(Written when I first began volunteering, edited to meet proper rules and guidelines)
He came to the hospice as a 30 day respite patient, he was addicted to crack and had AIDS. During his first couple days at the hospice he was very weak, couldn’t get out of bed without assistance and needed a wheelchair to get anywhere. Gradually, he regained some of his strength and was able to shower standing up with assistance and walk with the aid of a walker. He started to leave his bed and watch TV in the main living room and eat his meals at the table. I remember one day at the end of my shift, he was walking around the house by himself. He slipped on his sunglasses and walked outside. He still had a couple of weeks before his 30 days were up, but he was doing a hell of a lot better then when he was first brought in.
He wasn’t my favorite patient. His eyes were unreadable and he was distant, cold. There was something remote about him, something that at times made me nervous. Taking care of him didn’t come as easy as it usually did with the other patients. I was polite, as he always was, but I felt uncomfortable showering him alone and getting him dressed. So, when I heard that he had left the hospice before his 30 days (and right after he got his check) I didn’t give it much thought. Until he came back, the day that Ms. began actively dying, when I sat in her room praying and hoping that she would hold on until her family got there, and he showed up at the door. Days after he left with his check.
He came in assisted by his partner. He looked worse than he did the first time he came to the house. So began the process of admitting him yet again. This time as a hospice patient, meaning he couldn’t leave the house again until his death. That was a crazy day, with Ms. barely breathing and her family in and out. Helping them with their grief, I felt a little resentment towards him. He was taking my time away from Ms. I felt like we worked so hard to get him better and as soon as he was able he left. No thank you, no goodbye. It was all about the pipe.
That resentment carried over to the following week when I had to help bathe him since he could no longer stand by himself. He was so much thinner, his body was a mess with sores and scrapes and he was back to being bed bound. My patience was very much tested with him. I treated him with kindness and consideration because regardless he was in pain and he was closer to death then before. My thoughts were my own and he would never know them. All that mattered was making him as comfortable as possible. I brought him ice cream with a smile, but my heart was hardened.
The next week, as I drove over to the hospice, I decided that I had to try harder. He was sick, not only from AIDS, but also from his addiction. I had no right to judge him, his mistakes, or his weakness. I began my shift by sitting with him. He wasn’t doing well and his family and partner had been called. I sat in the chair by his bed and held his hand. I read to him an article from the paper, an excerpt from Joel Osteen’s book on learning to live in peace with ourselves. As I got to the final paragraph on not condemning ourselves for our past mistakes and letting go, He took one long breath and then stopped.
He died. With me sitting beside him. Reading him an article on self forgiveness.
I kept busy the rest of the day. The steady rhythm of cleaning, changing bed linen and taking care of the other patients kept me from getting too much inside my head. When I got into my car to drive home everything settled. I bypassed the freeway and took the long way home, both hands on the steering wheel, almost comatose. I pulled into my garage, peeled off my clothes and threw them in the washer. I climbed the stairs and got into a scalding hot shower. I tried to lie down and rest, but thoughts of him kept buzzing in my head, I knew that my peace would not come until I wrote it down and let it go.
So, to you Sir I say.
Your life and death taught me two lessons. Never judge, and at the end everyone needs someone to hold their hand. No one wants to die alone. Thank you for letting me be that person.
May you rest in peace……and may I have dreamless sleep.
.
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4 comments:
it sounds like he let go because he appreciated it.
Claudine,
What you gave was the tremendous gift of your time and attention. In the truest sense of giving it doesn't have to be appreciated to be a value to the person doing the giving. Often the lesson is ours to learn, and to serve other with no thoughts of acknowledgement is the lesson. What is bring to the hospice is a wonderful sense of who you are, what you want and how you can help. You are a great gift to us and we do appreciate all you do. Thanks Sandy 10/18/07
you are one helluva person. i just have to say that. i do volunteer work but i have never done the kind of work you're doing. that's an intimacy with death i'm not mentally prepared to handle.
i'm glad you were there with him at the end. even though he probably never appreciated it, nobody wants to die alone. when my granny was in the hospital dying, my brother was there almost every moment. then the one day he left, she died. the one regret i have is that nobody was there for her when she left this world.
so i know it wierded you out to be there when he left, but man, that's a blessing. it was your words that helped guide his soul to the next plane. that's tremendous. 10/18/07
It is not easy giving of oneself in non judgemental fashion it is a constant practice that is done on a day to day basis. Your testiments are an example to us all.
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