A Mother's Love

A new resident moved in just over one week ago. Danielle* is a pretty twenty-eight year old who has HIV and heart disease. She was born with HIV, and my guess is her heart disease is the result of the virus working within her body. Her heart only pumps blood at 20%, whereas a normal heart pumps blood out to the body at 90%-100%. Currently, she has a medication that is constantly pumped into her (like an IV) assisting her heart in functioning. Without this medication, she would die within three weeks, and with it, she may only live for a year. 

When I first met Danielle, I was able to look past all the cords and tubes. At first, she really appears to be any other young woman. She has a strong personality; she is very funny; she likes to talk and loves Kit-Kats. She is very easy to become friends with because she is so open and friendly. She is the mother to two beautiful young boys, ages two years and nine months. She loves them so much, and seems like she would do just about anything for them. The boys are currently living with their father and grandmother in Anacostia, the poorest neighborhood in Washington, DC. Just a couple of days ago, the father and grandmother brought the baby to visit at Joseph's House. He is such a good baby - rarely cries, likes to laugh, and loves to cuddle. As I sat with the family, I thought a lot about some of my clients last year who would bring their children in. Sure, they, too, were living in poverty, as well as living with HIV. But at some point during the visit, it hit me....Danielle's situation at Joseph's House is so very different than my clients' back in Raleigh.

Danielle will most likely die in the next 12 months. I am not sure what her awareness level of this is yet. Perhaps she is still in denial, or maybe she has accepted it. I am not sure. As I watched her with her baby, though, I saw the true love of a mother; and witnessing that love brought tears to my eyes, as I remembered that she is dying. And here she is, at Joseph's House, unable to spend her days with her children. The boys live 30 minutes away, on the opposite side of town, and poverty really prevents mother and children from being able to be together. Her boyfriend and his grandmother both work full-time, wage jobs in order to provide for the boys. That makes it difficult for them to travel the 30 minutes to visit. Not to mention, it is easier for them to drive to Joseph's House than to take public transportation...and that costs money...and as we all know, gas is not cheap. 

I watched Danielle standing outside as her family got in the car and drove away. There was this longing in her eyes...longing for her boys, longing to be with her family, and maybe even a real fear of leaving it all behind. Just a twenty-eight year old mother, trying to do all she can for her kids, but her health and socioeconomic status as preventing her from even seeing them. I think about my friends, and what they would do in this situation. I think about new mothers I know and wonder how they would navigate all the barriers that are a reality to this young mother. What would you do? 

I just keep praying that we are able to make Joseph's House a home for Danielle...a place of comfort and companionship; a place of love and trust; maybe even a place full of family.

*Name has been changed.

Learning When It Is Not About Me

Joseph's House is not a place for the dying, I am learning. It is a place for the living. All of our residents are living each day, whether that living is nearing the end or if they are learning how to live all over again. One of our residents, who has become like a mother to me, is living with AIDS, has just been started on HIV medication, and is getting stronger each day. She has been a blessing in my life in so many ways, but mostly in her aggressive way of teaching me how to be patient.


With a strong personality similar to my own, she has a tendency to make demands. "Bring me a soda." "I asked for salt, NOT sugar." Pleases and thank yous are sometimes few and far between. There has been many a day when she pushed me so hard, I wanted to snap. I have cried because of her demanding nature and aggressiveness. I have found myself hurting inside because I feel like I am not being respected. But then she holds my hand and cries with me, apologizes for being so tough, tells me she loves me and she needs me....and suddenly the pain disappears. The next day I can laugh with her, get her a soda, and hopefully get the salt instead of the sugar. 


She has taught me how to love in ways I never knew how. Even through the frustrations that I encounter with her at times, there is this part of me that remembers that the little things should not hold me back. Those little moments should not be the source of anger, but rather a source of learning.


A week or so ago, a co-worker dropped her off at her family's house. She told us she would get a ride back home later that night. That night, she called around 9:30pm saying she had a ride and would be home soon...and she did not return. My initial instinct was that she had fallen and was in the hospital. She is not super steady on her feet, as she is gaining her strength back little by little. I became worried. One of our nurses talked to her brother, who told us that she was fine...so the worry disappeared and slowly began to be replaced by anger. Why would she call and say she was coming home...and not return? This continued for two days. She'd call, say she was on her way home, and then not show up.


