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Our patient - a beautiful, tiny woman - was actively dying. Her son had died about two months ago, and her husband had died only two weeks ago. Her only care take was her daughter-in-law.
I called the daughter-in-law to come and be with the patient as I felt a strong impression that the patient was waiting for her and that she wanted her to be there. The daughter-in-law came and was kneeling on the floor next to the patient. She was unconscious and unresponsive, but there seemed to be an energy and love radiating from the patient to her daughter-in-law. There was no speaking, but definitely a love and spirit-to-spirit speaking.
As the patient took her last couple of breaths, her hands on her chest, the daughter-in-law placed her hand on the patient and was holding her hand. I then reached over and put my hand on top of her hand and said, "Thank you for coming." She responded, "Thank you for calling me."
We both shed tears and I reflected upon the symbolism of the experience. The patient's hand, the care giver's hand, and the hospice hand all combined together in this circle of love and service.
Written by Shirley Haslam RN, BSN, Zion's Way Hospice Executive Director
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It was late afternoon and the shadows in the room had that elongated effect that signified another day coming to a close. I sat by the bedside and held the hand of a woman I had not even known yesterday, but at this moment it was as if we had been friends forever. How does that happen, I thought. How is it that life dynamics can sometimes bring eternity from some far away place and set it right in the center of your heart? It takes a powerful moment - a moment like this. Such an intimate and sacred time, a culminating test of faith and fortitude. We mortals call it death. Yet, it seems more like a birth. How closely related these two life-phases are. Both involve pain and struggle and the approach of new and vital dimensions.
She stirred now, and I touched a cool cloth to her brow. “Thank you,” she whispered, and the words wrapped around my heart. I stood and took up my little harp again and sang a few more songs, hoping to bring comfort.
People have said to me, "What a wonderful thing you hospice folks do, entering an arena most people are uncomfortable with and avoid. It’s such a great gift you give." "Oh no", I always answer. "We are the ones receiving the gift." It is a sacred space we share, a powerful point in time that can magnify your heart and soul and heighten your understanding of the divine. You find out you can love even more than you thought you could. Now that’s really a gift. A rare and profound experience.
I would have another such experience tomorrow, or the next day, when the phone call came, “She’s Gone.” I would pause for a moment and let that mix of emotion run through me, the emptiness of the space she left, the fullness of having come to know her. The sorrow for pain of loved ones, the joy for suffering ended. Most of all, the honor for having been allowed to be a part of it all.
Written By Zhailaa Rei, Zion's Way Hospice LMT/Music Specialist