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They're all Going to Die
“They are all going to die!” that was what an old client of mine from my former job said when she found out what my new job would be.
And in a way, she was right. Everyone eventually dies. Many of my clients have died and many may die while they are under our care.
It is painful—as it should be.
Today I am writing Christmas cards to clients and to families and as I have scrolled through I see the empty spaces of where other clients were. I remember them and their families and what the team of us did. I also remember what they have taught us about living.
I do not meet my clients under happy circumstances. I meet them in the midst of devastation and heartache and a confusion of where to turn. I meet them at the lowest point. I meet them when the last thing they want in the world is to meet me.
I have become so familiar with Alzheimer’s, dementia, strokes, cancer, heart attacks, diabetes and such an assortment of destructive illnesses that I feel as if I wear the knowledge of it as a second skin. I can’t shake the heartache I witness. More importantly—I don’t want to. What I have the blessing to be witness to—are miracles.
I watch caregivers bloom into even more extraordinary humans than they were to begin with. I listen to their funny stories, or sad stories, or concerns. And I hear the caring echo so loudly between each word—like church bells ringing. I witness the tenderness of loving and exhausted families still touch their loved ones with love and speaking words of gentleness through laughter and tears. I get to see the difference that we make when someone can leave their mom for a while and see a movie, or go to a party. I get to know that someone is relearning how to live their life as they come out of battling a horrid medical treatment. I get to see that it counts.
As I write out Christmas cards, I tell each how dear they are to us—we who care for them physically also care for them with our hearts. I write to daughters and sons, sisters and brothers and tell them how their kindness and their strength to carry on is amazing to watch. I write the families of clients who have passed. I tell them I remember and how each is remembered fondly. It moves me to know each of them.
It is such a wonder to see who each of these really are, to catch glimpses of those who have forgotten how to carry on a conversation yet personality shines through despite the words not making sense. It is a treasure to know the people I work with—the caregivers, the bosses, the families and these dear clients. It is so much more than most people realize. I didn’t quite understand until I was in the midst of it.
I realize that we are not here to help with the dying. Life takes care of that part on its own. We are here to help with the living parts. We are here to find the joy in it. We are here to acknowledge the dignity of a life that is being well lived to the very end. And we are here to remember how that life has touched us and every one intermingled with that precious soul.
It is painful to know that there is an eventual end to everyone. It is a privilege to be a part of that. It is a miracle to behold how strangers come together and become family. It is both simply and intricately love as God had intended. Truly.
Monika M. Basile
And in a way, she was right. Everyone eventually dies. Many of my clients have died and many may die while they are under our care.
It is painful—as it should be.
Today I am writing Christmas cards to clients and to families and as I have scrolled through I see the empty spaces of where other clients were. I remember them and their families and what the team of us did. I also remember what they have taught us about living.
I do not meet my clients under happy circumstances. I meet them in the midst of devastation and heartache and a confusion of where to turn. I meet them at the lowest point. I meet them when the last thing they want in the world is to meet me.
I have become so familiar with Alzheimer’s, dementia, strokes, cancer, heart attacks, diabetes and such an assortment of destructive illnesses that I feel as if I wear the knowledge of it as a second skin. I can’t shake the heartache I witness. More importantly—I don’t want to. What I have the blessing to be witness to—are miracles.
I watch caregivers bloom into even more extraordinary humans than they were to begin with. I listen to their funny stories, or sad stories, or concerns. And I hear the caring echo so loudly between each word—like church bells ringing. I witness the tenderness of loving and exhausted families still touch their loved ones with love and speaking words of gentleness through laughter and tears. I get to see the difference that we make when someone can leave their mom for a while and see a movie, or go to a party. I get to know that someone is relearning how to live their life as they come out of battling a horrid medical treatment. I get to see that it counts.
As I write out Christmas cards, I tell each how dear they are to us—we who care for them physically also care for them with our hearts. I write to daughters and sons, sisters and brothers and tell them how their kindness and their strength to carry on is amazing to watch. I write the families of clients who have passed. I tell them I remember and how each is remembered fondly. It moves me to know each of them.
It is such a wonder to see who each of these really are, to catch glimpses of those who have forgotten how to carry on a conversation yet personality shines through despite the words not making sense. It is a treasure to know the people I work with—the caregivers, the bosses, the families and these dear clients. It is so much more than most people realize. I didn’t quite understand until I was in the midst of it.
I realize that we are not here to help with the dying. Life takes care of that part on its own. We are here to help with the living parts. We are here to find the joy in it. We are here to acknowledge the dignity of a life that is being well lived to the very end. And we are here to remember how that life has touched us and every one intermingled with that precious soul.
It is painful to know that there is an eventual end to everyone. It is a privilege to be a part of that. It is a miracle to behold how strangers come together and become family. It is both simply and intricately love as God had intended. Truly.
Monika M. Basile
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