I allowed my anger to grow to the point that I prayed I would not be the one at the house when she came back home...if she came back home. Two days later, I was working my late shift, and my co-worker told me that our friend was almost here and to let down the elevator for her. My heart ached. I expected the worst....that she had been out in the world again, using, hurting herself, when she was finally getting better and healing.


I watched as she got out of the car and walked to the elevator. I wanted to cry our of frustration, not knowing what I'd say when I saw her. My initial instinct was to say, "Where have you been? Why have you kept us worrying when you know we only want what is best for you? We only want for you to get better!" But when I saw her, I saw the fear in her eyes. Terrified she would be kicked out of Joseph's House, she practically walked by me without saying hello. My heart melted. The frustration disappeared. I hugged her and told her I love her and that I am so happy that she was home.


She sat upstairs with me and a co-worker and cried to us as she told us that the urine she just gave us was "dirty" and that she had been high multiple times when she was away. My heart ached as I saw the effects of addiction, but softened as I saw her courage and her bravery and her need to be loved. I sat with her for a while, just holding her hand. When I got up to leave, she asked me how another resident was doing, knowing that his health was declining. I looked her in the eye and told her the truth...that he is dying and would pass any day now. She began to cry again, looked at me, and said, "I have been so blessed and I don't know why." I told her, "I am just happy you are home," knowing that she could have died out there, especially if she never came home. As I began to cry with her, all of the anger and frustration finally went away. For the first time in my life, I was able to let go of the disappointment. I was able to get past the bitterness. I was able to truly love unconditionally. In that moment, I realized that it isn't always about me. This was about her, and I am just lucky and blessed to be a part of her journey.


Love is a special thing...but unconditional love - that true, beautiful love that knows no bounds and exists regardless of hurt or frustration - is the most amazing thing I have ever experienced.

A Peaceful Presence

There is a kind man living at Joseph's House whose presence for a long time intimidated me. He is very quiet. He spends much of his time meditating. His bedroom door is often closed. He doesn't speak too much English. Over the past few weeks, I have found myself avoiding his room. Our exchanges have been nothing more than simple "Good mornings" or "Do you need some pain medicine?" I have avoided him for so long, not because I do not know how to approach him, but because I am afraid to disturb his peace.

Like my friend who passed away a few weeks ago, this peaceful man is dying from liver cancer. Each day I witness his skin becoming more yellow, his body wasting away, and his feet swelling up as his body retains fluid. But for some reason, I still stay away from him. I have been told by many co-workers that this peaceful man has accepted that he is dying. He is ready to die. And still I stay away. As much as I say that I am fearful of disturbing him, or disrupting him in the middle of a meditation, I am realizing that I am actually scared of somehow messing up the peace that he has found. I am scared because it is so hard to fathom how some people can accept death and not try to run away from it or deny it like so many of us do.

This past Sunday, I worked the evening shift. After helping to clean up one of the other residents, I was getting some garbage bags from the hallway. I noticed that the bathroom door was closed and the light was on. Only one resident usually uses that bathroom, so I knew that our peaceful friend was inside. I heard the door open, met his eyes with mine, and next thing I knew, he was falling face first on to the hard wood floor. I watched as his swollen feet inside of sandals that didn't fit got caught on the threshold between the bathroom and the hallway. I watched as his arms flailed. Next thing I knew, he was on the ground. Two of my co-workers came flying up the stairs, along with our director. We helped our peaceful friend on to his back and got a pillow for him to rest his head on.

His chin was bleeding a bit, and he had chipped his front two teeth. He kept touching his teeth, as if to see if they had really broken. Each of us had a hand somewhere on his body - his arm or his head. Suddenly, he looked over at Cameron and said, "No CPR. No CPR." I was floored. Not for one second did I think this would be the moment he would die - and it wasn't - but to hear him say that, to so clearly accept that he is dying. My mind was really blown by that. How inspirational. How powerful. A few moments later, he looked as us, chuckled a little, and said, "Calm down." 

