Waiting

Often, I wonder, how the residents feel as they sign the paperwork stating they understand that their final days will be spent at the hospice. No life saving measures will be taken to prolong their life. Only to try to make their last days as comfortable as possible.

I wonder if they understand the implications of what “hospice” truly means.

The really sick residents, I think, may feel some peace in knowing they have a place that will care for them with compassion until their final breath. But, others, who are more independent and able to move around, shower, talk on the phone, eat, smoke cigarettes….. They have a harder time letting go, they hold on to hope that maybe they’ll get better.

That rarely happens.

It must be hard living in a house where people are always dying, wondering if you’re next. Relieved that it wasn’t you, while silently grieving for the one who died and remembering the moments you shared.

The hospice is a small facility, at some point, no matter how hard you try to keep to yourself; eventually you will get to know the other residents. You will watch them get sicker, until one day they are covered, head to toe, and taken away.

I’m sure that has to weigh heavy on the hearts of all the residents as they contemplate their own mortality.

At the end of the day, I get to go home. I get a brief respite from sickness and death, but the residents live it 24/7, there is no escaping the looming, unanswerable question.

Am I next?