Years ago, in the 1990’s, whilst working at one of the children’s hospices, I had an experience which had a profound impact on me.
An experience that stroked my heart with it’s wisdom whilst simultaneously undressing me and laying me bare to the immense grief of a mum, dad and sister who had just had their lives implode following the death of their son and brother.
I was visiting a family whose adolescent son had recently died at home after a long illness. This young man had been visiting the hospice for respite for a few years and I, and other members of the team had built a lovely relationship with him.
On this visit to the family home, just 2 days after his death, the family shared with me, in detail, the final hours and minutes of their sons life.
It was not easy listening for someone in their 20’s.
But it was, for me, one of the most important and profound lessons in presence and listening.
Even to this day I remember where in their living room I was sat, who was present and where they were sat, how I was sat, who spoke and who sat silent.
I didn’t ask them for such a deep share. I didn’t probe.
I just showed up.
And provided the space and right conditions for them to feel safe and held.
I was the buffer. The cushion for alleviating some of the shock and a space where their intense grief, pain and suffering, their new reality, could meet the world outside of that.
I listened.
We held hands.
We hugged.
They needed to say it out loud, for their sons final moments to be acknowledged in this way.
And they needed me to hear their grief. Their pain.
Just one of the valuable lessons I took from this was that we are all buffers. Whether we are aware of it in the moment or not.
Where our grief (and everyone is grieving in some way), trauma and suffering meets the world.
Where someone’s pain and sadness meets your smile, your compassion, your kindness.
We are all buffers.
Nancy 
xx
HELD 