That's the kind of person he is, and I am really just starting to recognize it. Not only is he peaceful (which I admire so much), he also is full of joy. He puts others before himself. He is always giving - whether with a soft, gentle smile, or with some fruit that grows in China that his brother brings to the house. Even in the time that I avoided his room, I have learned so much from him about life. Every moment is special and is to be appreciated. Life is about being. I am really starting to understand what it means to be, and I am appreciative to this peaceful man for helping me see the light.

Redemption Song

My dear friend's battle with liver cancer ended this past Friday. My heart aches for him, wishing he was sitting on the front porch at Joseph's House to say, "Good morning, Shorty," or sitting in his room listening to Bob Marley. But I know he is still here in spirit. He still watches over me when I walk home, and he still greets me good morning when I arrive at Joseph's House.

Watching him die was one of the most challenging experiences, but also a very rewarding one. It was a time when I felt God's presence so clearly, when I was able to bear witness to the beauty that rises out of death. I spent most of the morning by his bedside Friday, writing him a little thank you note. I noticed a major change in him from the day before. He was breathing lightly. He was no longer moaning or wincing. It was almost like he was free of pain. As he slept, I sat there, watching, wrapped up in the mystery that surrounded me. A co-worker came in, and together, we gave him a gentle bed bath. Feeling his skin between my fingers was so intimate, so full of love, so powerful. As I moved his arm, his leg, his entire body, he peacefully obliged. Again, it seemed as though he was free from pain.

Early in the afternoon, our nurse came downstairs to find me. She said, "He is nearing the end. If it is important to you, and I know it is, you should go up to his room." I felt myself hesitate. I thought I could go to the bathroom first, but something inside of me pushed me and told me NO, you must go now. As I entered his room, I knelt at the foot of the bed and placed my hand on his foot. And that is where I remained until he took his last breath, and for many moments afterwards. 

He died peacefully, just as I had prayed all week. His breath slowly stopped and his heart slowly ceased beating. There was no groaning, no coughing, no evident pain. He so naturally died. My three friends and co-workers, entered the room after his death, and together we remembered. Balaji had his hand on our dear friend's leg and my hand in the other. My other hand rested inside Tina's while her other hand held Sam's. Together we mourned. Together we grieved. Together we remembered.

The mystery surrounded us in those moments. Where was he now that his spirit left his human body? We began to perform the Joseph's House rituals - lighting a candle by the bed, changing the body so the family can see him in all his beauty. As we changed him, we turned on the stereo near his bed. Bob Marley's "Redemption Song" began to play. The word freedom just kept repeating itself, and that was when I knew. My friend is now free. He has been carried to freedom. He has left this life for one of true freedom, true joy, singing his redemption song. The world lost a love-filled man, a teacher, a passionate human being, but we have gained a true angel. And for that...I am eternally grateful.

A Breaking Heart

In my first few weeks at Joseph's House, I have noticed that the current residents are not quite I expected. Though some are dying, they are still mobile and independent. For the most part, they do not need much assistance, other than providing them with their daily medications. Some are in a lot of pain, that we control with needed doses of morphine or methadone. But otherwise, I haven't really felt like I work at a hospice home...that is, until Monday.


One of our residents is an African-American man in his 50s who is dying from liver cancer. I still remember the day I met him - his smiling face, his ability to talk about practically anything, his humor, this instant sense of love he exudes. He has become a dear friend of mine. He always watches the Jets just so he can talk to me about them on Monday. He loves reggae - which I love so much. He has had adventures I can only dream of. He is like a father to me in some ways. He always checks to make sure I am ok. He endearingly calls me "Shorty" and loves the egg sandwiches I make for him. He tells me all the cool places to go in DC, but always cautions me not to get sucked into the tourist traps because I should never spend $4 on a hot dog. One night, when I worked 1-9pm, he made sure that my administrator let me take the van home so I wouldn't have to walk home by myself. I tell him I love him, and he always says he loves me back...and I know he means it.


