Why do I do this work?
I am grateful that you find yourself reading a blog post in Bás Sona. The launch of my website has exceeded my hopes and has been very gratifying. So, thank you.
This post is from the archives of my original blog in 2009. The topic remains as true now as it was then, actually more so now.
Original Posting date: Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Those of us who do hospice work are often asked how --or more often, why -- we throw ourselves into the care of people who are very sick and dying. We all have our unique reasons, actually stories, about what has drawn us to this field of healthcare and what keeps us coming back for more. We throw about terms like "honored," "privileged," and "blessed" to describe the profound impact that caring for the terminally ill has on us as mortal and spiritual beings, and all of those terms ring true.
One aspect of the collateral benefit we experience is something called "final gifts" (not my term), meaning the insights and wisdom the dying can teach us as they transition from this world. These existential pearls come in all sizes and shapes, but they all carry immense power.
I was reminded of this recently during a home visit to a hospice patient. I and a spiritual care provider ('chaplain') met a hospice nurse at the home for what we all expected to be a routine visit.
Mr. B. (fictitious name) was slowly dying from metastatic colon cancer. He was cared for primarily by his wife of many years. He had accepted his prognosis early on and was trying to make the best of his remaining time on earth. His wife, however, was struggling with losing her beloved husband.
Not only was it very difficult for her to watch his strength and vitality being sapped away daily, but she was also anticipating the profound sense of loss and loneliness that she was certain to face in a few weeks. She was angry -- angry at him, at us, at the medical system, and at God -- and Mr. B knew it. What we found when we arrived was not what we expected, nor what Mrs B wanted: he was actively dying (as people get closer to death, the dying process is very dynamic, hence the term "actively dying").
We did what we were trained to do and what seemed natural to us. The nurse and I relieved his distress with medication and physical measures while the chaplain knelt at his bedside and sang/read scripture to Mr. B while holding his hand and caressing his head. Mrs. B was beside herself, pacing, frantic, quietly seething, but trying to do what she could to help us help her husband. It became clear that someone had to talk to her, to say out loud to her the words that she didn't want to hear, that her husband was dying, here and now, in this room.
I led her into an adjoining room and did exactly that. She was controlled, but could not, would not accept the finality of these moments. Just then, Mr. B called out -- not in pain, but in joy. He called out to her, asking, no, imploring her to come into his room. "I can see the light, the beautiful white light, can you see it??? it is beautiful!!!!" Just as my words to her were painful, these words from the lips of her mate were exonerating. Mrs. B began to cry, clutched her husband's hands, and began the process of letting him go. The next several moments of forever were made up of forgiveness, validation, and permission.
Humor is never far away in the darkest of moments and reminds us to always look for it. This moment was no different. After Mr. B had settled and was resting quietly, almost asleep, I stood by his bedside and quietly said his name.
He opened his eyes, startled, looked at me, and asked in a strong voice, "Are you Jesus Christ?" This brought a laugh from all (especially me), but despite my denials that, indeed, I was NOT Jesus Christ, he persisted in telling me that I was. The AWEsome part of this interaction was that although others thought he was looking AT me, he was looking THROUGH me. His gaze was somewhere far beyond where I stood. I felt then, and remain convinced now, that I was witnessing a loving soul recognizing and beginning his journey to his loving God.
So, why do I do this work?