When it was time for patients to go home to say their goodbyes, we had the honour of taking them. We would share the care, my partner and I, either driving, or sitting with the patient. More often than not, I was blessed to be able to sit and be the company the patient almost always sought. Heart, mind, and ears open, with an ability to …
When it was time for patients to go home to say their goodbyes, we had the honour of taking them.
We would share the care, my partner and I, either driving, or sitting with the patient. More often than not, I was blessed to be able to sit and be the company the patient almost always sought. Heart, mind, and ears open, with an ability to offer hugs without as much as a touch, was often all they required.
For many, this time spent in the enclosed space was akin to time in a confession box, and in the perceived suspension of time, sins a plenty would be discharged in the air, hanging for a while before dissolving.
Sometimes words would tumble out, rushing like the sea to the shore, releasing more with each wave. Other times words failed, so we sat in silence until time dislodged the minds' hold, and then an avalanche would ensue.
Regrets laid heavy on hearts that were now too frail to hold them. So many words were left unsaid for reasons now forgotten, about things that had long since lost their once-perceived importance.
Time was the scapegoat for almost everything, one way or another, and, most especially for all that remained on the imaginary bucket lists that hung in the recesses of best intentions.
Time was also the saviour, the gift that so many felt allowed them space to say what had always been left unsaid.
Many concluded that love mattered most when all was said and done. Old and young, bitter or resigned, it did not matter; there did not appear to be a pattern other than this universal conclusion.
I have since carried the wisdom of their words in my heart; for I have seen that time is indeed a gift and love really is all that matters.
What a role to have played in so many lives at their ending, Tracey. I love the way you have conveyed the almost geological nature of how personalities shift and their energies change towards the end. Yes, I recognise this from own experience working with those at end of life. Thank you as ever for how you are contributing to this project. Here is your link:
Thank you Tanya. I am as ever so very grateful for this opportunity to write in this space. Without it I don't know that I would have shared my words, my memories to the outside world.
...but now you have begun, I forsee your writing journey moving out from here into many other places (while also hoping my themes will hold your interest so that you stay with us too!) xx
Oh yes for sure Tanya, I want to keep going on my writing journey! I feel that I have changed already. I am now feeling into everything with words rather than wondering how I might capture with a paintbrush. So exciting! xx
When it was time for patients to go home to say their goodbyes, we had the honour of taking them.
We would share the care, my partner and I, either driving, or sitting with the patient. More often than not, I was blessed to be able to sit and be the company the patient almost always sought. Heart, mind, and ears open, with an ability to offer hugs without as much as a touch, was often all they required.
For many, this time spent in the enclosed space was akin to time in a confession box, and in the perceived suspension of time, sins a plenty would be discharged in the air, hanging for a while before dissolving.
Sometimes words would tumble out, rushing like the sea to the shore, releasing more with each wave. Other times words failed, so we sat in silence until time dislodged the minds' hold, and then an avalanche would ensue.
Regrets laid heavy on hearts that were now too frail to hold them. So many words were left unsaid for reasons now forgotten, about things that had long since lost their once-perceived importance.
Time was the scapegoat for almost everything, one way or another, and, most especially for all that remained on the imaginary bucket lists that hung in the recesses of best intentions.
Time was also the saviour, the gift that so many felt allowed them space to say what had always been left unsaid.
Many concluded that love mattered most when all was said and done. Old and young, bitter or resigned, it did not matter; there did not appear to be a pattern other than this universal conclusion.
I have since carried the wisdom of their words in my heart; for I have seen that time is indeed a gift and love really is all that matters.
What a role to have played in so many lives at their ending, Tracey. I love the way you have conveyed the almost geological nature of how personalities shift and their energies change towards the end. Yes, I recognise this from own experience working with those at end of life. Thank you as ever for how you are contributing to this project. Here is your link:
https://thecureforsleep.com/september-issue-on-time/#traceymayor
Txx
Thank you Tanya. I am as ever so very grateful for this opportunity to write in this space. Without it I don't know that I would have shared my words, my memories to the outside world.
Tracey xx
...but now you have begun, I forsee your writing journey moving out from here into many other places (while also hoping my themes will hold your interest so that you stay with us too!) xx
Oh yes for sure Tanya, I want to keep going on my writing journey! I feel that I have changed already. I am now feeling into everything with words rather than wondering how I might capture with a paintbrush. So exciting! xx