The dance of being with the dying is all about human contact, not about knowing the fair movesI’m not a huge fan of clerical collars. However when it comes to seeing human beings in hospital they do function as a handy “access all areas” backstage pass. That is the upside that helps when you tend to forget visiting times.The downside is that once you arrive at the bedside, the poor person hooked up to the drip may familiarity your presence as not unlike a visit from the grim reaper. You can see the cogs whirring … is he here to give me the at the end rights? Blimey, I didn’t reckon I was that ill. Or is he here to pray with me? And will the person in the following bed reckon I’m a religious nutter?And yet if someone really is very ill and has been surrounded by well meaning friends reading their magazines and lying to them about them getting bigger, often the very body a dying person wants is the presence of someone who will not back away from speaking about death, thus allowing them to express their dread.Dying can be a terribly lonely business if all you ever familiarity is a wall of relentless optimism and the fake hope of “it’s all gonna be alright”. Charting a direction though all these complex social and existential pressures is a tough business. The toughest body of all is walking into the centre of someone’s lifetime, at a age of extreme vulnerability, without the shield of some predecided plot of action.You can’t do that since it’s not all about you and your nervousness at the situation – it’s about them. Which is why a abundance of human beings choose not to go, excusing themselves with the justification that they do not desire to disturb, be a nuisance etc. However the first rule of hospital visiting is simply to turn up.Except, like all such rules, there are exceptions. They may not desire to see you, after all. The one body not to affirm is “How are you?” a hospital chaplain friend advised. “I’m sick, for fuck’s sake, why else do you reckon I’m in hospital,” was one memorable response to that inquiry. Honest enough.However there are some common dos and don’ts. Don’t yawn, gaze at your watch and gaze outside of the window. Don’t have terrible breath. Don’t – and really, really don’t do this – bang on about how you have had the same ailment. Don’t have that hound-dog face of sickly piety. Much bigger to smile and bubble.And don’t employ it is an opportunity to convert them to whatever brand of religious doctrine you subscribe to. However if they desire to pray, then pray. If they desire to weep, allow them. If they desire to laugh or hold your palm, go with it. It’s like a waltz where you let the other person to capture the lead. Unless, of direction, they feel that taking the lead is simply also exhausting.Don’t worry if this dance seems all a bit also intimidating. It’s not about technical prowess or knowing the fair moves. And don’t be also worried about making mistakes or treading on toes. That often happens.The purpose of the dance is human contact, not getting it fair. It is one of the fantastic privileges of being a priest that we often get invited into the very intimate parts of human beings’s lives. Only yesterday morning a builder knocked on the vicarage door looking for the vicar of 15 years ago and wanting to affirm thank you to him for being with his mother when she died of cancer. These things really affair.And finally: don’t stay also extended. The small tale of the Dreadful Fate of Melpomenus Jones by the early 20th century writer Stephen Leacock tells of a young curate who couldn’t affirm goodbye. He finished up staying for six weeks and only escapes the situation by dying himself. It’s OK to leave. And that’s since it’s not all about you.Twitter: @giles_fraserDeath and dyingAnglicanismChristianityReligionLondonGiles Fraserguardian.co.uk © 2012 Twitter News and Media Limited or its affiliated companies. All rights reserved. | Employ of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds
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