The Invisible Nature of Grief

Most nurses know the stages of grief by heart: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. We know the stages do not occur in an orderly, linear fashion. People flow in and out of each stage, circling back around to earlier stages as needed.

But I’m not aware of anyone discussing the invisible, insulating environment grief surrounds its survivors within. An acquaintance described it like this:

“We had just taken our son off of life-support, and sat with him as he passed. Our entire family had gathered to say goodbye. After leaving the hospital, we went to eat. I sat in the café, marveling at the world outside, that people were going about their daily lives, and I had just lost my son.”

When grieving periods were the norm.

collage by julianna paradisi/2018

A cultural understanding of this phenomena developed during the Victorian era, and still exists in period romance novels: People of means, after suffering the loss of a loved one or recovering from traumatic illness or injury, were sent to live with relatives in the country or at the seaside. There, they had no household responsibilities beyond taking long walks through the forest or along the shore, keeping journals, or sketching. In romance novels, the grieving heroine gets the added bonus of discovering a Fabio-like love to […]

2018-04-09T18:43:00-04:00April 9th, 2018|family, family experience, Nursing, Patients|0 Comments
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Through Song, a Nurse’s Renewed Connection to An Ailing Mother

Illustration by Barbara Hranilovich for AJN.

Millions of Americans are now acting in some capacity as caregivers for an ailing parent. This month’s Reflections column is by a nurse who describes a moment in time as she helps to care for her home-bound and dying mother. Her mother remains, on occasion, as judgmental and offputting as the mother of her childhood.

But in such cases, there’s little to gain by dwelling on old disappointments and hurts—and in this instance, there are good memories as well.

The common language of song.

These good memories are primarily associated with her mother’s love of and talent for singing. “Moon River and Mom” describes this nurse’s experience of tending her mother’s leg wound as the Meals on Wheels man visits, and what happens afterward when the author prompts her mother to sing. […]

2017-11-03T07:50:46-04:00November 3rd, 2017|family experience, Nursing, nursing stories|0 Comments
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The Words We Use to Talk About the Act of Suicide

    marie + alistair knock/flickr creative commons

Suicide. A dear friend of mine died this way almost 40 years ago, leaving behind a beautiful six-month-old boy and a beloved and loving husband. I have never given any thought to the way we friends and family refer to her death. Then last week, I came across a 2015 blog post by the sister of a man who died in the same way.

In the post on a website that shares experiences of disability and mental illness, former hospice social worker Kyle Freeman argues that this term suggests criminality. She points to laws in the U.S. that, until a little more than 50 years ago, defined suicide as a criminal act. Kyle feels this history has perpetuated a sense of shame and embarrassment in survivors.

“…the residue of shame associated with the committal of a genuine crime remains attached to suicide. My brother did not commit a crime. He resorted to suicide, which he perceived, in his unwell mind, to be the only possible solution to his tremendous suffering.”

Kyle believes that the common use of the phrase “committed suicide” is not only inaccurate but can add to the suffering of those who have lost friends or family in this way. She prefers the term dying by suicide. […]

2017-09-15T09:29:16-04:00September 15th, 2017|family experience, patient experience|0 Comments
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Night Watch

Editor’s note: In this tightly observed guest post, a nurse visiting a sick family member experiences the hospital as a kind of foreign country.

Eileen McGorry, MSN, RN, worked as a registered nurse in community mental health for over 30 years. She currently lives in Olympia, Washington, with her husband Ron.

The walkway is hard, the concrete cold, and I am immersed in darkness. Then there is the swish of the hospital doors and whispery stillness. The light over the reception desk shines on a lone head, bent over a book. A clipboard is pushed toward me. The paper on it is lined with names, some boldly printed, others scribbled, the letters unrecognizable. The spacious lobby is filled with individual groups of soft stuffed chairs and love seats. All of it quiet and empty. Over the chairs and sofas, the black of the midnight hour is changed into twilight.

I remember the bustle of the area at midday. Families gathered together, eyes searching the crowd for the green scrubs of surgeons. “She will live,” they say to some, and to others, “We will wait and see.” The frenzy of the day over, the empty chairs wait for tomorrow.

I sign my name in script. I use the old Catholic school script. The script preached by my mother, who is upstairs recovering from heart surgery. I walk past the chairs along walls so […]

2017-05-17T11:11:27-04:00May 17th, 2017|family, family experience, Nursing, patient experience, Patients|0 Comments
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