Merry Christmas!

On behalf of the staff and volunteers at Burke Hospice & Palliative Care, MERRY CHRISTMAS! We wish you a happy, peaceful day full of all good things!

Warmest Wishes,

Lea Hepler
Burke Hospice Media Coordinator
and Bea's Assistant

My holiday memorial

My counselor here at Burke Hospice is always telling me things like, "Take care of yourself. Things will be different this Christmas, and that's OK. Don't try to do everything just the way you used to."

Well, I decided to take her advice. In my last post, I went over a list of things you can do to remember your loved one's memory during holiday celebrations. I considered each one from the standpoint of, "Which of these activities can I do without stressing myself out?" So I ruled out the balloons because I won't have time to go buy them after work, and I didn't find a poem that really expressed how I felt, and I'm out of time to look for more poems, and when I thought about it, I really didn't want to mess with having lit candles around the house and being worried about someone knocking them over...

So! I settled on two things. One, I asked one of my friends to bring over a stocking and some pretty note paper for writing messages. She said she was glad I'd asked her to help, AND she volunteered to bring her amazing Pup-peroni Chex Mix too. That was a good phone call!

Second, I have decided to use one certain lamp for my memorial light instead of a candle. I do like the idea of the memorial candle, especially since a reader responded to my last post and told me about the Jewish tradition of Yahrzeit candles. Yahrzeit is Yiddish for "a year's time." A candle is lit for 24 hours on the anniversary of a person's passing and some holidays. I liked this idea a lot. It's beautiful, symbolic, and something I can handle without causing a lot of extra stress! So I've plugged my special lamp into one of the timers for our Christmas lights. It will come on at midnight tonight, shine all day, and turn itself quietly off the next midnight. I'll put a favorite picture of us underneath the light. Maybe it will be my new Christmas tradition.

What a relief! The anticipation really is worse than the holiday. Now that's decided, I feel like a weight is off my fluffy shoulders.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night...'s sleep!!!

Yawning,

Bea

The First Christmas after...

I've been trying to think of a way to honor Ron (see my previous post) at Christmas this year. I haven't felt much like celebrating at all, which our bereavement counselor tells me is normal. She says the anticipation of a holiday is usually worse than the actual day. I think she's right. When I think about it, sometimes I just want it to not come, period! But come it will, and when I think of all that Christmas is in my family... Music, warmth, new chew toys, treats, the post-dinner nap on the couch... Well, I wouldn't have any of that if Ron hadn't rescued me. It seems right to acknowledge him during this holiday of giving and gratitude.

But how? I feel apprehensive and guilty about even saying his name sometimes, as if I'll depress everyone else. (My counselor says these feelings are also normal.) I will feel terrible if I let the day go by without some sort of mention, however. So she suggested some ways to include his memory in our festivities that would help me express my feelings and add to our holidays in a positive way. Here are a few I think would be nice.

• Hang a stocking for your loved one. Invite family and friends to write a short note to him or her and place it in the stocking.

• Or use long strips of paper for your messages. Fold width-wise, so you have an even thinner strip of paper. "Tie" your messages around the ends of the boughs of your Christmas tree. (Make sure your notes are a safe distance from any Christmas lights.)

• Use a recipe book holder or small easel to prop up a favorite photo album, opened to a favorite picture. Use it as your dining table centerpiece, or place on a prominent coffee table or side table. This is a great conversation starter.

• Shortly before Christmas, buy a few helium-filled balloons. You might choose Christmasy red and green ones, or your loved one's favorite color. If the weather is right, find a clear area outside and have a balloon release. Say a prayer for your loved one, read a poem, or sing a song... Whatever seems right for you. Release the balloons together, or wait between each person to make a procession in the sky. Hint: Cut the balloon strings short (or don't use strings) to prevent tangles!

• Put flowers in a window, at your loved one's seat at the table, in their favorite chair... Choose a colorful arrangement, or use a single rose or lily.

By far, the most popular suggestion I found online was to light a candle in memory of your loved one. It seems like every family has added their own twist to the idea:

• Set a place for your loved one at dinner. Light a candle at their seat.

• Place a candle in your loved one's favorite place in the house, the same as the flower suggestion above. Pick a candle with their favorite scent or color.

• Serving your loved one's favorite dessert? Light a birthday candle on every serving. Say a prayer or read a poem in honor of him or her, and then have everyone blow out the candles at the same time! (A sort of "reverse" of the birthday tradition!) 

