JL Raven

I am a licensed mortician, writer, mom and grandma currently working from home.

[jlraven-blog]

The View

We all have a different perspective or view on things, for example, the issue of the police in our country. You may have a police officer for a father, mother, brother, sister, son or daughter. Your view is that the police are here to serve and protect. Your loved one is a good person, who puts their life at risk every time they put on the uniform and so you see the police as self sacrificing heroes. You may have never had to deal with being on the other side of the police officer so you have no clear understanding of what that looks like. 

You may have mental illness or addiction troubles in your family and have had to either call the police to help with a loved one in crisis or had to deal with the aftermath of a loved one's troubles with the law. You have witnessed first hand the way a police officer treats you and your loved one. You probably do not have a clear understanding of what it looks like to send your husband to work each night and hope he comes home.

You may have grown up in a stable, loving, religious home with neither of the above views but you were born black or any other various shade of color. You never break the law, you vote, you pay taxes, you are college educated, yet you get pulled over and harassed every time there is a “black” suspect or you so called “fit the description”. You are stopped and questioned so many times in your lifetime for doing nothing more than walking into a store, or a school, a neighborhood, or a business. 

You may have been the victim of a crime and the police came to your rescue, so you see the police as heroes. Or you may have been the victim of a crime and were then, again, victimized by the police who should have been there to help you but they did not believe you or worse, they blamed you for what happened to you.

My view: there is a very real problem with some, not all, but some police officers. I can give very specific examples of why I have that view, dozens of them. I could give them here but I won’t because it will detract from what I am trying to say. I will, however, write a second piece with real examples, if you so care to read it.

I choose to open my heart and open my mind to understand why your view is different from mine. Will you open your heart and your mind to see why my view is different from yours? Or why is anybody's view may be different from mine or yours?

My point is, we all have a different view and we could ALL learn from one another and come together to see where the differences lie and where there truly is a problem in this country with the way we police and with the way we treat each other. Being divided, bullying one another, name calling, and hatred of a human being for having a different view than yours will not solve anything and will only make things worse. 

By opening our hearts and our minds to the very real experiences of a fellow human being we might actually find the truth in there somewhere and be able to come together to solve this massive divide facing our country right now.

[jlraven-blog]

Memories

July 24th starts out fine, I make coffee and sit down to journal some thoughts. I begin feeling sentimental, when my kids were young I always made a long weekend of July 24th and we would make a little family trip to Las Vegas. We always visited multiple theme parks, amusement parks, sometimes a water park, lots of walking and site seeing, we even usually took a trip to Hoover Dam. 

Reminiscing on these happy times as I write, thinking about all the things we did and I am struck with the memory of the time my son Josh used all of the money he had saved for the trip to buy a magician kit. He begged for that kit, I didn’t want him to buy it because it would use all his money. I gave in though because he wanted it so bad and reassured me he was okay with not being able to buy any other extras the whole rest of the trip. Right after he bought it we made our way into another shop and unbeknownst to us, he hid the kit in a bush outside. 

When we came back out the kit was gone. He was heartbroken yet immediately, Willie, my husband at the time and their step-father, snapped at him. He went on a rant, probably saying how stupid Josh was, I don’t recall because I am certain I blocked it out. Willie always ruined everything by lashing out at my kids, setting off a fight between me and him. I would do my best to try and open his eyes, to let him see that my children are just normal children, not poorly behaved little jerks like he seemed to believe. 

My heart breaks and the tears flow as I journal this. My guilt over staying with this very controlling and abusive man is smothering. How can I forgive myself ? I don’t feel like deserve forgiveness. I don’t deserve anything good in life because instead of saying “fuck off you abusive asshole” and driving away with my beautiful children, I argued, I begged, I pleaded, and I tried to hug and kiss away their broken hearts. 

I eventually did leave him, I eventually stood up for myself and my babies and walked away. However, they were far from babies anymore and the damage was done. 

I have spent years healing from the abuse and over-coming what his abuse did to me. Will I ever be able to overcome the abuse inflicted on my kids? My own extreme guilt and self-hatred for all of it? 

I close my journal, I close my eyes, my cheeks are streaked with tears and my chest heaves, I try to stifle the sobs of guilt. I take a few deep breaths, I go back in time inside my mind. I see my little boy with tears in his eyes, my sweet Joshie. I see Willie with anger standing over him and I jump in between them. I wrap my arms around my son. I hug him, I kiss him, and I say “lets go kids”. With that we all get in my car and I drive off. Willie is in the rear view mirror watching with shock as I drive away, never to be seen by him again. 

I open my eyes and long that this were true, that this ending is how it really happened. My heart is so broken and my guilt so deep. I will never get over this.

