Lately I have been training to become a hospice volunteer.
Encouraged by a close and fellow recovered friend who counts being a hospice volunteer as one of the most moving and meaningful experiences of her life to date, I have waded into an arena that my nuts-and-bolts, reasonable, answers-happy self knows little if anything about.
That part of me isn’t too comfortable with hospice.
Where do we go when we die? What happens before we die? When will I die? Would I want to know approximately when I will die, or would I prefer to go suddenly, and unprepared?
These are the questions my training class has been discussing. After my first nine hour class, I came home feeling kind of grumpy. Unsettled. Restless. Impatient. And already somehow burned out.