Getting Un-Snowed

John is progressing along his journey.  They have upped his pain meds from 5mg to 10mg per dose to keep the pain at bay.  This makes him groggy and even more sleepy than he would normally be at this stage.  He is on a regular med schedule in an effort to control his nausea which seems to be working.  His appetite, however, is non-existent.  He eats only fruit (grapes/raspberries/canned pears) and drinks some grape juice or water.  He'll ask for tea, but only takes a sip or two.
I'm taking the cats home this afternoon after four nights at Hospice House.  This has been an enlightening experience for me as I've come to know some of the other families who are on the same path.  It's rather odd to think about staying here, living here, with the cats this week.  People who come to hospice are either in a transition in need of respite care before returning home or on to another facility, or they are dying.  John's neighbors are both in the final stages of life; Kristin (Token's "patient") and Jemimah (real name Maureen).  I had the honor of visiting Jemimah last night.  I've come to know her husband, Tom, and sister, Pat, this week.  Jemimah is not awake or responsive, but I introduced myself and told her about John.  I also said that I was pleased to meet her husband and sister, and that I know they both love her very, very much.  I know she heard me and appreciated my visit.
So Token, Abigail and I have been "living" with death.  I've come to realize that dying itself is actually life.  A part of this life and a beginning of a new one.  Death should not be feared...I actually think birth is tougher than dying.  You come into this world alone, not knowing anyone.  Sure you (hopefully) have parents who will take care of you, love you...and you get to know and love them.  But you still come into an unknown world, not knowing anyone or anything.  Then you live your life, make friends, fall in love, form relationships.  That's what makes dying hard.  You have to say goodbye to loved ones.
But the hardest thing of all is being left behind.  And that fear of abandonment and loss is what binds those of us who have lived here this week during the snow.  Together we share this most personal and intimate experience of this life.  I may not ever see some of these people again.  But they will be with me forever.  They have made a difference for me.  I hope I have done a little of the same for them...Onward we go...I'm holding your hands very tight now...Love and peace to you...Nancy