Weaving Our NetworksThe Art of Dying in Community
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What will it take to expand our fledgling network of end-of-life caregivers (aka death midwives or doulas)?
Who can be called upon to help plan and facilitate a memorial service and/or burial (outside of churches)? Who would like to join that contingent?
Who can help navigate the unraveling of a life and responsibilities, especially when the passing is a sudden unexpected one?
There are a number of people locally who do these things - mostly as volunteers.
What training is needed? What parts do we know how to do ourselves?
How do we recruit and make names available?
We have a fledgling vision and we're looking for folks to join us.....
Make no mistake, this work is not ghoulish! It's a life enhancing sacred experience. It's a calling....
Stay tuned as we develop and formalize this part of our network....
Who can be called upon to help plan and facilitate a memorial service and/or burial (outside of churches)? Who would like to join that contingent?
Who can help navigate the unraveling of a life and responsibilities, especially when the passing is a sudden unexpected one?
There are a number of people locally who do these things - mostly as volunteers.
What training is needed? What parts do we know how to do ourselves?
How do we recruit and make names available?
We have a fledgling vision and we're looking for folks to join us.....
Make no mistake, this work is not ghoulish! It's a life enhancing sacred experience. It's a calling....
Stay tuned as we develop and formalize this part of our network....
A Sacred Crossings Death Midwife
* shepherds individuals toward a conscious dying experience
* guides loved ones in after-death care of the body
*empowers families to reclaim the healing ritual of a vigil and funeral at home.”
It is the most holy of all tasks to be the death midwife for a loved one. The only requirements are
* a compassionate heart;
* the ability to deeply listen
*the capacity to be grounded in one’s presence without agenda or attachment.
To learn more about the Art of Death Midwifery Training program, please click on the red link or visit the ‘Education’ menu option.
* shepherds individuals toward a conscious dying experience
* guides loved ones in after-death care of the body
*empowers families to reclaim the healing ritual of a vigil and funeral at home.”
It is the most holy of all tasks to be the death midwife for a loved one. The only requirements are
* a compassionate heart;
* the ability to deeply listen
*the capacity to be grounded in one’s presence without agenda or attachment.
To learn more about the Art of Death Midwifery Training program, please click on the red link or visit the ‘Education’ menu option.
Photo by Cathy de Moll
Midwifing Death
Lane deMoll
September 2016
It must seem a strange urge – to work with the dying.
Our culture taught us to resist this sacred Call.
“It’s not for me.”
“It’s too hard.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“They must think me morbid…. "
Yet with a beloved family member or friend, in a hospital setting as a professional, or simply at the bedside of someone we love,
it seeks us out.
And to our amazement
(and perhaps consternation)
we find
joy and fulfillment.
Amidst tears - a breaking open of the heart.
Bewildering to those who haven’t experienced it. Scary to those who obey our society’s injunction to hide it away, to pretend it doesn’t exist. To not look grief and loss in the face.
Yet inevitably Death comes. In one way or another. As unique and individual as we each are in our living (which is in itself a perfect preparation for our dying*).
A mysterious passage to which we can sometimes be honored witnesses.
A slipping away.
A monumental struggle to not breathe when our whole physical being was made for breathing.
From the first
to the last…..
Often the struggle is apparent. Breaths loud, rasping, rattling.
Gasping. (Which may go on for days). Unsettling for sure.
But eventually the times between grow longer. And we witnesses hold our own breaths, stilled. Listening… Hoping it is and hoping it isn’t.
The last breath?
Not quite.
Then suddenly it is.
The spirit lifts up and out. If we have the wit and the wisdom
And a certain kind of sight
We can help that spirit rise.
Certainly we can sing to it as it goes.
If we are lucky there is time and inclination for a cleansing of the body. Of the shell that is left.
Soft washcloths. Scented oils. Beloved body naked and familiar.
Or seen fully for the first time ever.
Flowers swiped from the sickroom bouquets.
Beautiful scarves or a favorite vest and suspenders.
A soft nightgown.
Each time an improvisation of what is possible, allowed, available.
Wise ones from another culture say, “But of course you want to be here. This is what we do.”
And if we are very lucky we get to sit vigil around the body. As if at a warm fire.
