Life's Ponderings: What Tranquility?!
- Christine "Liz" LaRue
- 4 days ago
- 3 min read
It is 6:20 a.m. I was awakened at 5 a.m. for an early morning med. I couldn’t get back to sleep because our resident screamer was in full force. He screams constantly, this back-of-the-throat guttural scream one can hear all up and down our hallway. He is in hospice care and is completely bedridden, blind, deaf, and cannot speak. He is slowly dying. Amazingly, he has a roommate who, as residents here say, is 3 pennies short of a nickel. Though this is a torturous scenario for my readers, we here are amused when the roommate, in acute frustration, occasionally yells “STOP!!!” at a fellow who can’t see or hear him. Staff must find ways to soothe the dying patient while also caring for his physical needs.
Now you may say, “Oh, Liz! This is terrible for you to be in!” and question whether I am in a decent facility. 'Problem is, this goes on in many facilities. I saw this in my mother’s and father’s facilities when they required nursing home care. When my mother died, the nurses stressed to me, “Your mother died very peacefully.”
What that means is her pain was not severe, she was ready to pass, she was content to let go, and felt loved by her family. Nurses see this frequently. Not all of us leave this life peacefully. Some of us fight it with warrior ferociousness. We are not ready to let go. Or our body has ills that cause us to cry out in pain, fear of the unknown, and longing for our loved ones.
Our American society does not handle this well. We don’t talk about how to assist the dying to move on when they are ready. Instead, we ground them to a body that most likely is failing and causing anguish to what has been in our lives. Americans hold onto individualism and pipe dreams to a fault. We deny everyone a workable discussion about change from birth to death. We deny what is before us and refuse to take stock in a life lived well, short or long, loved or just taking up space on life’s bench.
My cousins and I are talking about this. The changes of aging that present to us, delight in the timelessness we feel as we look at grandchildren, great-grandchildren, as we see Aunty from way back when’s red hair keeping popping up genetically amongst our little ones. Or some child picks up an instrument and seems born to play it, just like grandpa did.
I think we see this in our pets. From a kitten or puppy to an elderly pet. We don’t want our pets to suffer and do everything in our power to help them cross peacefully over the rainbow bridge. We can talk to them, wondering if they understand us. Cats have a way of sitting with a fellow cat who is dying. They know it and try to help their loved one feel comforted by their presence.
We humans, can do more than that. Keep in mind, one day we will not be here. What life will you have lived? Did you leave some love and goodwill behind for your loved ones to treasure and emulate in their own way? Or were you a lifelong pain in the butt?
You think about these thoughts in rehab, repairing one’s body. I just heard the roommate scream, “WHAT???!!” Apparently, he is trying to help his screaming roommate in some way. As my two roommates snore peacefully on either side of me, one who is blind and has the most delightful laugh - if a hummingbird could laugh - I press my nurse call button to see if I can score a blanket for this cool morning so I can snuggle comfortably and chant for good nurses and CNAs whose struggles are unseen behind the scenes. Pray for them too!
Christine LaRue
Artist Bio
Christine “Liz” LaRue is a clay artist and illustrationist. She is known for her intricately textured figurative sculptures and emotionally illustrative drawings. Chicago-born though also raised in Utah and Idaho, Ms. LaRue is of Creole/Cuban descent. Her art has been influenced by her Afro-Latino heritage. Ms. LaRue’s interests have been in pre-Columbian art of the Olmec, Maya of Mexico, Nazca, and Moche face pots of Peru. This also includes the bronze sculptures of the Ife of Nigeria and Tā Moko tattoo art of the Maōri.
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