Cell 2 Soul: The Humane Health Care Blog

Another Dream

Frank Cavano, a retired psychiatrist, writes poetry when moved by his own life experiences or by those of his patients. His poems and short stories speak to what he has learned about the healing process. They emphasize the importance of being there for those who are hurting, the importance of non-judgmental listening and the key role the Spirit can play in healing.  You may reach him at: frankcavano@hargray.com

Another Dream

drowning, drowning in this dream she sought another
another dream absent of black roses and the twenty-five
hours the sixty-one minutes and the single second that
strangled hope dragging the tragic past into a future
now made of that past that blackened rose memory of
loss which had made of her life a Dali-Bosch painting.

clinging, clinging the barnacle of grief was her solitary
rudder through storms she hardly noticed except for the
rain pouring from swollen, reddened, handerkerchiefed
eyes, the rain still feeding the blackened rose memory
until finally, finally and as if by accident she brushed
into a gentle man whose strong arms held her fast in the
present and there the past receded just enough for her to
smile and with her heart paint for herself another dream.

Another Dream:  Download Another Dream

The Third Presence:

One week had now passed since the tragic loss of his daughter, Julie. Dressing for work this morning, Jonathan, a tear-stained automaton, moved from one task to another until he was “ready” to face his first day back at work since the accident. The steps on the stairway made no discernible sound as he pounded them on his way down to the first floor where he kissed Rachel quickly and headed for the garage. What words could possibly suffice in the face of her loss, their loss?  Download Third Presence

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Marginal Notes: Lord of the Rings

 

Photo copyright© by Brian T. Maurer

 

I ran into Loering down at the post office.  His tall thin frame hovered over the long table by the window as he sorted through the stack of envelopes freshly extracted from his post office box.

 

“They’re taking down the big ash tree on Maple Street,” I told him.

 

“I saw them working on it this morning when I walked down for the mail,” Loering said.  “That’s the last one to go.”

 

“Last one?”

 

“The last of the original trees on that street.  Over the years I’ve watched them all come down, one by one...”

 

Loering's cloudy blue eyes danced in the late morning sunlight that streamed in through the front window.  >>more

 

Brian T. Maurer has practiced pediatrics as a Physician Assistant for thirty years.  His "Marginal Notes" column appears periodically in the Cell2Soul Blog. The title "Marginal Notes" is taken from a quote by Henry David Thoreau: "I love a broad margin to my life."

Marginal Notes: A Pleasant Two-Minute Diversion

 

Photo by Steve Helber/AP 

 

I walked through the front door of the pub and slid into a seat across from the bar.  A few regulars had gathered in front of one of the big screen TVs.  Bob Costas was interviewing Calvin Borel, the jockey slated to ride Rachel Alexandra in this year’s Preakness Stakes.

 

I sat for a while in the darkness in one of the small booths by the brick wall.  It had not been a pleasant morning at work.  Shortly after I arrived at the office I was informed of the accidental death of a mother who brought her daughters to our practice....more

 

Brian T. Maurer has practiced pediatrics as a Physician Assistant for thirty years.  His "Marginal Notes" column appears periodically in the Cell2Soul Blog. The title "Marginal Notes" is taken from a quote by Henry David Thoreau: "I love a broad margin to my life."

Marginal Notes: The Wing of a Prayer

This morning the mist hangs heavy outside. In its wake, last night's thundershower left a detached coolness in the air, and with the coolness came the fog. Shrouded in mist, the maples in the backyard stand silhouetted in the early morning light.

 

I take another sip of coffee and recall the words of yesterday's e-mail: "My father will be having heart surgery tomorrow morning to replace a damaged aortic valve and repair the mitral valve."

 

Read the rest of An early morning mist and the wing of a prayer online or download the PDF version here.

 

Brian T. Maurer has practiced pediatrics as a Physician Assistant for thirty years.  His "Marginal Notes" column appears periodically in the Cell2Soul Blog.  The title "Marginal Notes" is taken from a quote by Henry David Thoreau:  "I love a broad margin to my life." 

Georgie's Girl

Rose Garden, University of British Columbia

Karen V. Lee is a  Faculty Advisor and co-founder of the Teaching Initiative for Music Educators cohort (TIME) at the Faculty of Education, University of British Columbia.  She is a talented writer who sends us a moving, insightful "tribute written for my father.  It began on the anniversary of his death and was completed several months later.  In the end, the article became transformative as it helped me heal from the loss."

“I want you to be happy,” he says.

“But I am, Dad,” I reply.

“I want you to have some kids.” Sitting on the side of his hospital bed, he folds his arms.

“Maybe,” I say, wanting to please him.

“I want you to get along with your mother.  The two of you have so many loud arguments. I want you to be better to your mother.”

“Why are you saying this now?”

“Because I don’t think I’ll live much longer.  I’m tired and sick and don’t feel good.” 

Tears roll down my face. I doubt him. But I cannot doubt him. In the last spasms of a father-daughter affair, I am a committed romantic. A blooming feminist from scholarly influences. My mind fills with thoughts. I pant, in and out, and explode. Fighting the fight for my father. I couldn’t live without him.

