I’ve been giving lots of talks about anticipatory grief, the topic of my latest book. Large and small, all of the audiences were attentive. Audience members were very attentive when I spoke at an Alzheimer’s conference. Preparing my talk was a challenge because the attendees were so different.
Some were health professionals, some were caregivers, and some were family members. Finding the theme of my talk took weeks. I spent several weeks writing it and rehearsed it for days. At the last minute the conference organizers told me some attendees had Alzheimer’s disease, so I revised my talk again.
Now all I had to do was give it.
The conference was held at a farm that had been converted into a conference center. My breakout session was in the barn and, like all modern barns, it had huge ceiling lights. Unfortunately, the area at the front of the room where I would be standing was dark. When I tested the sound system I discovered it wasn’t working properly. A woman asked me to turn off the ceiling fan because it was making her cold, and I did as she asked.
More people straggled into the room and some stood along a side wall. Then it was "show time." I started my talk and it was going well until I spotted a woman to my left. She was crying and had a mountain of used tissues in front of her. It’s hard to talk when someone is sobbing, but I continued. Another woman started to cry and I wondered if more audience members would join her.
I was a third of the way through my talk when a technician walked into the room and turned on a massive ventilating system. The motor was so loud it almost drowned out my voice and people in the back rows strained to hear me. Things were going from bad to worse. What does a speaker do when everything goes wrong? You keep at it, and I voiced the next point on my outline.
With anticipatory grief, I noted, the bereaved person still has time to make preparations and amends. At this point a woman in the back of the room burst into tears and I saw her lips frame the words, "No time. No time. No time." She shook her head from side to side as she said these words. At that second I decided to revise my talk.
From then on I "winged it," as the saying goes. Anticipatory grief is a serious topic and I had included some funny stories about my mother to lighten the mood. I remember adding a few more funny stories, but if you asked me what I said I couldn’t tell you. All I know is that audience members looked interested and listened carefully.
The woman to my right stopped crying and got herself under control. Many audience members nodded in agreement as I made my final points. I concluded my talk with the words I had written and asked for questions or comments. All of the comments were insightful, but one saved the day.
A woman raised her hand and said, "Thank you for giving a name to my feelings. I had no idea I was going through anticipatory grief." Her comment righted all of the wrongs. Poor lighting, faulty sound, the loud ventilating system - none of them mattered. I had helped one person, maybe even touched her soul, and that’s all that mattered to me.
Copyright 2006 by Harriet Hodgson
http://www.harriethodgson.com
Harriet Hodgson has been a nonfiction writer for 27 years and is a member of the Association of Health Care Journalists. Her 24th book, "Smiling Through Your Tears: Anticipating Grief," written with Lois Krahn, MD is available from http://www.amazon.com A five-star review of the book is also posted on Amazon. You’ll find another review on the American Hopice Foundation website under the "School Corner" heading.
