I had a conversation with our spiritual care advisor today about blessing the room after a patient has died. It would have to be done in a way that would be respectful of people’s belief systems, even if they have a non-belief. Why are we thinking of doing it? A chance for final closure. A way of saying goodbye. Rituals are important in life and this gives us something that we could do in a meaningful fashion. This is part of what we do after someone has died. We remember the person and their loved ones. We give permission for whatever energies have been left in the room to move on. To clear the room out, ready and waiting to help the next person and their family. A time to farewell a patient and their family whom we might never see again.
We want to do things right, in a first do no harm manner, we don’t want to cause any offence. The blessings are not intended to be from any particular belief system. The staff providing the room blessing need to do so in a compassionate manner. They might have a personal spiritual belief of their own, but in this instance I want them to put that aside briefly, to present as their best professional self a generic blessing that would cover things at a bare minimum. People would be trained to give this blessing to allow the room to be put back into use again quickly. This would allow the cleaners to go in and prepare the room for the next person who will occupy the room.
Letting out the sad, angry energy that might still be there. Allowing the person’s spirit to move to where it needs to go. Spiritually resetting the room to be a blank canvas again. To allow the next person and their family to make their imprint on the room. To clean the silk screen before the next print is made. Is there something missing? Someone missing? A chance to air out the room and freshen it up for the next guests. In an acceptable fashion for all. People need to be empowered to do the right thing.
I heard the loud and proud singing from the carpark. The vibrant and powerful voices of the Gospel Choir required no amplification. Their harmonies stirred even the singers to tears, let alone their audience.
We were all gathered to celebrate a life and to say goodbye. In my 23 years of medical practice, I had previously been to only one patient’s funeral. This was number two.
The husband had requested that we all wore black. I wore a dark suit, a white shirt and a tie with yellow smiley emojis. Partially hidden under dark coats were yellow and other colourful dresses. Vivid scarves provided obvious contrast to otherwise fully black outfits. Yellow earrings dangled from the ear lobes of some of the ladies. The young men wore black, apart from their highly decorated sneakers.
We all stood up and the room quietened as the pallbearers carried the gleaming yellow coffin with loving care.
I looked through the window at the front of the room and I noticed a small yellow feathered bird frolicking in the bubbling waters of the spherical fountain.
It was lovely to hear about our patient’s rich life from friends, workmates and family members. In Palliative Care/Hospice we only meet people when they are very unwell. We often don’t know what they were like before their illness changed every thing.
I had been asked to talk on behalf of our hospice. I talked about the strongest patient I had ever met in my fifteen years of palliative care. Someone who had surprised me with her resilience. She made me negotiate every change in medication over the past six months. I talked about when I thought she was about to fall asleep for the last time and then hours later she went out to the shopping mall.
She had wanted to buy the piece of furniture for her living room for some years, but she had been too busy. Working, caring for her family, entertaining friends, and living a full life. Then the illness and its treatments had taken over her calendar appointments. In her last weeks, she had filled in the last remaining space in her living room, the seat was upholstered, of course, in yellow.
Education was always so important, she didn’t want the kids to miss out on school. As many children were present for her funeral, a science lesson was shared about Mitochondria.
I talked about when she saw my yellow scrubs for the first time. She smiled and laughed before changing her outfit. She had asked her friend to take a photo of us in our yellow outfits. Both of us also wore matching socks.
In her final weeks, I had worn my yellow scrubs more often. Each day I thought it might be the last time she would see them. I told her again that whenever I wear my yellow scrubs in the future I would think of her.
The photos always get me. The montage accompanied by a heartbreaking song, showed happier and much healthier times. A younger couple with tiny toddlers in photos taken from various holiday trips in exotic locations. The pictures of the beautiful family, with the rest of their lives together to look forward to, deepened the ache of the afternoon gathering.
We all stood up as the six men took their places at the side of the sacred yellow vessel. They took their sombre steps out to the waiting hearse. We followed them outside and were offered white petals with which to say our final goodbyes.
Yellow balloons were released by her tuxedo and formal dress adorned children. Goodbye Mummy.
The sturdy videographer raised his arms in order to capture the right shot. The too-pale skin of his ample abdomen blinded us previously innocent bystanders. Captain Ahab would’ve been driven into a frenzy. We closed our eyes but a dark-coloured island continent was burned into our retinae. Thankfully we had not glimpsed Tasmania.
She would not have approved of his shirt not being tucked in and would’ve had a few choice words to share with him, in a polite but forthright manner.
We waved goodbye as the hearse rounded the corner.
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