• Combine candle lighting with spoken verse. Ask each person to share a special story as they light separate candles, or use more formal words like the Five Candles ceremony described on this blog.

I love candle light, but I won't be flicking a Bic with my paws anytime soon, either. Be careful with placement of candles around the house, and never leave a candle unattended, no matter how symbolic it is! How terrible would it be to set Dad's favorite chair on fire — or worse — on Christmas Day?

If you have children or pets around, or simply aren't comfortable with candles in your home, forgo the flames altogether and get some of those little battery-powered candles at your local hardware or general store. You could even use one of your lamps. At our first Hospice House, there was one certain lamp the staff would turn on when one of our patients had passed. It was never used otherwise. When you saw its gentle light, even coming from an old incandescent bulb, it felt just as special and symbolic as any candle flame.

Just going over this list has made me feel a little better about Christmas. I even wagged a little when I thought about that dessert thing! Which suggestions do you think would work for your family?

Hanging in there,

Bea

A long hibernation

It has been a long time since I have put the proverbial pen to paw. I have not felt like writing in a long time. This past spring, my adoptive papa, Ron LaSalle, died after a long battle with cancer. He was 47. In dog years, that's not quite 7. I never thought I would outlive him.

I don't bark much about what happened before I came to Burke Hospice. Suffice to say, I ended up with a poodle rescue organization. That's where Ron found me. He wanted to have a friendly Therapy Dog to live at the Hospice House. Of course, poodles were the obvious choice: good looks, enchanting personality, fur that doesn't bother allergies, etc. Before I had a chance to realize what was happening, I was living at the old Hospice House on Enon Road.

What wonderful days those were! No more for me the cold, lonely floor of a cage; instead, I had a huge new houseful of patients, relatives, visitors, nurses, nurses' aides, social workers — so many people, all with warm, welcoming laps and gentle hands. Every day, they taught me something new. I learned not to bark at hospital beds, wheelchairs, walkers and oxygen tanks. I learned to Sit, not jump. I learned when to doze and when it was best to stay awake.

But the biggest lesson I learned was how to love. Ron didn't just give me a new home; he gave me a purpose. For the first time, I knew what it was to be loved, and how easy it is to give love in return. With each new patient who moved into the Hospice House, I tried to be as kind and loving as Ron and my new family had been to me.

When Ron died, I was overwhelmed with feelings. You know you're going to feel sad. But I didn't feel sad for a long time: I was angry. It was all so unfair! I was growling mad at the cancer, at his doctors, sometimes even at him for leaving me, even though I knew that made no sense at all. I was angry at myself for being angry! I got irritable and I took it out on the people around me.

Sometimes I'd just feel numb. I couldn't believe he was gone. More than once, I would wake up from an afternoon nap and expect him to walk in the front door.

The guilt was worse than the sad and mad combined. It was like my mind went searching for every memory where I should have done something differently. I shouldn't have barked, should have come when he called me, should have given more snuggles while I had the chance. Remembering a pair of his shoes I'd chewed to bits made me so ashamed, I hid under the living room ottoman for an hour.

Finally the sadness overwhelmed me. There were some days when I couldn't pull myself out of bed. Other days, I felt like I was just going through the motions. Sometimes, I would feel fine, only to be crushed by little things like old photographs or pieces of mail with his name on them. I wanted to hibernate. I wondered if I was going crazy.

A few weeks ago, I was in the lap of one of our bereavement counselors while she made calls to check in on grieving people. She was talking to a daughter who had lost her father, a woman who was struggling like me. "You loved him dearly, so of course you're going to miss him dearly," she said. "Everything you're feeling is normal. It's okay to feel what you're feeling, without thinking it's 'bad' to feel that way."

My ears perked up. Normal? I haven't felt normal in months.

She continued, "When you're feeling overwhelmed, use your journal. Find a blank page and write down everything that's running through your head, emotions, memories, whatever, just write it all down. Writing and allowing yourself to feel these things will help you work through your pain."

Writing? I thought about my blog, long gone quiet.

The next day, I sat down with a notebook and began to write. It took a long time to write down that first word. Then they just kept coming and coming.  I started writing in the book every day.

This morning, I was feeling kind of down. I decided to mention it in my journal: Today is gray and rainy. I wish the sun was out. I feel a little sad. I miss Ron.

It does help.