Two weeks ago during staff meeting, we were talking about this dear friend of mine and updating each other on experiences we have had with him. I'm not sure what happened or what triggered my emotions, but I found myself with tears in my eyes, unable to speak, as I became aware of just how scared I am to see my friend die. It is not out of fear of not having him here with me; it is more a fear of having to watch him suffer. I wish that he wouldn't have to be in pain, that he wouldn't have to lose his continence, that he wouldn't have to become so weak that he couldn't walk. I witnessed over the past few weeks, his skin and the whites of his eyes becoming more yellow as jaundice took over. I listened as he began to forget simple things. I experienced his confusion when he asked if it was 3pm, when it was only 10am and we had just eaten breakfast. I watched as his appetite decreased and he nearly stopped eating. At the staff meeting that day, I was overcome with emotion as I became aware of my fear.


Right after the meeting, and a few days following, I found myself backing away from my friend. My fear was winning. It was taking over and pulling me away from a man who I have grown to love in such an amazing way. I had to convince myself that withdrawing from this friendship would help no one - neither him nor me. It would only hurt us both. I challenged myself to face my fear head on. I pushed myself to take those extra moments each day to just sit with him on the porch or to listen to some reggae upstairs in his room. I made him breakfast and lunch a number of times and always checked in to see how his pain level was.


Monday when I walked up the stairs to the front door, I felt an uneasiness within me. I walked inside and into the living room where my friend was sitting, asleep on the couch. I walked away, did a few things, and then went back to see him. I tried to wake him up, simply by saying his name. Usually, when he is asleep on the couch, it is easy to awaken him. This time, though, it took me touching his knee to bring him back. He looked at me with confusion in his eyes. Throughout the day, I witnessed as my friend began to decline. And now, I know, he is really dying.


My heart hurts. I cry often. Not because I cannot imagine being at Joseph's House without him....but because seeing him suffer breaks my heart in a way I have never experienced. Watching his body shake uncontrollably as he moves into sleep. Walking him to the bathroom, with my hands under his arms so that I can break his fall if need be. Standing in the bathroom with him as he barely makes it to the toilet. Having to change his pants, boxers, and give him his first pull-up diaper. Holding and tilting a cup of water to his mouth so he can swallow his pain medication. Seeing his brother's heart break, too. My heart is breaking while I watch the toll that alcoholism has on the body. My heart is breaking as I witness my friend dying from liver cancer. My heart is breaking....in a way that I cannot explain.


And this is why I am at Joseph's House.

When Love Finally Wins

I remember the moment, sitting in 8th grade English class early on September 11, 2001. Our teacher announced to us that something had happened, gave us a few details, and told us to be calm. We got sent home early from school early that day. I called my mom when I got home and she told me it would be best if I didn't turn the TV on until she got home. But I couldn't resist. I sat on my mom's bed watching the scene over and over again, sobbing. I was full of confusion, unable to understand what was going on. I just cried and cried - aching to understand...how could hate win?In the past ten years, I have had a life full of many blessed experiences. Yet the confusion has stuck with me, and at times has been even stronger than on that day in 8th grade when I was sobbing in front of the television. When Osama bin Laden was killed just a few months ago, Americans celebrated in the street. And again, hatred won. My heart breaks again and again when I see the footage from ten years ago or I hear the stories of friends who have lost a parent on that fateful day or friends who have lost a loved one in Afghanistan or Iraq. I ache. I cry. I pray. I hope...for a day when love finally gets to win...

Though I do not believe I have seen that day, I have found a place where love always comes out on top. In three short weeks, I have experienced love in so many new ways at Joseph's House - ways that restore my hope. Love is expressed in such a special way in this house. I have seen death and I have seen rebirth...and with each period of transition and transformation, love is at the forefront.

When I first began at Joseph's House, there was a resident who was dying. He quickly declined after an opportunistic infection caused his immune system to become overwhelmed. In the six days that I was allowed to be in his physical presence, there was no moment when his bedside was empty. Each time I walked by his room, someone was sitting there with him in the silence. Each held his hand to let him know they were there with him, that they love him, that they are forever grateful to have had the chance to know him. Watching this was transformative. The day he died, we all gathered at the house. His family came to see him, and together we stood - his two families - and comforted each other. Though I did not know him prior to his dying, and I surely did not know his family, the love I felt in the house was stronger than I had ever felt. There we were, side by side, black and white, old and young. So many things could have separated us if we allowed society to dictate that moment. But love got the chance to win.