You will both enjoy and benefit from reading Karen Lee's essay.  Here is Georgie's Girl as a pdf: Download georgies_girl.pdf

Nitobe Gardens, UBC

No Worst, There Is None*

                                           after Nadine Gordimer

“grief is speaking a language that reaches no one’s ears”
language is not enough, is not capable
of expressing grief or enough feeling
to speak what one wants to … needs to … say
that will reach inside the grievers’ hearts
or one’s own soul reaching out
past ears and eyes into the depths of grieving.
words cannot not fill the void no one
can explain or speak.
language fails both lips and ears,
but one cannot trust a silence to reach far enough.
grief is the heart broken
in a language only understood by those
who are left with still so much more to lose.

Author: Joyce Kessel is a professor of writing and literature at Villa Maria College in Buffalo NY. A longtime member of the Earth’s Daughters writing collective, her poems have been published in Black Mountain II Review, Reader’s Quarterly, WNY Poets Waging Words for Peace and other publications.

For a more pleasing format, go to:  Download alles_verloren.pdf

* "No Worst There is None" is a G.M. Hopkins sonnet: Download no_worst.pdf

Alone with Geese Swimming

From my sliding door to a tiny deck
I see the lawn, still green in early December,
Quilted now by a layer of powdered snow.
The oaks edging the lake are bare.
Spring's twigs shudder as a breeze
Annoys giant stay-green spruces,
Urges down their chocolate cones,
Trembles the tamarack's dead needles
To rest, gold on the whitened lawn.

Beyond, unaffected by the breeze,
Are acres of dark glass under gray clouds.
I am no longer alone on my lake.
Two perfect Vs of ripple approach the shore,
A single white-throated Canada goose at each V's apex,
A dozen or so behind each leader.
They are not overhead as are other flocks,
Sunbird retirees, moving south for the winter,
Honking, screaming, raucous in their Vs.
I count my geese moving shoreward, all 27 of them.

The sun barely emerges from a cloud,
Then promptly sets, setting sky and lake to flame,
And still they make their Vs toward shore.

Why don't they go south? It will not be friendly here.
My lake will host ice fisherman with lean-tos and liquor,
Grumbling skimobiles will rush across the ice.
My geese will not be able glide on our glass lake.
I had no idea they stayed so late.

I am new here, captured by lake view and loneliness.
I never knew geese before.
I spend much time watching the lake, alone,
Second sad late-day martini in hand.
I like to think that only we are here,
That they are my best friends,
That I need no other.

They flap from the red water,
Waddle up an incline onto the snow.
They walk on the white grass,
None straggling, straight toward me.
If they make it I will welcome them.

Here is a print version: Download alone_with_geese.pdf

By Peter Albertson

The Experience of A Loss

These images are from a series of prints completed during the months following the death of my father. He became very ill very quickly.  It was a difficult time. The evaluation and treatment did not make sense to me. When I became aware of his illness, I began a written journal. But, I am a visual artist. I interpret events in my life using pigments and mark making. The first sketches were completed in response to photographs of normal cells of the body. The next were drawn in response to photographs of diseased cells. This work Felt forces. This process also made no sense.  I put it aside.

During his illness, we spent time talking about the current events, family events, and getting through the day. I kept a rosary in my pocket or in my hands. Shortly after his death, I decided to print beads. I used the beads as stamps. I embedded them in homemade clay and printed the plates. Finally, this was making sense. It felt comfortable. The rosary beads were the inspiration for this work. I look beyond this. Maybe it was comfortable because beads have been used for many generations in many cultures. Maybe it was because beads have been used for adornment, trade, prayer, and meditation.

When I look at the images as a group, I have glimpses of the journey that we took. I remember conversations. Some of the images even hint at the organic cells that I had tried to represent earlier in the experience. It is my hope that others will see these images and catch a glimpse of their experiences. I also hope that they will find their own creative ways to experience a loss.

Ritamarie Moscola, MD, MPH, NMD studied at The Johns Hopkins University and The Maryland Institute College of Art. She lives in Bedford, NH

What to say and not to say to a griever

Shay’s Ten Best and Worst Things to Say to Someone in Grief

Click here for printable Download shay_grief.pdf

The Best

1. I am so sorry for your loss.
2. I wish I had the right words. Just know I care.
3. I don’t know how you feel, but I’m here to help in any way.
4. You and your loved one will be in my thoughts and prayers.
5. My favorite memory of your loved one is…
6. I am always just a phone call away.
7. Give a hug instead of saying something.
8. We all need help at times like this, I am here for you.
9. I am usually up early (or late) if you need anything.
10. Say nothing. Just be with the person. 

The Worst

1. At least she lived a long life. Many people die young.
2. He is in a better place.
3. She brought this on herself.
4. There is a reason for everything.
5. Aren’t you over him yet? He has been dead for a while now.
6. You can still have another child.
7. She was such a good person. God wanted her to be with him.
8. I know how you feel.
9. She did what she came here to do, and it was her time to go.
10. Be strong.

Note: Shay Bintliff is a pediatrician, an ER doc, a surfer, paddler and golfer.  She is a poet, a philosopher and a teacher par excellence.  Tragically, she lost her granddaughter in October of 2005.  These recommendations and proscriptions were gleaned the hard way.  For more see her recent talk’s PowerPoint on C2S Blog.

Printable version:  Download shay_grief.doc

Shay Bintliff on Grief

Shay Bintliff is a pediatrician, an ER doc, a surfer, paddler and golfer.  She is a philosopher and a teacher par excellence.  Tragically, she lost her granddaughter in October of 2005.  What she learned about grief and grieving could help us all.  Shay has graciously allowed us to share her thoughts with our readers.

To read Shay's talk please got to: Download no_worse_there_is_none.ppt [Read-Only].pdf