Coronavirus: Think about speaking to loved ones at risk before it’s too late – Ewan Aitken

If a family member contracts a serious case of Covid-19, it might not be possible to be with them when they are dying, so you may wish to consider having final conversations sooner rather than later, writes Ewan Aitken.
We should consider saying what we would tell a relative on their death bed before it gets to that stage, says Ewan Aitken (Picture: John Devlin)We should consider saying what we would tell a relative on their death bed before it gets to that stage, says Ewan Aitken (Picture: John Devlin)
We should consider saying what we would tell a relative on their death bed before it gets to that stage, says Ewan Aitken (Picture: John Devlin)

These are strange and unusual times.

There is a collective fear of the unknown balanced by an incredible groundswell of community support for those whose vulnerabilities have been most exposed by both the virus and, in part, by how we have had to respond.

My own organisation Cyrenians are shifting five tonnes of food a day in cooked meals, food parcels and bulk to community groups and NHS staff.

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Our street teams are still out supporting homeless folk into hotels and other temporary accommodation.

We are providing resources for families in conflict, especially where this situation is making that worse and we are supporting hundreds of others by phone.

For many, the isolation, necessary as it is, is becoming part of the problem. Our primal human need for connection is causing huge stress for many. If ever there was evidence of our interdependence, it is now.

It’s also raising some deep questions at a time when conversations need to happen in new and convoluted ways; at a minimum of six feet apart and more often electronically or digitally.

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People die all the time. It is a fact of life. It is what reminds us we are alive.

I believe the only way to truly know I am alive is to embrace the fact I will one day be dead. It is what brings me my sense of purpose and meaning. In knowing I am alive because I will one day not be, in sensing its reality in my most inner self, I can begin to experience the authentic me in the world now.

From this awareness of being alive my connection with others becomes a stronger and deeper imperative; the place where this life is lived out. In love and in authenticity.

Yet it feels as if death is all about us in a different way.

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Daily numbers of dead announced. Shielding letters sent to those most likely to die if they contract the virus.

Rules about who can attend a funeral where there can be no hugging. It’s compounded, I believe, by the constant talk of ventilators.

Our first and last breath mark beginning and ending in the world. Breathing is life.

Without breath, life is impossible.

This virus does its deadly work by literally taking away our breath. And we are having to cope with death in times when connection is limited and conversation is not as we usually know it.

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I heard from a colleague how the shielding letters had for some people caused distress because they triggered fear of dying alone.

That is not to criticise the letters. They were necessary.

It is to recognise for some it opened up a reality previously unspoken.

What happens if they get end up contracting the virus and their family who already can’t visit won’t be there if they die? These are very real fears.

All the evidence suggests a good death, when this is possible, includes a strong focus on the closest relationships the person facing death has.

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Time and time again I have heard people say their grief was helped because they were with their loved one at the moment of their last breath, holding hands, stroking a brow, whispering words of love and affection.

And this all seems, in fact is, largely impossible, despite the understandable requests from some charities.

Managing this in heavily under pressure hospitals where no visitors are allowed at present would be hugely difficult and might put others in danger.

There is no one answer to these tensions.

What we can do is talk about how we feel about them.

And maybe we need, in these times of crisis when illness and death can come quickly, to start talking about this now.

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Can we find ways to express how we feel about those we love and what their death will mean to us?

Can we have the conversation we know we will want to have if we were at our loved one’s death bed before it happens?

Can we say “I love you and if you end up in hospital and we can’t visit, I want you to hear me saying this to you now, hear my voice, remember my words, know that its true” or however else we would want to put it.

These are not easy conversations, especially with older people who won’t want to be a burden, cause a fuss or even engage with the idea because it’s too scary.

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But if we do the difficult conversation now, then if the worst case does happen, we will know we have done something to mitigate the sense of awfulness of our loved one dying alone. And if they survive – all we will have done is tell them how much we love them, which can surely only be a good thing.

Ewan Aitken is a former Church of Scotland minister and chief executive officer of homelessness charity Cyrenians.

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