On each and every statuatory holiday, their are people in my workplace who do not choose to work the day, and use their seniority to ensure they do not. Being a person who works a lite shift and a short week, I try to work every stat I can. It is always enjoyable for me when a new name pops up on my list because of the holiday. I see some grande folk on exactly this basis year in and year out.
My favourite holiday lady, lived in a genteel apartment in the area overlooking one of the tourist attractions as well as the ocean. Life in the upper 90's can be difficult as the body shows ever more concessions to age. It is always sad to see a vital lively mind in a failing body, but this is life and thus inevitable. We all fall down. My holiday lady was always happy to see me and unfailingly gracious. Each time I would leave I would say the same thing, "See you next holiday" and she would nod and smile. Last holiday she said: "Lord I hope not. Not you, dear, me. I hope I don't have many more of those in me."
She was correct. She did not. She was not on my holiday schedule but she was in the obituary column. It is impossible to feel sad at such times. It is more that you are glad for the person and thankful for the knowing of them. Alot of times my wish is that I had known some of these incredible people at an earlier date, and shared more time with them. Mostly, I am just thankful for the time we had.
Showing posts with label we all fall down. Show all posts
Showing posts with label we all fall down. Show all posts
1.6.08
12.5.08
Bitter Home Truths
One of my private clients asked me if I ever write about my caregiving experiences. I was surprised when he asked me to write about him. He wants people to know his story.
I asked why he doesn't write about it himself but he just smiled and said that he was past those days. Talking yes, writing no.
"Write about me when I am gone. Or almost gone. But write about me as if I mattered."
The client asked me to refer to him as Jimbo. He said it with a laugh. I am not in on that particular private joke that gave him such pleasure. Jimbo is from a very small community north of here. He is of aboriginal descent and is a very beautiful man. Jimbo is 33 and in the last few weeks of his life. A battle with alcoholism began for him at the age of 8. He remembers drinking before that age but considers 8 the age at which he became addicted. For a time, Jimbo was a resident of the Downtown East Side of Vancouver. During that stint on skid row, he contracted HIV. For the past decade he lived with HIV until this last year when full blown AIDS hit. Jimbo has little anger for his lot in life and much insight. Now that this life is drawing to a close, he requires someone else to help with his ADLs. The reason Jimbo is a private client has to do with the way he perceives people treat him. We met by chance when I opened a door for him at he local thrift store. Once inside he walked directly to the furniture section and sat down and coughed for a good long time into a handkerchief. I got a glass from the shelf, threw a dime to the cashier and washed it thoroughly before filling it with water. He was still coughing when I sat down beside him.
As it turned out, this was one of the last times Jimbo was able to go out on his own. I had given him the phone number for the Island Health Authority but he could not get past the idea of strangers helping him. One day I came home to a call from a woman I do not know. Amazingly, I had actually answered my telephone! The woman had gone to a considerable bit of trouble tracking me down as she knew where I worked. She knew a co-worker and a client or three and somehow managed to figure out my last name. She wanted to ask me if I could possible manage to consider a part time job checking in on Jimbo. " He doesn't have more than a few weeks but he can't stay home without help."
Jimbo is now hooked up with Hospice and has the right equipment to stay at home. Typically, this is happening much past the time it should have or could have. He has a friend (the caller) who is staying with him but cannot do his care. He is conscious but refusing food. He calls his friend "Vespa" and they laugh. I am thinking there was a scooter involved somewhere along the line.
The reason Jimbo wanted me to write about him is so simple and so sad.
"You are the only person who was ever truly kind to me without being more afraid of me."
I cannot believe that is true but it is his perception at this time.
Jimbo has a face that looks 100 and has writ on it every battle he has fought. He was obviously a larger fellow most of his life. He looks like he could have gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. He also looks like he lost about 100 pounds. But he is human same as us all.
This will be the last week of Jimbo's life. A Nurse checks in, sent by the Band Office. She is wearing more than just the apron, mask and gloves. She is wearing almost a moon suit. She looks at me in horror as I hold his hand. As far as I know the HIV virus cannot live outside the human body unless a blood or much more rarely, saliva host helps out. Even then, the virus can only last a microsecond. My fingers do not have any orifices, or open sores last time I looked.
Jimbo asked me to bill the Band Office. He has no money left.
He is more concerned with me "working for free" than he is with his imminent passing.
I told him that I work with Hospice and that it is quite all right. This is true. Not current, but true.
A month from now, I will still have the option to work privately for those in this area who have lots of ready money or veteran's benefits. I will still have my little job that I love so dearly. Jimbo will be on the winds, and in the memory.
Is this kindness on my part? I think it is just humanity.
When my time comes someone will hold my hand. I know it.
Why are people afraid of their fellow man when circumstance brings tragedy?
