder for me to see her this way—an old lady confined to a bed. I skipped a week and didn’t go to visit her. Before she would have fussed at me, but by this time she barely noticed. I skipped another week, maybe more. I couldn't make myself go to see her in that condition and I knew she didn't have much time left. More than once I prayed for God to let her go. I could see no reason why He would want her to live like that. There was no point.

The last time my two sisters visited Maw-Maw, she didn't open her eyes even once, but they felt like she knew they were there. My little sister thought it was time to pray. She took out Maw-Maw's favorite prayer, took her hands, and began to pray. Maw-Maw responded with tears from her closed eyes. Did she know these where her last days? Was she sad to be leaving or happy to be going? They all continued to pray through their tears. My sisters prayed well that day. Maw-Maw left us later that night.
I am glad I wasn't there when she died; yet sometimes I wish I had been. For a while after that I would get mad at myself. Why didn't I spend more time with her before she got sick? Why did I let all of those years slip away?

That must have been difficult for Jake, but what special memories he has of his dear grandmother. He was such a blessing to her.

The Day Nanny Had Hip Surgery

Surgery went well. She'll be in recovery unit until about 9 p.m. then returned to a private room. The surgeon told us he had it fixed to heal properly. However, we were told that she will be using a wheelchair for months (possibly from now on).

I offered to stay at the hospital with Nanny so my mom could go home and rest. Mom says she's afraid I can't handle it if Nanny were to pass during my watch. I assured her that Nanny and I have both been to the Other Side and back and that we have an understanding rather than a fear of such things.

Nanny is resting in her room now, but she was freaking out when she first came back because she thought she was in a nursing home. When she heard MawMaw's (my mom) voice, she calmed down and her BP went into normal range. There was no way Mom would leave her there alone tonight so I came back to the house to rest up. That way I'll be fresh to let Mom come home and rest tomorrow when Nanny is more coherent. The nurses have been very attentive to her and I feel confident that they will make sure Mom and Nanny have all they need throughout the night. They had brought clear liquids and were helping her sip through a straw when I was leaving. So, all in all, things are going well. By the way, It's her right side that was injured.