Last year, about this time, I received a phone call from
Kate. Kate is a grief counselor with
Kansas City Hospice House and she proceeded to tell me that one of their
services to families that have had loved ones at Hospice House, was offering to
call once a month to check in on how the surviving family member(s) are
doing…meaning me. I was grateful for the
care they provided Miki, and me as well, during our last week together, so I
said sure.
True to her word, Kate called each month and when I answered
the phone, she would say, “Is this Wallie? … Hi Wallie, this is Kate from KC
Hospice … I was calling to see how you were doing.” The same soothing voice would calmly begin a
conversation about how things were going.
She might bring up something I had mentioned during a previous call or I
might just dive in to a particularly difficult moment from the last couple of
weeks. Either way, I found it
fascinating that I was uncovering stuff to a virtual stranger, based on where
she worked and the sound of her voice.
Maybe it was the anonymity of it all, but I’m sure she listened to
things I didn’t share with my own family.
From a distance, Kate participated in my first year without
Miki. She was there to hear of my
initial steps to move on, my anxious moments leading up to the Grand Canyon
trip, and the milestones I reflected on afterwards. She was privy to Beth before most of my
friends were. She reassured me that much
of what we discussed was normal, that
she felt as though I was handling things
well, and was lucky to have the family and friends surrounding me that I
did…many people she spoke with didn’t have that luxury.
Over these last 12 months, I spoke to a woman that I’d never
met and felt completely at ease doing it.
Besides my dog Tuck, Kate was a safe place to unload or ask about
missing someone I’d loved for 32 years…and now what? It wasn’t rocket science and I don’t know if
she was a professionally trained shrink or a hospice volunteer, she just
listened.
A few days ago I was in the basement, making another attempt
at cleaning up my shop area, when the phone rang. It was Kate.
Due to the holidays and timing we agreed to connect after the New Year
had established itself. So now, while we
were catching up on family visits from Thanksgiving to Christmas, it dawned on
me before she put it out there, this would be our last official
conversation. I felt my eyes
unexpectedly, yet slowly welling up with extra tears, with the thought that
this would be our last call. I held it
together to the extent that I could still talk semi-normally while we visited
about Miki’s anniversary date and how that felt leading up to and since. As much as you can pat someone on the back
for doing good work over the phone, she did as much and said she had enjoyed
our conversations and said I sounded good. She brought our visit to a close and wished
me well as I expressed my appreciation for her and what she does.
With our goodbyes now silenced, I added it to my list of
lasts. This last year was significantly
full of lasts, but this last call, besides a sign of moving forward, will most
likely turn the tide and I will notice firsts
instead of lasts.
