As my mother careens from lucidity to hallucinations and stupor,
as her family is flung daily from optimism to despair,
as her release from hospital draws near and the decision about continuing care (rehab, nursing home, assisted living, hospice?) grows no clearer,
I try to remember
to tolerate ambiguity,
to not attach to outcomes,
to stay in the present moment,
to cultivate spaciousness of mind.
And that, perhaps, is one of the hardest life lessons ever. To tolerate ambiguity. To not have the answer. Oh.
It is so hard!
This is a great deal what the book Final Wishes supports — knowing that in the Final days there is communication and goodbyes that don't seem to make sense to those of us who are still lucid but are actually happening.
mrb, just in case anybody else might be interested, I think you mean Final Gifts (instead of Wishes), written by two hospice nurses. I'm tracking it down right now.
To not attach to outcome…so difficult to do, even when you believe you are doing it…Thinking of you.
I did. Thank you. Interesting juxitaposition;-)
But you know, there's a book called Final Wishes too.