Just the other day, we had the opportunity to say good-bye and good luck to another resident who is well enough to move out of Joseph's House. We all sat together in the living room and one by one, expressed our love and gratitude to her, as she did the same. She is not American and speaks little English. We were lucky to have a translator on the phone to help us communicate all that wanted to be expressed that day. But even if we hadn't...there was a mutual language of love present that day. Through the tears and the smiles, no words even had to be used. Love was present in the hugs, and the kisses, in the bows of gratitude. Love had the chance to win.

My heart is breaking today as I think about all that happened ten years ago. I remember the fear, the hurt, the confusion. I remember the tears. But I also remember the unification, the love, the pride that came after that day. So much could have separated us as Americans, and somehow this country came together.

My heart still hurts as I reflect on the ways that hate has won. But I am so grateful and blessed to be at Joseph's House where I finally have the chance to see love win.

This very day last year, I closed my blog post with a prayer by Pope Benedict XVI during his visit to Ground Zero in 2008, and I will do so again:

"God of peace, bring your peace to our violent world: peace in the hearts of all men and women and peace among the nations of the earth. Turn to your way of love those whose hearts and minds are consumed with hatred. God of understanding, overwhelmed by the magnitude of this tragedy, we seek your light and guidance as we confront such terrible events. Grant that those whose lives were spared may live so that the lives lost here may not have been lost in vain. Comfort and console us, strengthen us in hope, and give us the wisdom and courage to work tirelessly for a world where true peace and love reign among nations and in the hearts of all."

Please...never forget that together we can allow love to win every day. What will you do to make sure that happens?

Love in a New Chapter

I have found my new home in the city of Washington, DC. The past three weeks have been nothing but surreal and entirely bittersweet. The transition from a city full of people I love, to my hometown (and a visit to see my dad and brother) full of the people who have shaped my life, to a new city that I have already fallen in love with has been nothing short of a whirlwind. When I first left Raleigh, I became frightened...was I making the right decision? Did God really want me to leave so many people who changed my life this year? The eight days I spent on retreat helped me to realize that leaving Raleigh is not the end of the story. I cannot separate this past year from the year to come. They are simply two chapters in the long book of my life...and I honestly believe I can build a beautiful bridge between them.


I spent much of my time at Blue Ridge reflecting on love and the role it played in my life this past year. I have really struggled most with leaving Raleigh because of the uncertainty that it creates. I have fallen in love with many folks this year - clients, co-workers, community members. It broke my heart to walk away...and my heart still hurts. But I read a passage in a book my new boss gave me that talks about love as a bridge. It states that the bridge carries us into a place of non-judgment, of compassion, of adoration. Love is the way. I believe that this is one of the greatest lessons I've learned from my time in Raleigh. Life cannot be lived fully without love - love for self, love for other, love for God. My clients taught me what it means to love. They confided in me. They trusted me. They sometimes looked beyond the young white girl, beyond the privilege, and saw me for me. They even took the time to learn about me. There is something so beautiful about love. When it is truly unconditional, it is beautiful. When you can just love regardless of knowing, joy breaks through. This is what I found peace in the struggles I saw each and every day. My clients have this amazing faith and a tendency to look beyond. They have deep love for the people in their lives and a sense of security among all that is insecure. They challenged me to love, no matter what. Their stories pushed me to be compassionate, to be contemplative, to move beyond my judgments and beyond the stereotypes. They called me to look beyond the labels. Regardless of race, sexual orientation, gender, socioeconomic status, substance abuse history, mental health illness, mistakes made...regardless of all the labels society has cast upon people, my clients challenged me to love them anyways. Their stories changed my life and helped me to break down the barriers within me. They gave me a transformed worldview. They helped me to see the truth, to examine the reality, and to question the system. It is for them that I will continue to fight for justice. It is for them that I will love all unconditionally. For it is because of them that I learned how to love.


And this is the mindset that I come to Joseph's House with...


As I prepare to begin my new job tomorrow, I will remember each of the people I have loved in my year in Raleigh. My dearest friends - thank you for bringing me to this point. It is because of you that God has shown me that Joseph's House is where I am supposed to be at this point in my life. It is because of you that I was able to say yes. I know this year will not be a simple one, but I feel so blessed to have this opportunity to learn more about love.


Here's to a new chapter...and finding love once more.