Life piled on life?
Perhaps it is the brain injury I carry with me. I know what it is like to feel shunned labeled and alone. I know what low is.
Aww Jimbo. I did write about you. Sparingly.
You see, this is all I know about him. He told me "You know all the important stuff." what's that I asked. "You see the real me."
And he is beautifully human.
------------- !!
I asked why he doesn't write about it himself but he just smiled and said that he was past those days. Talking yes, writing no.
"Write about me when I am gone. Or almost gone. But write about me as if I mattered."
The client asked me to refer to him as Jimbo. He said it with a laugh. I am not in on that particular private joke that gave him such pleasure. Jimbo is from a very small community north of here. He is of aboriginal descent and is a very beautiful man. Jimbo is 33 and in the last few weeks of his life. A battle with alcoholism began for him at the age of 8. He remembers drinking before that age but considers 8 the age at which he became addicted. For a time, Jimbo was a resident of the Downtown East Side of Vancouver. During that stint on skid row, he contracted HIV. For the past decade he lived with HIV until this last year when full blown AIDS hit. Jimbo has little anger for his lot in life and much insight. Now that this life is drawing to a close, he requires someone else to help with his ADLs. The reason Jimbo is a private client has to do with the way he perceives people treat him. We met by chance when I opened a door for him at he local thrift store. Once inside he walked directly to the furniture section and sat down and coughed for a good long time into a handkerchief. I got a glass from the shelf, threw a dime to the cashier and washed it thoroughly before filling it with water. He was still coughing when I sat down beside him.
As it turned out, this was one of the last times Jimbo was able to go out on his own. I had given him the phone number for the Island Health Authority but he could not get past the idea of strangers helping him. One day I came home to a call from a woman I do not know. Amazingly, I had actually answered my telephone! The woman had gone to a considerable bit of trouble tracking me down as she knew where I worked. She knew a co-worker and a client or three and somehow managed to figure out my last name. She wanted to ask me if I could possible manage to consider a part time job checking in on Jimbo. " He doesn't have more than a few weeks but he can't stay home without help."
Jimbo is now hooked up with Hospice and has the right equipment to stay at home. Typically, this is happening much past the time it should have or could have. He has a friend (the caller) who is staying with him but cannot do his care. He is conscious but refusing food. He calls his friend "Vespa" and they laugh. I am thinking there was a scooter involved somewhere along the line.
The reason Jimbo wanted me to write about him is so simple and so sad.
"You are the only person who was ever truly kind to me without being more afraid of me."
I cannot believe that is true but it is his perception at this time.
Jimbo has a face that looks 100 and has writ on it every battle he has fought. He was obviously a larger fellow most of his life. He looks like he could have gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson. He also looks like he lost about 100 pounds. But he is human same as us all.
This will be the last week of Jimbo's life. A Nurse checks in, sent by the Band Office. She is wearing more than just the apron, mask and gloves. She is wearing almost a moon suit. She looks at me in horror as I hold his hand. As far as I know the HIV virus cannot live outside the human body unless a blood or much more rarely, saliva host helps out. Even then, the virus can only last a microsecond. My fingers do not have any orifices, or open sores last time I looked.
Jimbo asked me to bill the Band Office. He has no money left.
He is more concerned with me "working for free" than he is with his imminent passing.
I told him that I work with Hospice and that it is quite all right. This is true. Not current, but true.
A month from now, I will still have the option to work privately for those in this area who have lots of ready money or veteran's benefits. I will still have my little job that I love so dearly. Jimbo will be on the winds, and in the memory.
Is this kindness on my part? I think it is just humanity.
When my time comes someone will hold my hand. I know it.
Why are people afraid of their fellow man when circumstance brings tragedy?
Life piled on life?
Perhaps it is the brain injury I carry with me. I know what it is like to feel shunned labeled and alone. I know what low is.
Aww Jimbo. I did write about you. Sparingly.
You see, this is all I know about him. He told me "You know all the important stuff." what's that I asked. "You see the real me."
And he is beautifully human.
------------- !!
30.9.05
It means nothing to me...... oooooo
Trying to explain *why* it is that I cannot continue in the role of Treasurer in my not-for-profit group. I was struggling. Not only did I continually refer to myself as the Secretary, much to the shock of the Secretary, I could not express myself in a way that made sense to the shocked group whom I had just presented my budget to.
"It's not that I don't have the time. It is more that time means nothing to me."
uhm..... Honey girlfriend, yeah you in the mirror: You gotta speak the language of the Natives to be understood.
I got the shocked puppydog looks the HOW COULD YOU BETRAY US AT THE LAST MOMENT looks the ohno, what now looks and I caved. One more year of it.
I have to admit my shit:
I am more than capable of it. Of course and doh math savant.... control freak... I have all the best traits for being a financial auditor.
