“I just want to go home!”
These words were spoken by an 85-year-old woman who had spent the last two years going from hospital to rehab to home and then back to the hospital to start the cycle all over again. After 5 trips to the hospital she was tired. Her lips trembled as she spoke the words. Her eyes betrayed a deep sadness. Her hands, crippled with arthritis, were held together as if in prayer.
“I just want to go home!”
She became one of my hospice patients when her family listened to her pleas and brought her home to live out her life. Notice that I did not say they brought her home to die. She and they knew that she was going to die very soon. The doctors had already told them that there was nothing more they could do. But she did not want to go home and die. She wanted to go home a live her life as best she could. Her family wanted that for her as well.
She spent the next six-weeks surrounded by familiar sounds and aromas. She saw her family and neighbors every day. She ate food that was familiar and comfortable to her, though she ate very little. She could close her eyes whenever she wanted knowing that she was surrounded with everything she needed and wanted in her life. She was home.
As the end approached, she withdrew from interacting with her family. She went inside herself and seemed comfortable and content. He pain was addressed by her caregivers. She relaxed into her dying and slipped away, at peace, surrounded by the people she loved. She got her heart’s desire.
“I want to go home!”
This woman and many like her have taught me about real homelessness.
Too often, when we think of homelessness, we have images of a beggar pushing her grocery cart filled with bags and cans along the streets of our major cities. They may or may not be homeless. Many of these people are perfectly happy with their life on the street. Some are not, but others like their life on the “urban frontier.” Having a house does mean you have a home. And having a home does not mean you must have a house. Homelessness is something far deeper and far more devastating.
Homelessness can afflict us body-mind-soul. Last week, I spoke of dying well. My patient experienced what hospice folks call “dying well.” This means she was able to relax into her last days by letting go and embracing the gift that each moment brings. We are homeless when we are constantly yearning for something more. Homelessness is an unsatisfied spirit striving for the “not yet” while unaware of the gift of the present or presence. The homeless spirit cannot relax. They cannot find a place to lay down. The constant waves of worry and desire create a rip tide that pulls them away from the safety of the beach. They feel like they are drowning in their own neediness. There is no refuge. They are homeless.
When I was talking with patients and families about the possibility of hospice, I learned to listen for the “magic moment.” Generally, these conversations would begin with my asking, “Why have you called hospice?” The patient and the family would begin telling their story. It usually began with the words, “The doctor said there is nothing more they can do.” From there they would describe the medical history including their hospitalizations. I could see the family and patient struggling with all the emotions that had come to the surface as they told their story. I could hear and see anger, frustration, resolve, disappointment, despair, resentment, and even shame. I listened as the story unfolded, sometimes in remarkable detail. It was clearly a story that had defined and was defining who they were and how they had reached this point. And then I could see the “magic moment” approaching.
Gradually, the energy in the room would begin to calm. Sadness replaced a determination to fight on. And hope began to wrap its arms around the patient and the family as the patient said, “I want to go home!”
For all who are homeless, I pray that you can find someone who can help you reach your “magic moment.” Going home is not always easy, especially for those who have been away for a while. I pray that you will let go of all the things that keep you from making that journey. I pray that you will rediscover the place, the people, the presence, and the inner peace that will allow you to find your way home. I pray that you will hear the voice of one calling out to you from a distance, shouting your name with great joy. And that when you feel their arms enfold you, I pray that you will hear the words, “You were lost but now you are found. Welcome Home!”
These words were spoken by an 85-year-old woman who had spent the last two years going from hospital to rehab to home and then back to the hospital to start the cycle all over again. After 5 trips to the hospital she was tired. Her lips trembled as she spoke the words. Her eyes betrayed a deep sadness. Her hands, crippled with arthritis, were held together as if in prayer.
“I just want to go home!”
She became one of my hospice patients when her family listened to her pleas and brought her home to live out her life. Notice that I did not say they brought her home to die. She and they knew that she was going to die very soon. The doctors had already told them that there was nothing more they could do. But she did not want to go home and die. She wanted to go home a live her life as best she could. Her family wanted that for her as well.
She spent the next six-weeks surrounded by familiar sounds and aromas. She saw her family and neighbors every day. She ate food that was familiar and comfortable to her, though she ate very little. She could close her eyes whenever she wanted knowing that she was surrounded with everything she needed and wanted in her life. She was home.
As the end approached, she withdrew from interacting with her family. She went inside herself and seemed comfortable and content. He pain was addressed by her caregivers. She relaxed into her dying and slipped away, at peace, surrounded by the people she loved. She got her heart’s desire.
“I want to go home!”
This woman and many like her have taught me about real homelessness.
Too often, when we think of homelessness, we have images of a beggar pushing her grocery cart filled with bags and cans along the streets of our major cities. They may or may not be homeless. Many of these people are perfectly happy with their life on the street. Some are not, but others like their life on the “urban frontier.” Having a house does mean you have a home. And having a home does not mean you must have a house. Homelessness is something far deeper and far more devastating.
Homelessness can afflict us body-mind-soul. Last week, I spoke of dying well. My patient experienced what hospice folks call “dying well.” This means she was able to relax into her last days by letting go and embracing the gift that each moment brings. We are homeless when we are constantly yearning for something more. Homelessness is an unsatisfied spirit striving for the “not yet” while unaware of the gift of the present or presence. The homeless spirit cannot relax. They cannot find a place to lay down. The constant waves of worry and desire create a rip tide that pulls them away from the safety of the beach. They feel like they are drowning in their own neediness. There is no refuge. They are homeless.
When I was talking with patients and families about the possibility of hospice, I learned to listen for the “magic moment.” Generally, these conversations would begin with my asking, “Why have you called hospice?” The patient and the family would begin telling their story. It usually began with the words, “The doctor said there is nothing more they can do.” From there they would describe the medical history including their hospitalizations. I could see the family and patient struggling with all the emotions that had come to the surface as they told their story. I could hear and see anger, frustration, resolve, disappointment, despair, resentment, and even shame. I listened as the story unfolded, sometimes in remarkable detail. It was clearly a story that had defined and was defining who they were and how they had reached this point. And then I could see the “magic moment” approaching.
Gradually, the energy in the room would begin to calm. Sadness replaced a determination to fight on. And hope began to wrap its arms around the patient and the family as the patient said, “I want to go home!”
For all who are homeless, I pray that you can find someone who can help you reach your “magic moment.” Going home is not always easy, especially for those who have been away for a while. I pray that you will let go of all the things that keep you from making that journey. I pray that you will rediscover the place, the people, the presence, and the inner peace that will allow you to find your way home. I pray that you will hear the voice of one calling out to you from a distance, shouting your name with great joy. And that when you feel their arms enfold you, I pray that you will hear the words, “You were lost but now you are found. Welcome Home!”
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