Hugs. At times, I have felt very very alone with my medical conditions. And I totally get not wanting to talk to anyone IRL about it. Been there - I live with it. Talking aloud to someone about it means I might hear myself accepting the reality of this. Roughly twice a year I end up in the hospital for a few days. Some times I get so down I don’t know if this will be the end, or maybe the next one.
I truly believe, though, that the best way to get beyond one’s own problems is to help someone else. I have found great comfort in volunteering, helping others. I am still blessed that I am able to do this. I love helping out in the elementary school family resource program, and in our local soup kitchen/food pantry.
When I can, I also volunteer at our local hospital in the hospice center - though I was raised one, I was never a very religious person. But ten years ago, when my mom’s longtime neighbor entered hospice and needed comfort, I visited her with mom. She was much more religious than me, and wanted to pray the rosary together - but with her wonderful sense of humor, she would call it her “last minute cramming before the Final Exam - with a capital F”.
I learned more about peace, comfort, and acceptance from her last 2 weeks of life than I had ever experienced in my 40 years before that. She and I had talked frequently before that, and she was surprised I was coming in every day on my own after I volunteered at the inner city school 7 minutes away, even if only for a hour, though sometimes much more. At the very end, her only living relative, her son made it back from the Persian Gulf in time to be with her. He told me how grateful he was that I helped her hang on until he got back. I told him I was the grateful one, that she would share some of her remaining time with me.
I told him one of the last things she told me that week was that “Peace can find its way to your heart when you need it most, you’ll be ready to let it in.”
Mostly when I come in to volunteer at the hospice, I just listen, perhaps offer to get a cup of water or a small snack since I know my way around there. A few times, I have shared this story with patients or family members waiting for the inevitable tragic end. But whenever I go in, I bring “Aunt Julia’s” rosary beads.
@CountingDown and @SouthernHope, and anyone else dealing with something like this, I wish you some of the peace and comfort that I did not expect to experience back then. Just writing about this has helped me.