Blog 2 - Kaitlyn's Story

Blog 2 - Kaitlyn's Story

As a child death is typically sugar coated to feel less scary, it’s explained in a way like “grandma went to sleep for a little while” or “they’re in a better place” generic, non-specific and impermanent statements. Little explanation is given about the process that is dying or what ‘sleeping for a little while’ truly means. Death is talked about, in a way as to not upset or scare a child, but is this a disservice we are doing to children? Do children comprehend the permanence that death brings?

My first experience with death was when I was about 10 years old, my great grandmother died. We weren’t terribly close as she lived further away but I remember this feeling of sadness. I went to the funeral with my family and when we walked in, I was taken aback and in shock. I was not warned that there would be an open casket and I remember feeling completely stuck in that moment, unsure of how to feel and blindsided that she was right there in front of me. We were supposed to sit close to the front, but I couldn’t. In that moment, seeing her lifeless body, the permanence of it washed over me like a tidal wave I couldn’t swim out of. I remember being provided with comfort, but I still felt this unease like I didn’t realize she was really ‘gone’ until that moment.

Only a couple years later I had a friend from school die, this was a boy I liked, a friend and someone I was supposed to go to a dance with. I can still bring myself back to exactly where I was when I heard the news that he died. My parents and I were staying in this rental home while our new house was being built, it was small and there wasn’t a lot of privacy. I remember my mom going into the kitchen as the phone was ringing and hearing the sadness in her voice as she hung up. She told me the news that he had died, he was in a car accident with his family. This came the day before the dance and I felt sad but at the same time it felt surreal because I didn’t get to say goodbye, and I didn’t attend any of the services, there was no real closure. I remember being at school and they brought in grief counselors, we were given time away from class if needed to just be or talk to someone. I didn’t take time away from class, I talked to friends about it and felt ok with things, I think again not truly understanding the permanence of his death. As a teenager I visited the stone outside of the front door of the school we attended, made in his memory. I remember feeling that tidal wave wash over me again, but this time I was able to swim and navigate the waters, allow the emotions to flow and reflect while accepting the permanence and gaining closure about his death.

The next death that I experienced hit me hard. My nana died, I was in high school, and she had been present in my life since the day I was born. My nana was someone special to me, someone I was close with, and I felt that tidal wave harder than any other. My nana was 94 years old; she lived a long, beautiful life and I felt some peace around that. When we went to her funeral, we were given an opportunity to go upstairs to see her and say our goodbye’s; however, I declined this invitation. I did not want to see my nana like that, I think from my experience years before I was scared and did not feel that I could process seeing her lifeless body. To this day, I do hold some regret in my heart that I did not go up and see her to say goodbye, I was left without that closure.

The thing is with death, it hits us hard and fast like a tidal wave we can’t swim out of, but then there are moments of relief where we feel ourselves swimming and flowing through the emotions.

While I was in nursing school, I had the opportunity to shadow a palliative nurse, he was gentle and kind and spent time being truly present with his patients. I remember feeling overwhelmed a lot in nursing school, focused on the tasks at hand and trying to complete them all within my shift. When I shadowed him and stepped into a palliative nursing role that task mentality became less of a focus, the focus shifted to being present, engaged and holding space for those we were caring for. There was of course still a need to complete tasks and care, but the pace at which it was done felt much more fluid. I had the opportunity because I was a student to spend 1:1 time with a patient and she truly changed my life and inspired me to become a palliative nurse. This patient was a young woman with young children, she was vibrant and full of life, all while dying. I spent many days holding space for her, braiding her hair, and holding her hand through tough moments. We engaged in conversation about her life, her fears and all that she was feeling as she was dying. I remember thinking what an incredibly strong woman she was, the vulnerabilities I witnessed and moments we shared are something truly sacred. With her I realized what an incredible privilege and honour it is to walk alongside someone and hold space for them at the end of their life. That experienced solidified what kind of nurse I wanted to be, what area of nursing my heart belonged in.

 There is a beginning and an end to every life. The end signifies a life lived, memories made, moments had, experiences shared and holds so much meaning. It is truly incredible to bear witness to moments at the end of someone’s life, to be there as they take their final breath on this side of the earth and hold space for them. Death is a beautiful journey that each one of us will experience, it is not something to fear, it is something to embrace, talk about and explore.

Please embrace these moments, laugh while experiencing complete sorrow, hold each other closely and ride the waves.

Kaitlyn Baker