Many of my stories--and I have many stories from my time at hospice--are stories that exemplify this power and beauty of the human spirit. Not all of them are however. Some of them are stories that could easily be labeled as tragic. Over the years I have come to realize that the main reasons those stories feel so tragic is because they are absolutely perfect examples of how none of us has any real control over our lives and how all of us are extremely vulnerable whether we want to admit it or not. I am going to share one of my most indelible hospice stories now. It is one of the stories of utter non-control and utter naked vulnerability.
My job title at the hospice was Grief and Bereavement Coordinator. My job was mostly though not limited to providing grief and bereavement counseling to people who had recently lost a loved one through death. Even though I had worked at hospice for a few years and had heard almost everything imaginable, nothing, I don't believe, could have prepared me for the story I was going to hear on the particular day I am about to share about.
On that fateful day an impeccably dressed young woman in her early to mid 30's who looked like she had just walked off of a glamorous Hollywood red carpet, walked into my office. Despite her beautiful outward appearance, it was also obvious she was in shock. I had seen that look many times during my work at hospice. It was not long before she told me she was there because of the recent death of her 5 year old son.
She was the wife of a surgeon. Her husband came from a line of three generations of surgeons--her husband, her father-in-law and her father-in-laws father who at this time was no longer living.
Her son had been born with a congenital heart defect. At birth he was given a very small window of time to live. I do not now remember exactly what that window was. As anyone reading this story can certainly imagine, having so many surgeons and physicians in one's immediate family was definitely a godsend for this little boy. From day one the entire family was absolutely dedicated to finding a way to circumvent this young infants death sentence. And they had the money, influence, professional knowledge, connections and wherewithal to back up that desire.
It was not long before the family was aware of every single physician anywhere in the entire world who was doing any type of research, no matter how far fetched, that could potentially and ultimately result in the saving of this young boys life.
Eventually they connected with a surgeon in Europe who had pioneered a technique that sounded like the one that could correct the child's congenital defect. After months of intense and arduous communication between the family and this surgeon's team, a surgery date was scheduled. The surgery was soon done. From all perspectives the surgery was deemed an absolute success by absolutely everyone involved. The young boy, who was quickly approaching 5 years of age, had to remain in Europe for a few months so that his recovery could be closely monitored. There was not one complication. The young boy became a celebrity of sorts in the country in which the surgery had taken place. The procedure he received was the very first procedure of its kind in the world--and he had survived and in fact was thriving.
The mother, still sitting in my office, at this point pulled out a manila envelope containing a thick bundle of newspaper articles from both the country where the surgery took place and from America hailing and celebrating the miraculous success of her sons surgery and his remarkable recovery.
Soon came the time for him to return to the States. He traveled back to America safely and without any complications. A few months after his return home was his 5th birthday. His parents planned an elaborate 5th birthday party for him. It was of course, going to be more than just a fifth birthday celebration. It was also going to be a welcome home party and a thank you party for his successful surgery and recovery. It was also going to be a party to celebrate the fact that in a very real way this young child's life had been given back to him, his family and to the world.
The day of the party arrived. I was told everything was done in grand style and that everything was perfect. Everyone was on cloud nine. The family could not have been happier. Their son could not have been happier.
At some point during the party the little boy was playing with several of his young friends. No one was apparently closely monitoring this. Why should they? He was in the safety of his home with his loving family.
The young boy continued to play with his friends. So much of his young life had consisted of family members, doctors and others monitoring every single second of his life. Finally on this day people allowed themselves to exhale. They still monitored him. He was still in recovery from a serious surgery. Still, everyone agreed there was now a reason to give a little bit of breathing room, no matter how slight. So within that breathing room came the ability to let the young boy gently play with his friends without constant supervision.
One of his friends threw the child a ball. He didn't catch it. It gained some velocity and rolled a little down a small hill. The young boy was in quick pursuit. The ball rolled some more. No one saw the ball roll down another small hill. No one noticed the seconds it took for the young boy to happily continue to pursue it. Everything happened so quickly. The ball rolled out into the street. And at that exact moment a large truck was rounding the corner on the same street. The driver had no time to react. The boy followed the ball into the street. Brakes squealed with that horrifying sound we all know. Usually it is just a false alarm. This time it wasn't. The boy ran into the street, was hit by the truck and was instantly killed. He was exactly five years old.
What was just moments earlier a day of unmatched familial and triumphant celebration of life, success and dreams coming true had instantly turned into a family's unspeakable and unbelievable nightmare of sudden and deep experience of death, tragedy and absolute and complete despair. None of those words I just wrote of course can even come close to describing the reality of what the family members actually experienced as they rushed to the street and were met with to them was a scene of unbelievable horror.
I can count on one hand the number of times I have been rendered absolutely completely and totally speechless in this life. The moment the beautiful woman sitting across from me came to the end of her story, was a moment I came face to face with such a time. It seemed to last forever. It did last forever. How does one respond to such a story. I have no idea what my first words after hearing the conclusion of the story were. I can only guess I did not say something completely inappropriate and offensive because she came back for a second session.
If anyone, for the rest of my life happens to ask me if I have a story to share that illustrates both how we have no control in our lives and how we are constantly living in a world that constantly invites us to experience our vulnerability, this would be the story I would share. I have no other that meets that criterion so completely.
Every year some percentage of children around the world die before they reach the age of consent. A disproportionate amount of these children will be children who live in poverty and/or who have few or none of the basic needs in place that Abraham Maslow speakes of so fluently in his hierarchy of human needs. Some parents who know their children live neither in poverty nor without their basic needs being met can allow themselves to live under the false security that their children are somehow automatically exempt from becoming one of these statistics. They are deluding themselves.
If we do not freely knock on the door of vulnerability, it will knock on ours. The only thing we have control over is whether or not-- if we choose to wait for it to knock on our doors-- to answer the door or not. If we do not answer the door however, vulnerability will simply let itself in.
"Vulnerability is the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging and of love."
~Brene Brown
Social Science Researcher on vulnerability, courage, authenticity and shame
© Raven/Sage Mahosadha
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