Conversations

By Shirley Henen

The gift is to listen and be listened to. The desired outcome is that of 'understanding.' Language is just one tool for communication. Each word holds symbolism that becomes a language in itself that has the potential to reveal deeper and wider truth. Listening to and coming to un

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookTrail Publishing
• Release date: Jun 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781637678350

Book preview

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to a man who had a dream.

To his belief in that dream.

To his courage and his energy.

To the versatility of his skills that created the structure of his dreams, which enabled so many to give of themselves and so many to receive in their dying.

I love and respect you always,

my beloved husband, STAN.

INTRODUCTION

It is no surprise that one of the constants in working with the dying is encountering those who throughout their lives have found it difficult to express their feelings and their fears.

Perhaps for them, their life’s exposure discouraged open communication.

Perhaps their culture taught them not to communicate openly.

Environments strongly influence behaviours.

Perhaps deep down there lies a fear of confronting what is real.

Perhaps they too intuitively know that those around them could not themselves come to terms with painful confrontation.

So many patients gave me the gift and privilege of sharing those fears, doubts, questions, and statements. These often came in the form of symbols—words that, if one looked beyond the semantics, brought clarity and meaning to their situations, words that flowed along their path of thought. If I stayed with the images and symbols they presented, these words brought a whole new and real world into the open both for them and for me, a universe to explore and a road to travel whenever they chose to lead the way.

In this book I bring to you Conversations—images and symbols, often the tools that moved patients, family members, or clients from difficult or stuck positions to movement and clarity.

I hold each one these precious individuals so very dearly in my memory and thank them for the gift of sharing with me at such moments of vulnerability.

What I gained is immeasurable. For giving of self, sharing, and just being together with human beings are the greatest gifts both to give and receive.

I in turn share with you these beautiful and painful moments of revelation and disclosure in the hope that this will be a tool for deeper understanding.

ANNA

Anna had been living with her daughter Jane for the past three months.

She was an independent, proud, fastidious lady in the final stages of her cancer.

It was always a joy to enter her beautiful bedroom decorated in pinks and blues—always a bowl of pink roses on her bedside table, her blue-rinsed grey hair perfectly combed, and her bed clean and neat. It was a comfortable place for her frail body that was clothed in a fresh crisp nightdress.

On this particular day an atmosphere of tension hit me as Jane opened the front door. Briefly, she expressed her discomfort and guilt at words that had passed between Anna and herself just minutes before I rang the doorbell. Anna had told Jane that she wanted to travel to Australia to visit her eldest granddaughter, who was about to give birth to her first great-grandchild. This was a very sensitive issue for Jane, who was battling the torn responsibilities of caring for her mother at this final stage of her illness and deeply wishing to be with her own daughter at this special time, pending the birth of her first baby and Jane’s first grandchild.

Jane had responded with anger and frustration at her mother’s request.

Mother, she snapped, You are hardly able to walk to the bathroom, let alone travel to Australia!

The heaviness in her spoke mountains about her regret for her harsh retort. I encouraged her to take a necessary break and to leave me with Anna.

In retrospect, I feel quite sure that Anna had heard our conversation at the door. As I entered her bedroom, she said, Will you pack my bags for me, Shirley?

Spontaneously I answered, Yes, with pleasure! Where can I find the suitcase?

Anna sat upright, tense and excited. It’s on top of the cupboard.

I climbed on a chair and found a case in the upper section of the built-in cupboard. I put it on the spare bed, opened it, and turned to Anna. The light in her eyes gave a sense of purpose and presence in the moment.

What would you like me to pack, Anna?

Open the cupboard. Let’s go through the shelves. Start at the top. I’ll have that navy jersey, the one with the golden buttons, the grey blouse, and that pink one too.

I smiled. Anna loved her pink!

Go to the hanging cupboard. Take my navy skirt, the black one for evenings… oh, and please pack that white silk shirt. It goes so well with that skirt.

I packed each item as she instructed. She chose her shoes, a jacket… the case was not even half full.

Then we reached her underwear, so neatly stacked—six pairs of panties, stockings, petticoats. Suddenly she looked at me. She had been sitting up balanced on her thin arms, and now she relaxed herself onto her pillows.

Is my pink nightdress there?

I smiled again. Yes, Anna, it’s here.

Don’t pack it. You can close the case now.

In the time that it took me to close the case and place it standing up against the wall and to fold the pink nightdress and place it on top of the suitcase, Anna had totally sunk into the many pillows around her head and shoulders. Her eyes were closed and her face was in total repose. There was not a line of tension, not a wrinkle about her eyes or mouth. I stood at her bedside holding her hand in mine and gently caressed her forearm.

Intuitively I knew that something very important and special had taken place. Silently I spoke to Anna, wishing her a safe and happy journey. I sat with her for about fifteen minutes as she dropped deeper and deeper into a peaceful sleep.

Jane was in her kitchen preparing dinner. Together we made a cup of tea and sat talking at the table.

Jane, you may be surprised to find a packed suitcase standing in Mom’s room. I did for her what she asked, and I have a sense that it was important for her. I may be wrong, but as the weekend is about to begin, please feel free to call me at any time.

As I drove home, I reaffirmed for myself the total awareness of feelings and situations that exist in families, in spite of the communication they may practise, how much stronger the inner knowledge can be between mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, parents and children—the deep spiritual bond.

I heard no word from Jane that night or on the Saturday morning. At 2.00 p.m. the phone rang, and Jane announced that Mom had just taken her last breath.

I arrived at the house at the same time as the undertakers and quickly went into Anna’s bedroom ahead of them. I found Anna lying in total peace dressed in her pink nightdress; her hair was groomed to perfection.

As I stood there silent in that moment, Jane came into the room.

She took my hand and said,

Now I understand. I understand so much!

Together we helped the undertakers. Jane checked every move they made, ever-conscious that her mother was covered at all times. When Anna had gone, we sat in the study in the warm sunlight and Jane related events as they had occurred.

After you left on Friday afternoon, Mom slept deeply. I came in to give her the medication and find out what she wanted for supper, but she was in a deep sleep, so I left her for a while. I came back later. Her breathing had changed; it was deeper, and there were long gaps between breaths.

As a non-practising nurse, Jane was aware of what that indicated, and she had left her mom undisturbed and gone off to attend to the family. She had checked on Anna later and had found her gently perspiring but peaceful and in a deep sleep. She had sat at her bedside holding her clammy hand in hers and her eyes had wandered over to the suitcase.

Thoughts of the afternoon’s angry words had come back to her.

"I suddenly understood. Of course Mom could not have gone to Australia, but she was allowing me to go, and she was making her own journey—her final journey!

I spoke to her and asked her to forgive my frustration and anger. I don’t know if she heard me, but perhaps she felt me there. I was in floods of tears. I so understood her at that moment. She was a wonderful mother and always so magnanimous!

When Jane had cried her tears away, she found herself looking at the suitcase with the pink nightdress perched on top. Another flood of understanding had come to her, and as her head cleared she began to laugh.

So close to tears is laughter! So close to laughter, tears!

Jane’s memories had surfaced: a little girl ready for bed, Mom tucking her in, but not before the clothes had been selected and placed on her chair, ready for the next day!

Again memories had flooded in, and she could hear the irritable words she had mouthed about the stupidity of preparing for the next day.

When you don’t even know what the weather is going to be! This is so stupid, Mom!

Jane smiled.

"She would definitely have wanted to know what she was wearing when she left.

"You cannot imagine how special it feels to have been able