For the night, or the morning. Maybe even a couple of days
while others share in the beauty and magic of this sacred time
of passage.
Transition.
Holding space for those who come to mourn.
Giving comfort.... Perhaps to that newly released spirit as well....
Finding words to celebrate and honor.
Until we are truly ready to let them go.
Then if we are very, very lucky we get to take care of the empty shell ourselves.
In family
In tribe
In community
To create a casket. With loving hands.
Perhaps woven as a basket or crafted from cedar or pine.
Sew a shroud.
Weave a basket.
Dig the hole.
Build the pyre.
Usher out with bells. Sing the praise songs.
Set to lie in land we love. Or scattered in special places.
Oceans and flowing streams.
Prairies. Mountain tops.
We must learn these ways.
Re-learn them.
Re-member them.
Re-invent them.
Let the dying teach us
To heal ourselves and
Recognize that it is a kind of birth.
In loving memory of those whose passings I have been privileged to attend.
* Stephen Jenkinson’s superb thinking on this can be found in his book Die Wise: A Manifesto for Sanity and Soul, but is more easily accessed in the film about him entitled Griefwalker.
Lane deMoll
September 2016
It must seem a strange urge – to work with the dying.
Our culture taught us to resist this sacred Call.
“It’s not for me.”
“It’s too hard.”
“I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“They must think me morbid…. "
Yet with a beloved family member or friend, in a hospital setting as a professional, or simply at the bedside of someone we love,
it seeks us out.
And to our amazement
(and perhaps consternation)
we find
joy and fulfillment.
Amidst tears - a breaking open of the heart.
Bewildering to those who haven’t experienced it. Scary to those who obey our society’s injunction to hide it away, to pretend it doesn’t exist. To not look grief and loss in the face.
Yet inevitably Death comes. In one way or another. As unique and individual as we each are in our living (which is in itself a perfect preparation for our dying*).
A mysterious passage to which we can sometimes be honored witnesses.
A slipping away.
A monumental struggle to not breathe when our whole physical being was made for breathing.
From the first
to the last…..
Often the struggle is apparent. Breaths loud, rasping, rattling.
Gasping. (Which may go on for days). Unsettling for sure.
But eventually the times between grow longer. And we witnesses hold our own breaths, stilled. Listening… Hoping it is and hoping it isn’t.
The last breath?
Not quite.
Then suddenly it is.
The spirit lifts up and out. If we have the wit and the wisdom
And a certain kind of sight
We can help that spirit rise.
Certainly we can sing to it as it goes.
If we are lucky there is time and inclination for a cleansing of the body. Of the shell that is left.
Soft washcloths. Scented oils. Beloved body naked and familiar.
Or seen fully for the first time ever.
Flowers swiped from the sickroom bouquets.
Beautiful scarves or a favorite vest and suspenders.
A soft nightgown.
Each time an improvisation of what is possible, allowed, available.
Wise ones from another culture say, “But of course you want to be here. This is what we do.”
And if we are very lucky we get to sit vigil around the body. As if at a warm fire.
For the night, or the morning. Maybe even a couple of days
while others share in the beauty and magic of this sacred time
of passage.
Transition.
Holding space for those who come to mourn.
Giving comfort.... Perhaps to that newly released spirit as well....
Finding words to celebrate and honor.
Until we are truly ready to let them go.
Then if we are very, very lucky we get to take care of the empty shell ourselves.
In family
In tribe
In community
To create a casket. With loving hands.
Perhaps woven as a basket or crafted from cedar or pine.
Sew a shroud.
Weave a basket.
Dig the hole.
Build the pyre.
Usher out with bells. Sing the praise songs.
Set to lie in land we love. Or scattered in special places.
Oceans and flowing streams.
Prairies. Mountain tops.
We must learn these ways.
Re-learn them.
Re-member them.
Re-invent them.
Let the dying teach us
To heal ourselves and
Recognize that it is a kind of birth.
In loving memory of those whose passings I have been privileged to attend.
* Stephen Jenkinson’s superb thinking on this can be found in his book Die Wise: A Manifesto for Sanity and Soul, but is more easily accessed in the film about him entitled Griefwalker.