Listening

My session with a volunteer Listening Artist in February kept me in a good place with my sister-in-law, who died on Tuesday.

In February, we held one of our Caregiving Listener Projects. We had an open slot for a Volunteer Story-Teller and I jumped at the chance to connect with RoxAnne, my volunteer Listener. We met in our private Zoom room, just the two of us, and I began to share.

I shared about my struggles with my brother’s death. He died August 9, 2021. Since his death, my parents both died. My mom died August 9, 2022, and my father on July 2, 2023. I feel so much peace about my parents’ deaths. I look to Heaven regularly to blow them kisses. I thank them often for the blessings in my life.

My brother, though, brings up so much pain for me. As I opened up with RoxAnne, I began to pivot from talking about my brother to disclosing my conflicted feelings about his wife, my sister-in-law. We maintained a relationship with my sister-in-law, making a point to see her regularly.

But that was hard for me.

I wanted to show up for my sister-in-law, who struggled dearly after my brother’s death. But Joan was a challenge. My sister and I would meet her for lunch but we had to meet her at her club, which was 10 minutes from her home. The trip to see her took my sister two hours one way, with one hour spent traveling with me. My sister-in-law was never on time, so we arrived knowing we would wait. Our other sister-in-law finally stopped meeting with Joan; the aggravation of showing up on time only to wait 30 minutes or longer was just too much.

As I talked this out with RoxAnne, I wondered out loud about maintaining a relationship with Joan. Why am I continuing the relationship? I thought of my parents and my brother. I then made the decision to stay present in the relationship and to do so with love, in any measurement possible.

I met Joan for lunch in April, spending four hours with her. When I left, Joan expressed her happiness at our time together. My sister and I met with her for lunch on June 29, leaving her again in a happy space. We made plans for get-togethers through the rest of the year.

In truth, these were fleeting, elusive happy moments for Joan. Her hoarding made it impossible for her and my brother to take of themselves and each other.

We saw the hoarding spread each time we visited them. We knew it had accelerated probably 15 years ago when they no longer invited us to their one-bedroom apartment. I think my mom, who regularly cleaned out clutter, thought Joan was a horrible housekeeper. I wondered with a friend if Joan was so mad at my brother, who wouldn’t move to a house or start a family with her, that she stuffed their apartment full.

My brother never complained about their life together but it was clear it was unbearable and intolerable. It’s why he died at 60, just six months after he retired. It’s why I struggled so much to maintain a relationship with Joan.

Today, I’m glad I made the decision to choose love.

Joan died on Tuesday (July 23). She went to the Emergency Room on Sunday afternoon, was diagnosed with advanced colon cancer on Monday morning and died Tuesday afternoon. My sister and brother and I said our good-byes to her on Monday while she was alert and oriented. We told her that we know she will reunite with our brother in Heaven. Joan’s siblings, a few friends and I were with her when she died. She was in a great deal of pain Monday evening but passed in peace on Tuesday.

One of the reasons I struggled so much with Joan was how much she lived in denial. Her siblings call her private so we make decisions now that reflect her need for privacy, like no obituary in the newspaper.

Rather than private, I would call Joan somewhat paranoid and terrified others would know her secret and the extent of her hoarding. After we met at the funeral home on Thursday, her brother and sister talked in a circle about going into Joan’s apartment. Joan, they said, had signed a paper provided by building management that would not allow anyone to access her apartment. They had the key but believed the one piece of paper was the barrier to entry. In truth, they just didn’t want to face it. They didn’t want to enter Joan’s emotional state, which spilled from her heart and into all the crap that filled any and all spaces possible. I asked if it would help if my sister and I went in. No, her sister said, my brother and I want to be the first to go in. I get that.

Her siblings alluded to the hoarding but explained it away as Joan’s desire for privacy.

The covering up of the truth also made it difficult for me with Joan. She created an alternative reality where she and my brother lived well. I listened with a smile even as I felt anger that her hoarding stole any opportunity for a beautiful life for them. I shared words of love to her, thanking her for loving our brother.

But I didn’t want to buy into her reality. It’s just like waiting for Joan to arrive. I suppose we could have told Joan the wrong time (30 minutes before our true meeting time) or we could have intentionally arrived 30 minutes late. But that would be living in her denial. I wanted to be anchored to reality.

So, we did our best to love Joan and care for her. I continue to do so now by using an assumed name in my story about her here.

When Joan was dying, I thought of RoxAnne and my listening session with her. I’m glad I spoke my truth so I could bring moments of happiness to Joan during her last months. It’s giving me peace and beginning to make room for forgiveness.

(Image by Gonzalo de Martorell from Pixabay.)

Resources

• Our next Caregiving Listener Project is October 10; join us a volunteer Listener or Story-Teller.

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