The Ghosts of Residential Care

A Psychopomp is someone who can help one transition from the land of the living to the land of the dead. The Greek word “pompos” means guide and “psyche” is also Greek for breath, life soul or mind. In the Death Doula uprising, Psychopomp or soul care is just one of the many things a Death Doula can be trained in.  Shaman have long been doing this work and many other groups and religions also have those whose job it is to escort the spirit or the soul to a particular place after death.

Since I am presently alive and do not recall anything before I was born, and I do not presume to know what will happen to “me” after I die, I do not solidly believe one thing or another. I don’t know about an after-life or the after life or bridges that must be crossed to realms that need to be sought. I don’t know about souls or spirits or ghosts or haunted houses. I don’t know about heaven or hell or places where the dead convene. But I do know that variations of all of those exist right here on our earthly plane. And I know some of the causes.

Working the 11 pm to 7 am shift as the only over night staff person caring for 14 residents was at times a bit… creepy. I would like to pretend that I just went about my business doing the laundry, answering the resident’s midnight requests for bathroom assistance or bandage changes, and nothing ever frightened me—but this would not be true. Where I worked, the building had multiple floors and some levels were completely vacant. I walked the silent halls night after night doing rounds every two hours and answering individual pages in between. I knew that Martha would page me every night around 1 am to use the bathroom. I knew that Helen had terrible sleep apnea so I would do extra check-ins on her.  I would knock once out of courtesy (which she would never hear as she was stone cold deaf) and crack open her door to listen to her breathe. I would hear her rattle an exhale and then count one, two, three… sometimes getting up to 25 seconds before the next in-breath would come thundering in. Sometimes I would knock and enter the room and the resident would be up doing something at 3 am… Going through photographs or letters, making the bed (time doesn’t make much of a difference when you’re 102 years old) or shuffling around the bathroom.  If they were doing something dangerous I’d encourage them to go back to sleep, otherwise, I’d just gently close the door and go on to the next room.

There were nights when the whole house would be very silently sound and other nights that I wished there was more than one of me to attend residents. Then there were nights when I would get nearly paralyzed with fear.  The TVs would turn on by themselves in the wee hours of the morning. The elevator in the building would go up and down by itself and damnit I had to go check each floor (by myself) and make sure all exits were secure to make sure a resident was not out of their room. I received pages from residents that when I went to check on them they were sound asleep, snoring, and their call-pager was clear across the room. Let me assure you, no 90 year old is playing tricks on the night nurse and quickly jumping into bed after sending a page. Especially when they can barely stand without their walker.  I would have to shove my heart back into my chest cavity, place the resident’s pager on their bedside table where it was supposed to be and sneak back out.

Many people died in that building. I myself assisted when residents died and there were many, many deaths before my time. I wondered if there could be ghosts. I wondered if the nights when the electric was out of control and scaring the scrubs right off me if it was a former resident getting a laugh. But, again, that would have to mean that I believe in souls and spirits and places that they do or do not go after death.  I’m still working on what I believe,  but I can tell you what I know. The fear and abandonment of the living residents is so palpable that it could feel like a weight on your shoulder and make you shudder.  The loneliness and anxiety could whisper in your ear and make you turn around thinking you heard something. I was called more often in the night to hold a hand after a nightmare or to just sit and talk over a cup of warm milk and saltines than I ever was for a trip to the bathroom or an emergency.  One resident would ask me in her German accent if I could lay down next to her “for just a minute-- like my sister used to do.”  Of course I could not do this, but I would rub the top of her head and sing to her.  She had no family alive and no one ever came to visit.

I don’t know which bridges need to be crossed after death but there are bridges on this plane that need to be crossed between our living and our living that are dying. We need more hands holding hands. We need more words of kindness, love and reassurance spoken to the elderly and the dying.  And if the ears are too deaf, use the gentleness of touch. And if the touch is too painful or not possible, use soothing smiles and kind eyes. And if the eyes cannot see, sit close, breathe calmly and let the heat and breath and the pounding of good intention from your own beating heart do the soothing. We would have a lot less ghosts if there were more bridges like that.

Note: This is not my photograph. Click on the image to bring you to the original photo.  If you are the owner and wish me to remove this photograph, message me and I will happily do so.