Dealing with Death from a Distance: A Reflection

by Dr. Jamie F. Eaddy

Dealing with Death from a Distance: A Reflection

Life, as we know it is inconceivably different, changed in a way that many find difficult to reconcile. Accompanying these changes are a myriad of emotions, including and, perhaps notably, fear, anxiety, and grief. Furthermore, in times like ours—of burgeoning personal and communal chaos—those responsible for providing pastoral care are called upon to provide comfort and support to people struggling with crises, grief, and loss in unfamiliar territory. This is expressly true when that loss is the death of a loved one.

For most of us, the death of a loved one is the most severe stress that we will encounter, yet the majority will navigate this experience with no lasting impairment of their physical and mental health. That was until this global pandemic changed our lives. Because of the coronavirus, death and dying rituals have been postponed, protocols suspended, and people forced to deal with their loved one’s death alone or from a distance. Death and distance are two things that one might consider antithetical to the culturally oriented reactions and death practices to which many are accustomed. Perhaps I should say: to which I am accustomed. Those practices include but are not limited to sitting vigil, basic end of life planning, the gathering of the community for collective mourning, the funeral, memorial service or other important rituals, and we cannot forget the repast. The repast—where the sharing of a meal and memories takes place—provides just the right antidote to our sadness. Traditionally, funerals are rooted in religious practice and give a profoundly sacred social way of mourning losses. The community shows up for the funeral to ensure that the bereaved do not have to go through this loss alone.

Though not impossible, crises, grief, and loss are not easily navigated alone. However, in this time of social distancing, many hospitals and nursing homes have placed restrictions on visitation, only allowing people into the hospital when a patient is near the end of life. Moreover, even for end-of-life situations, the number of visitors is limited—usually two or three people—thus creating an environment where we have to deal with the death of our loved ones alone or from a distance. And for those of us who serve as death doulas or end-of-life guides, being present with those who are at or planning their end of life journey, can present us with a quandary. How can I get close enough to do this sacred work and also honor social distancing guidelines? Further, what are families to do when they cannot be present during their loved one’s last days?

While the precautions taken by hospitals and nursing homes are for our safety, it does add to the grief that we are all experiencing. We are grieving the loss of normalcy, the loss of jobs, the loss of peace and relative stability, and now we must deal with the loss of community when we need them most. No matter how “prepared” we are, all losses are traumatic, especially for people of African descent because we live in a state of perpetual grief and trauma. Some of this is being witnessed within our communities as people who believe in the personhood of all creation are speaking up and standing up for justice. This is why spiritual and emotional support is necessary for helping individuals to work through their grief and loss, including the deaths they must witness.

Doing this, but from a distance, is the task that spiritual care providers now undertake. And yes, I do view my work as a death doula as deeply spiritual. As a spiritual care practitioner, I am committed to my role as a non-anxious, empathetic presence who journeys alongside those who are dying and/or grieving. However, for the past two months, it has been an incredibly heavy burden. This burden of dealing with death from a distance cannot be quickly resolved. It can be seen in the eyes, on the faces, and felt in the bodies of everyone that I am serving.

Nevertheless, there are things that we can do to ensure that the communities we serve are aware that they do not have to navigate loss alone. This is very important to me because I am working as a chaplain in a hospital setting and serving as a Movement Chaplain—providing spiritual and emotional support for those engaged in protests. I have also walked with 11 people on their end-of-life journey since February. As one deeply committed to providing care for marginalized communities, ensuring that people do not have to die alone is one of my primary callings. Despite restrictions, we must remain visible in the lives of those who need us most. Phone calls, text messages, and video calls are ways to be present emotionally.

I have been providing virtual support via on-line platforms and helping families develop rituals that bring meaning. One of my patients approaching the end of life was a chef. Her family was proud of this fact. They talked about how each of them learned to cook because of their mother. I imagined with them what they might do as a ritual of celebration and remembrance. The oldest son took all of her recipes and created a book for each of her children. They set a time to meet on Zoom where they discussed their favorite recipes and the memories associated with those recipes. Then they selected one dish to all make together, albeit virtually. They did that on Zoom and recorded the meal for all of them to cherish. Dealing with death from a distance might require us to find innovative ways to provide care.  Despite our discomfort with virtual counseling, virtual funerals, and virtual vigils, or performing committals from our car, we must refuse to allow the pandemic to push us from social distancing to social isolation. People are grieving, and they need our care. People are dying and they should not have to do it alone. I have not figured out all of the best practices for dealing with death from a distance, but I refuse to stop trying because, on my watch, no one experiences the dying process of a loved one alone. And no one grieves alone.