I am not sure if it is the same for everyone or not but, for me, each month of the year has a certain feel or personality to it. Usually defined by the memories, holidays or events taking place during that particular month. I believe that they have remained fairly consistent for me throughout my life, in that they haven’t changed much how they feel, in spite of the memories and life events that may have occurred. Perhaps they are formed early on, as it has been claimed, and they become the foundation on which all else is built.

It is approximately 11pm on this warm Northern California Saturday night. I am camping at an elevation of 3,000 feet atop the beautiful and sacred Mount Diablo in Contra Costa County. This mountain is literally in my back yard. This is one of the things that my late partner, William and I talked about doing, but never got to. Tonight, I am checking it off MY list.

We so often find it difficult to find humor with end of life experiences, because it is such a sad and devastating time emotionally and we are struggling to grasp the enormity of the experience at hand. The quirky and sometimes absurd are either lost in the chaos and drama, or just simply passed by. People often feel that it is inappropriate or disrespectful and, more often than not, it very well may be. That is why the humorous moments usually go unnoticed, unrecognized and unacknowledged. To share a laugh with someone at the edge of death, however, is to share one of the most intimate moments that one can share with another human soul. It can also be so healing for both.

On March 13, 2016, I awoke to an encore performance by the Northern California winter winds and rains ensemble. It was misty, gray and oh so soggy—my favorite kind of Sunday. Celtic blood flows through these veins. I feel very much at home on these days. I sat up and planted my two feet firmly on the laminate floor, rose slowly and headed downstairs toward the kitchen to reward my two most faithful companions and start my morning rituals. Coffee first. I had a short list of errands that I needed to accomplish that day, but would start out with a daily pilgrimage to one of the many beautiful parks that are available to humans and canines alike here in Concord, California.

I was speaking with a friend of mine recently and she was asking me what I like about what I do and what I get from it.  I told her “If everyone sat with a dying person, this would be a very different world." “That’s your next blog,” she replied.

When I trained volunteers in hospice to sit with the dying, there were always two things that people were concerned or uncomfortable with.  The first was usually the silence—if the patient was in a coma or was non-responsive. The second was, what to do?  The answer to each is both simple and very challenging. Just be.

I first heard the term cumulative grief while working at a Bay Area Hospice, as a Volunteer coordinator, after my partner William passed away. I had gone out on family leave from my former employ, to address some of my own health issues. I was diagnosed as having severe depression and anxiety disorder. While I was addressing those issues is when William was diagnosed as having Stage 4 appendiceal cancer. Not the most common of cancers but we joked that he had to go get a cancer that not many others had—just to be different.