I have been craving some tasty holiday treats and today I picked up some ginger ice cream and a lovely flour-less Death by Chocolate cake, with ganash frosting and studded with truffles. Both are offerings from the local hospice's holiday bake sale. They offer an impressive menu of holiday bakery and goodies as a fund raiser for the center. You need to order by Wednesday and pick up on Friday, so there is some planning involved, but it is worthwhile. They are running the sale for one more week, so consider making an order if you have any activities next weekend for which you would like goodies. The menu and details are at:
http://www.hospicecareinc.com/events/event_detail.asp?fldID=109I went down to the Don and Marilyn Anderson Center to pick up my goodies and was incredibly impressed with the facility's growth. I had not been there since 2004, and not on a regular basis since 2002. Since then, they have added a whole new wing - from my quick perusal it appears to be at least as large as the original building and includes expanded dining facilities, residential care, and clinical facilities. The place has grown, and is clearly doing well, and I realized I really missed it. During my last semester of school (yes, the one with the squirrels), I interned at HospiceCare and I believe it was one of the most important experiences of my life. It was physically, mentally, and emotionally draining. I had to get up at 5:00AM to make it there by 6:30AM, fighting Beltline traffic all the way. (I am NOT a morning person!) Every morning, I had time on the drive in to wonder which of my patients would not be waiting for me that day, or who would pass before the day was through, and whether they would go alone, with family near to hand, or with their hand in mine. I worked long hours at the Center, more researching patient's conditions, and yet more advocating for them with local and international companies. It was the hardest job I have ever done. And I loved it.
I really think that semester was one of the most blessed times in my life. I learned so much about my chosen profession, but also more general lessons about life, living, and dying. I came to understand that while we might have provided important medical care, pain control, emotional support, and a multitude of other services, the most important thing we were giving our patients was time. These were people who had accepted that their life was drawing to a close, that their illnesses were not just life-threatening, but life-limiting. There is an awesome certainty in that... But there is a freedom and a great gift in it too. These were people blessed with the opportunity to do the things that should be done, to say the things that should be said, to make their peace with themselves and the world. It was our job to make that possible, to support them body, mind, and soul as they went about the important business of dying well. And when their time came to lay down one last time, most did so with peace in their hearts and a smile on their faces, a gentle end to a life completed. Oh, there was certainly sorrow and pain, but the ability to end life with a sense of completeness and closure took away some of the sting.
These are lessons I learned long ago, and still knew, but that have been brought home to me in the last year. I've lost too many too suddenly this year. Some were just - gone. Suddenly taken in the night with no warning, no good-bye. Others went kicking and screaming, denying the finality to the very last moment, and without the peace I'd known on my hospice patient's faces. And there are ones known less well that slipped away as well - countless patients, as is unavoidable when one works with the frail and poor elderly... childhood "friends" known only from books and stories... one who's sweet eyes never opened in this world. And then the dreadful uncertainty of grave illnesses in the family. Surgeries, tests, pain and waiting... the agonizing uncertainty, drawn on for months at a time. Again, I was reminded of my time at hospice, and realized that in addition to time, that awful certainty itself was a gift, in an odd way. Time and knowledge allow for that internal struggle to be played out, for our souls to eventually turn to acceptance and peace. Lack of time and lack of certainty both gnaw at the soul...
Uncertain things are hard to plan for, but I am something of a control freak and am not able to leave all to chance, so this past year I filled out a Health Care Power of Attorney and put together a do-it-yourself will. While I am reasonably confident in the HCPOA, having prepared dozens of them for relatives and patients before, I am less certain about the will. Anybody in the Madison area know a good lawyer for such things? ;P I'm not hoping it will be a necessity in the immediate future, but a little planning doesn't hurt, and I do have some strong opinions about where some of my more obscure treasures should end up if I were no longer able to enjoy them.
Oh, and chocolate? A lovely metaphor for life - a dark splendid mix of sweet and bitter, wonderful to share, all too quick to melt away. Be sure to serve some with Scotch and cheese at my wake...
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EDIT: OK, so alternate title: "Death by Chocolate, wherein Eithni waxes morbid..."
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