[jlraven-blog]

Why I Am A Funeral Director

The call came at 11:30 pm just as I was just falling asleep. It was a hospice nurse calling to say one of her patients had just passed and they were ready for us to come.  I met my coworker in the dark, abandoned parking lot of a craft store.

He drove the van as I looked over the details of our most recent death call.  The deceased was a woman who had passed at home, her husband had authorized the embalming; I assumed she was elderly as not too many young people die at home, on hospice.

As we arrived at the home a nice woman about 60ish invited us in. Two lab puppies were at the door to greet us. Animals always seem to know and these two were no exception. Being puppies you could see the energy as they greeted us, sniffed us, and then walked to their kennels without being told to do so. They both lay down with that knowing sad look, one of them whimpering as his chin touched the ground.

There was a teenage girl and preteen boy who went to their rooms as we walked in. Sitting in the family room was a young boy on a computer with another 60ish woman who was rubbing his back, comforting him. The husband came out of the bedroom to meet us, he was young. He looked to be in his 30’s; this was not what I expected.

We introduced ourselves, asked if he had any questions, and explained our procedure. He said they were ready, we could gather our things and proceed to take her from her home. We went out to the van to gather our gloves and cot, talking about our plan of action; which way the cot was going in the house and the safest way to get her out of the house and into the van.

Walking back into the house the woman who had been comforting the young boy announced “can you wait, this five year old needs a minute to say goodbye to his mother”. We stopped and sat the cot down in the entryway and I said “of course, take all the time you need” and I meant it; I was tired and I wanted to get home so I could try and get some sleep, however, none of this mattered anymore. My needs were off somewhere in the back of my mind and all I wanted was to allow this little boy as much time as he needed, even if it meant I stood in that entry way for 3 hours.

We stood in silence, the puppies sat in silence, the boy and his dad were alone in the bedroom with his mom. After about 15 minutes the husband emerged saying they were ready but could he and his son stay in the bedroom. We said “of course”. The little boy watched as we wrapped his mom in a sheet and transferred her to the cot, covering everything but her face. Before we covered her face we looked to the husband, was he ready for us to proceed? He nodded yes and we covered her up and began to wheel her out of the room. As we got to the door a small voice behind us said “bye mommy” and my heart broke, I fought the tears as we moved her out of the house and into the van.

Moments like this are my why; they are heartbreaking yes, and they do make me cry, but they make me grateful that I was the one who was there that night. I was the one who said “yes, take as much time as you need” I was the one who moved this little boy’s mom with love and gentle care. Our funeral home was the place the family trusted to take care of their loved one when she died.  

I lovingly prepared her and got her ready for her funeral service. The last act of love and care of another human being allows a grieving family to see her and spend some time with her for the last time. I did everything in my ability to make sure she looked beautiful. Beautiful and peaceful for her little boy, for her other children, for her husband, family, and friends.

As a Funeral Director, it's my job to make sure that when the time of death arrives and the family is broken into a million pieces of grief, that I give them a fond last look at their loved one. A lasting memory of a proper goodbye. A beginning to their grief in a positive and healing direction brings me a deep sense of peace. My small part in their healing journey is what makes my career so rewarding.

[jlraven-blog]

The Waiting Room

I finish my daily journaling and open my phone to play a game of Sudoku as I sit alone waiting for Tom. This has become our routine for the last six weeks. Twice a day we drive the short block from our room at The Hope Lodge to the Cancer Building of the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix, Arizona so Tom can have a proton beam radiation treatment. 

Tom is in the back completing treatment number 60, his final treatment. Joe and Suzy walk in for Joe’s daily treatment as I am about to solve the sudoku puzzle and we say our hello’s. Suzy says to me “Is today the day?” I answered her, “Yes! Finally the last treatment is upon us!” 

Joe asks me if I am happy to be heading home.I have missed home so bad, we drove almost 700 miles from our home in Utah to stay in Phoenix for two months so Tom could have the life saving proton radiation treatments. I fell in love with Phoenix but am so homesick I can’t wait to get home. Our stay at the Mayo Clinic has been so long and yet such a short adventure.

I look around this waiting room and ponder on all the people I have gotten to know so well. Joe is being treated for prostate cancer. He and Suzy live in Flagstaff and have driven their motorhome to Phoenix and have been staying in an RV Park while Joe is being treated. My fond memory of this couple is the time Suzy’s cell phone rang as the room was packed with patients and their caregivers. The ringtone had a pig snorting and was a super obnoxious country sounding farm tone. Joe looked up at everyone, slightly embarrassed by the sound, and said “my mother in law” as Suzy answered to talk to her mom. Everyone in the room laughed.