I am just lazy. And so guarded about MY time.
I now have to schedule in a weekly block of bookwork.
It isn't even that big a deal unless of course you don't do it for 6 months.
God has called me on so many of my poor traits.
This is the year he is asking me to jettison the lying and using grey trues.
I hate it. I say I want to be a better person and so many times it really means I want *you* to be a better person to make my life more comfortable. God says to me no no sweet pretender, I asked you to do it.
Me and God talk alot.
Sometimes it is just me to God asking all the big questions.
Like: Whats up with the patriarchal Churches in your name?
Where is the Feminine Divine?
Why do you allow war and suffering?
Why are the rich allowed to persist in their oppressiveness?
Bookkeeping doesn't come up much between us.
But:
I know I have to get it together. I know it.
Do I think I am a divinely appointed bookkeeper? naaaah.... that delusion would get me out of alot of accountability. I know I am working on letting go the need to justify my bad thoughts and behaviours and covertly and very intelligently blaming others for it.
I have to become a Second Peter person and get to that place where I can become a person who can say and mean it: "God is their judge', while reemembering God gave me a double helping of many things other people cannot fathom. God doesn't want me to say: "oh Lord I am so talented. Please help me to relax into that and I need more laying around the house time" but God does want me to just go with it. And relinquish control.
I CANT CAN NOT WILL NOT SHALL NOT WILL NOT
My family of birth all 4 siblings in my pack are control freaks.
Not merely controllers.
We are world calibre in our ways.
One is letting go of all the unnecessary crap more easily than the other 3.
Next in line struggles with blaming and shaming in an effort to not have to say or admit that when others don't puppet her wishes she gets very angry.
One sees it in others and knows it to reflect her inner values and the last just keeps himself busy and busier.
Oh and number 5 the founder of we fools, is busy picking up little bits of fluff off from his floor in case they might be seen. Housekeeping is very important. Exteriors you know.
The worst of us is up blogging at 6am on her day off.
What on earth can I do to show her how to let go let it go let it allllll go and let God be in charge?
The spirit is willing.
The flesh, is deliciously weak. That's the way we all fall down.
--------------
"It's not that I don't have the time. It is more that time means nothing to me."
uhm..... Honey girlfriend, yeah you in the mirror: You gotta speak the language of the Natives to be understood.
I got the shocked puppydog looks the HOW COULD YOU BETRAY US AT THE LAST MOMENT looks the ohno, what now looks and I caved. One more year of it.
I have to admit my shit:
I am more than capable of it. Of course and doh math savant.... control freak... I have all the best traits for being a financial auditor.
I am just lazy. And so guarded about MY time.
I now have to schedule in a weekly block of bookwork.
It isn't even that big a deal unless of course you don't do it for 6 months.
God has called me on so many of my poor traits.
This is the year he is asking me to jettison the lying and using grey trues.
I hate it. I say I want to be a better person and so many times it really means I want *you* to be a better person to make my life more comfortable. God says to me no no sweet pretender, I asked you to do it.
Me and God talk alot.
Sometimes it is just me to God asking all the big questions.
Like: Whats up with the patriarchal Churches in your name?
Where is the Feminine Divine?
Why do you allow war and suffering?
Why are the rich allowed to persist in their oppressiveness?
Bookkeeping doesn't come up much between us.
But:
I know I have to get it together. I know it.
Do I think I am a divinely appointed bookkeeper? naaaah.... that delusion would get me out of alot of accountability. I know I am working on letting go the need to justify my bad thoughts and behaviours and covertly and very intelligently blaming others for it.
I have to become a Second Peter person and get to that place where I can become a person who can say and mean it: "God is their judge', while reemembering God gave me a double helping of many things other people cannot fathom. God doesn't want me to say: "oh Lord I am so talented. Please help me to relax into that and I need more laying around the house time" but God does want me to just go with it. And relinquish control.
I CANT CAN NOT WILL NOT SHALL NOT WILL NOT
My family of birth all 4 siblings in my pack are control freaks.
Not merely controllers.
We are world calibre in our ways.
One is letting go of all the unnecessary crap more easily than the other 3.
Next in line struggles with blaming and shaming in an effort to not have to say or admit that when others don't puppet her wishes she gets very angry.
One sees it in others and knows it to reflect her inner values and the last just keeps himself busy and busier.
Oh and number 5 the founder of we fools, is busy picking up little bits of fluff off from his floor in case they might be seen. Housekeeping is very important. Exteriors you know.
The worst of us is up blogging at 6am on her day off.
What on earth can I do to show her how to let go let it go let it allllll go and let God be in charge?
The spirit is willing.
The flesh, is deliciously weak. That's the way we all fall down.
--------------
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