Grief encounter

Nurses, I find, tend to be tough-love care-givers, with strong streak of skepticism and a sense of humour as dark as dried blood. I've worked with them as a youthful home support work, and as a hospice volunteer, and rather liked knowing where I was with them, even if it was a bit uncomfortable from time-to-time.

I ran into an ex-hospice-nurse last week. Our paths have crossed once or twice in the past few months, but she didn't seem to recognize me, so I didn't waylay her -- after all, I was just one of hundreds of volunteers. I remembered her as a mother of young children, with a grim set to her mouth (which may have been scar tissue), and a no-holds-barred way of speaking which was disconcerting even by nursing standards. I like her well enough, but was wary of her jarring candour.

I was striding up the aisle in a smallish drugstore, and I nearly ran straight into her. She greeted me by name, so she clearly remembered me, and as we caught up, I realized she wasn't aware I'd been out of the city for seventeen years.

Not that it mattered. Her husband died a couple of years ago. He had a neurological disease, and being an LPN himself, didn't want to stick around for the inevitable, so he committed suicide. All this related matter-of-factly, of course.

Since we were both hospice veterans, I found myself casting around for the training I'd been given years ago. The volunteers were trained in what was called "active listening". The point is to feed back what you're hearing, so that the speaker can hear what you're understanding. It's actually a pretty exhausting way to listen, and I'm out of practice, which is a shame, because it's a useful skill.

She spoke of the toughness of the second year of loss: "During the first year, there was such a lot to do, to iron out. Now I feel his absence. I wish ---" She pauses, and grimaces. I remember that about her. "I wish I knew where he was. My children dream about him. I guess I don't because he's in my conscious mind all the time, and dreams come from your subconscious. I wish I could feel him."

I say, "The older I get, the more I think that every gift we're given will be taken back."

That's not active listening. But I feel a nasty jolt of truth when I say it. Probably not helpful for her.

She embraces me as we say goodbye. She says she's seen me many times. Perhaps as many times as I've seen her?