death

It has been two weeks and, for the record, my initial impression of this place is very different then reality. Whenever I saw pictures of this place (which weren't many as photos in the building are strictly prohibited) there were rows of beds with what appeared to be immoveable, dying patients with Sisters and volunteers at their side. This is not real life.

From a google search:

Although I am only there for four hours a day, during those four hours most of the ladies (and men on the other side) are sitting up the entire time. They brush their teeth (or have it done for them), many feed themselves, they have snack, men get shaved or haircuts, those that can move will have walking time, and some interact with each other. This is the home for the dying and destitute, yes, but it is a different atmosphere than I had anticipated. If you look at these ladies (and men) then some of our Ontario nursing homes can also be called homes for the dying and destitute, to a point. 

I am not saying these ladies have it good - I do not know enough about their stories to deem if this is true, however, I think it safe to believe this is a good alternative for them.

This isn't to say that ladies here aren't dying nor destitute. There are ladies here who are dying. There are some who I do not expect will be alive by the time Teresa and I leave. There is a lady with kidney failure??? who doesn't move much from her bed. The diabetic lady with the dying foot doesn't move much from her bed, either. The lady with aggressive bed sores is also in dire straits. But many of them congregate in the main room, and most of them are always in the same seats. Forced community that seems to work.

Each day when I come in I check the small whiteboard near the entrance where it has totals: beds available, current patrons, discharged and death for the month. Yesterday when I checked, on July 19, 7 men died (there are more men than women) and 1 female died.

This lady died on Monday night/Tuesday morning. She had really been struggling. She had only been there for a couple of days but often she could hardly breathe as she was wheezing and choking. It was painful to hear/be around. A French volunteer spent most of Monday morning with her; holding her, caressing her head, rolling her on her side and hitting her back to help dislodge some of the poison in her lungs but, mostly, when this lady really struggled to breathe, the French girl let her tears flow. Abundantly. Unashamed. Unhindered. Free. That was the first live image of this place that matched my initial impression. These actions, I think, provided a measure of dignity and love to death. That is how I envisioned this mission. Reality is not at all wrong, in fact, it is a joyful change. But this moment in reality is also not wrong.