I think about Rob and Jaime, they are both 23 years old and Rob has leukemia. They moved from Colorado to stay with Rob’s parents who live in Scottsdale so he can have his treatments. They are young and beautiful, far too young to be dealing with a cancer diagnosis. I think about Mary, she is tall and thin with dark beautiful skin. She looks like a fashion model. She comes to every treatment alone and doesn’t talk much. She is being treated for breast cancer. 

There are so many people, and so many different stories. I have fought my tears over each and every one of them. Sitting in this waiting room twice a day, every single week-day while Tom is in the back having a treatment, I have come to learn about these people. I have eavesdropped on their conversations. I heard about their panic, their fears, their hopes and dreams. I have been witness to small children fighting cancer. They get to have the first treatments of the day because the clinic anesthetizes them. To receive a proton radiation treatment means to be strapped down to a table, unable to move the entire time, for the entire treatment. Being strapped to the table in this manner has brought on claustrophobia for many and brought anxiety and panic attacks to others. Tom is strapped to the table by his head with a large plastic mask. It holds his head completely still so they can deliver the proton beam of radiation directly to his brain. 

I have watched as the tears fall from the worried and exhausted eyes of the other caregivers, (I am now labeled a caregiver). As a caregiver we put on a brave face for our loved ones who have to fight a battle for life. We act as a solid rock of support while we are breaking inside. 

I have celebrated with these people. The clinic has a bell in the waiting room for the patient to ring directly after their final treatment. Staff will cheer, the family of the patient will cheer, cry happy tears, and take pictures. They usually also bring treats to leave in the waiting room for everyone else. Those of us waiting and watching imagine and long for the day when the bell ringing will be our loved one. 

What kind of fancy treats will we bring? Tom and I will muse as we cheer on the latest patient. Myself, I worry about crying; although they are happy tears, I don’t want to cry in front of everyone. I hate to cry in front of anybody. I worry about how I will contain myself, keeping my tears at bay until I am alone. 

Being in this waiting room I have realized that cancer truly has no boundaries. It affects the young, the old, rich, poor, middle class, there is no discrimination. Tom is here to have a chordoma treated. Chordomas are a rare cancer, they typically grow slow and won’t usually metastasize and almost always recur. He is being treated for recurrence number two. He is only 61 years old, I am 48 and I feel like we are both too young to be dealing with this. I feel guilty for feeling this way when I see Rob and Jaime - Jaime has put her life on hold too - to care for Rob, yet they are only 23! This waiting room has been a place of much pondering for me, life is too short and we need to live while we have life. 

I am so thankful Tom is such a positive person, he rolls with the punches and almost never complains. We spend our time between treatments eating, walking the desert trails around the clinic, and exploring the Phoenix and Scottsdale areas. The weekends are free time and we utilize the time to drive and explore. 

I came here to wait in this waiting room for Tom exactly 60 times now, I put my job and my life on hold. I left my three adult children and two grandsons back home to be here for him. I left my blind mother who is quite dependent on me in the care of my brother and my own kids. 

I wouldn’t change it for the world. Being here has given me pause and time to reflect on life, my own life, my relationship with Tom. All of my love for him, I would never change my decision to be there for him. To be here with him. He keeps saying “it feels like we are in a dream” Tom doesn’t like change and being here for him must seem that way. I embrace change so for me it's just what we had to do to save his life. 

I finish the sudoku puzzle on my phone and put it away. I need to focus on keeping my tears at bay when Tom comes back and takes his turn ringing the bell. The waiting room has gotten crowded as several couples we have come to know and love during our stay here made a special trip to this waiting room, a trip outside of their own treatment schedule, to watch their good friend Tom walk through the door for the last time and ring the bell. Seeing all these people who came just for Tom has tears forming in my eyes; Everyone loves him. I think about the fresh fruit and pastries that we brought in to share with everyone, and jump up from my seat, attempting to distract my thoughts while the tears dry up. 

As I walk back to my seat I see Tom walking back in the room with several of the technicians around him. The room has gotten quiet as all eyes are on Tom. He walks to me first, giving me a quick kiss before walking towards the bell. I take out my phone getting the camera ready to get a video of him, another distraction, as he finally rings that bell! Tom rings the bell three times and the room erupts into a loud cheer. Tom says “yay!” and he walks to hug me and kiss me again. Everyone is offering their congratulations and hugging him and me and all control is lost, the tears are falling.

[jlraven-blog]

WHAT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER WHEN YOU ARE IN A BAD MOOD?

Cleaning, taking a long walk, yoga, wine, hot bath.....