“I really didn’t know what to expect when I first started volunteering with hospice a couple of years ago. I knew I’d be there one day a week, manning the front desk, feeding patients, and helping out where I could, but I didn’t realize how much it would enrich my life. I think I expected hospice to be a sad place, but it isn’t at all. It’s peaceful. The stress of a hospital setting is over, there are no more painful or extraordinary measures to be taken, and the focus turns toward controlling a patient’s pain and helping him or her feel comfortable.
“I remember one lady in particular who was with us for thirteen months, which is unusual for a hospice patient. She was 97 years old when she came and had multiple age-related issues, but her mind was sharp. She was a favorite among the staff, and she and I developed a wonderful friendship. After I’d feed her---she didn’t like carrots, but she’d agree to eat a bite or two for me---we’d sit and visit. She loved to talk about her childhood, her growing up years, and it was always fun to hear her stories. My grandparents and relatives are all gone now, and I wouldn’t have expected to find that kind of relationship again at my age, but for that year we were like grandmother and grandson. She taught me that a person can enjoy life even in difficult circumstances. She looked forward to every day. If someone brought her a rose, it was the most precious rose she’d ever seen. She lived in the moment because, really, that’s all she had. Like most hospice patients, she seemed to have a deeper appreciation of relationships and a heightened awareness that this might be the last time she saw you, the last conversation you’d have. Every week when I’d leave her, I’d say, ‘I hope I’ll see you next Thursday', and she’d say, ‘I do too!’ But finally the Thursday came when I went to her room and her bed was empty. It hurt, but that’s the deal. You have to accept the pain with the joy. You have to learn how to hold relationships lightly. I did what I could to help her, but she gave back to me too. It goes both ways. I’m just happy that I had that time with her.”
“I remember one lady in particular who was with us for thirteen months, which is unusual for a hospice patient. She was 97 years old when she came and had multiple age-related issues, but her mind was sharp. She was a favorite among the staff, and she and I developed a wonderful friendship. After I’d feed her---she didn’t like carrots, but she’d agree to eat a bite or two for me---we’d sit and visit. She loved to talk about her childhood, her growing up years, and it was always fun to hear her stories. My grandparents and relatives are all gone now, and I wouldn’t have expected to find that kind of relationship again at my age, but for that year we were like grandmother and grandson. She taught me that a person can enjoy life even in difficult circumstances. She looked forward to every day. If someone brought her a rose, it was the most precious rose she’d ever seen. She lived in the moment because, really, that’s all she had. Like most hospice patients, she seemed to have a deeper appreciation of relationships and a heightened awareness that this might be the last time she saw you, the last conversation you’d have. Every week when I’d leave her, I’d say, ‘I hope I’ll see you next Thursday', and she’d say, ‘I do too!’ But finally the Thursday came when I went to her room and her bed was empty. It hurt, but that’s the deal. You have to accept the pain with the joy. You have to learn how to hold relationships lightly. I did what I could to help her, but she gave back to me too. It goes both ways. I’m just happy that I had that time with her.”
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