My recent experience with grief and isolation has helped me grasp how important it is for us to reach out to the family members of our patients with affirmation and willingness to connect with them in their pain.
Someone important to me and my family died when I was away for a week of training with the National Guard. When I received the news, I told my chain of command and received a pass so I could tend to the emotional needs of my family and me.
Business as usual for everyone else
As I traveled home over the next two hours, I felt disconnected from the world, and as I waited to meet my daughter in a coffee shop, I felt even more alone. My world had significantly changed, but I was surrounded by strangers who seemed to be conducting business as usual. I felt a need to be around people who knew, and this may be one of the reasons I felt so comforted by my daughter’s presence once she knew. I didn’t cry until I told her he passed away and she started crying.
Following the day we spent together, I returned to my military duties. It was a different mission in a different place, and I would be interacting with people I didn’t know. I didn’t feel any warmth at first, and that’s what I needed in my vulnerable state. I arrived in the evening before an event I was to support and was invited to a festive gathering of participants. I showed up, but I didn’t perceive a willingness to connect. Curious to see what drinks they might be sharing, I began to open a cooler, but a guy aggressively asked me, “What do you think you’re doing?”
I was out in the middle of nowhere on a mission that didn’t exactly excite me, and the people seemed like jerks at what was supposed to be a social gathering to jumpstart the event. This was not what I needed while processing grief.
My duties kept me busy during days, and I disappeared from the base after hours, sitting in the coffee shop attached to the rural grocery store. I was a stranger. I felt as if everyone’s facial expressions conveyed how strange I appeared to them. Walking through the grocery store aisles in search of a snack felt excruciating. I felt alone. I knew I wasn’t functioning at highest capacity. I felt judged for being different.
Feeling like a stranger
I know I was projecting my own feelings as I felt the looks of people around me pushing me away. I know that if I were to make a sincere effort to connect with the grocery store attendants or soldiers on the base, they would have been supportive. I’ve no reason to doubt that. But I didn’t have it in me to bridge the gap. A part of me was perpetually running away from connecting with people the three days I was out on this mission.
Relief, warmth, peace all returned to me as I returned to my team at Camp Mabry. Eye contact with soldiers who knew I was struggling. One colleague asked how I was doing and I gave a formal response about the mission progress. Then he asked how I was doing personally. I needed that. I needed that insistent acknowledgment that I was struggling. I needed to be around people I knew were loyal and who knew I was having a hard time. I’m deeply grateful for the blessing of serving in such a team.
This tells me about something some people need when they’re grieving. When I was around people who I trusted and who knew, I felt safe. I felt ok feeling sad. When I didn’t have that, I felt disoriented and lost.
Some of the family members we serve have this kind of loyal and connected family support, where they are safe grieving around each other. Some don’t, either because family is minimal, estranged, or emotionally disconnected. This is something that hospice workers can contribute. We can validate the feeling that reality has changed. We can acknowledge that business will not comfortably continue as usual. We can be there.