My first “Goodbye” of 2023

It all happened in January when I received a message from our volunteer coordinator to give him a call. I knew this was not good news. Anything that could not be emailed, or was not sprinkled with fervent enthusiasm in a voicemail likely meant the passing of one of our hospice patients. 

I started serving as a hospice volunteer a few years ago, and a significant part of the interview and onboarding process entailed our response to death. How do you deal with grief? Have you dealt with the loss of a loved one in the past? These were some of the questions I was asked during the interview process. And no matter how mentally prepared I was for the assignment ahead, the truth is, I will never be truly ready to let go, to say goodbye. 

I started visiting the patient in question during the latter part of 2022, and I slowly witnessed her transition from being almost vibrant and energetic to rather enervated and lethargic. We will call her “Mrs. Wright” for the purpose of this post. Mrs. Wright was a 93-year-old patient with heart failure, and as a hospice patient, was given 6 months or less to live. My role as a volunteer is to provide comfort to patients through companionship and various forms of interaction. 

Lately, I have developed a great sense of curiosity toward terminally ill patients. I knew that the opportunity as a volunteer would provide first-hand contact with such patients where I could help to bring a sense of peace, comfort, and reassurance during their last days. Mrs. Wright’s last days were spent at a nursing home in Brooklyn, New York. The setting is what you would expect from a typical nursing home or medical facility: long hallways, televisions playing unwatched in the breakroom, and staff pushing carts to restock rooms, all blanketed in an air of solemnity.

When I visited Mrs. Wright for the first time, she was in surprisingly great spirits. She conversed with me and responded when I spoke to her. I could tell that her diction was limited, as her answers were short, but nonetheless, she communicated, and at times, commented on the television program that was playing. I sat by her bedside during my first visit and chatted with her until it was time to leave. I loved that she was in great spirits, despite the immense pain and discomfort she may have been experiencing at the time. 

I usually visited on weekends, and every time I left, I could not help the pressing thought of whether I would ever see her again. However, I was in for a huge surprise because I would visit week after week and Mrs. Wright was still there. However, I noticed her gradual decline, as she was not as alert during some of my visits. Maybe she was just sleepy, or tired, but I could sense the change inside her right before my eyes. 

After visiting for about two months, I dreaded that call more and more. Interestingly, Mrs. Wright, though declining, clearly demonstrated that she was not ready to go. Ah, “I will go on my own terms when I am ready,” she perhaps repeated in her mind. Indeed, she was a lot stronger than I thought and it was very eye-opening to see that kind of fight. That fight for life, that fight to stay alive. 

The last time I saw Mrs. Wright was in late January of 2023. Out of an abundance of caution, I did not visit during early January, as I was recovering from my second bout of Covid (detailed in a post here). When I saw her that day in January, she seemed very enervated and did not say much. And she barely ate when the aide came in to feed her. I sat by her bedside as usual and spoke with her. I also played a few songs on my iPhone. Though she was mostly unresponsive, I could tell that she heard me. Occasionally, she acknowledged me with her glance but really slept through most of my visit. 

I can imagine her saying: 

Where have you been all this time? I have not seen you in weeks. I am glad you are here today, but I may not be here for much longer. Thank you for your visits and thank you for your comfort. It lifted my spirits during my darkest days. Keep being a blessing and a light to others, because one day, someone will do the same for you.

Although I could tell there weren’t many visits ahead with Mrs. Wright, I never added an “expiration” date to my time. I anticipated each new visit and fully embraced the opportunity I had.

I knew that my time with Mrs. Wright was well spent, and I value every moment I was able to spend by her bedside. That is really one of the greatest honors you can give to a person: a sense of comfort during their last days on earth. 

Indeed, some days I leave my hospice patients feeling “selfish,” dare I say, for getting so much out of the visit. Feelings of wholeness, and fulfillment have truly consumed me when I serve my hospice patients through volunteering. 

And while I am never ready for that dreaded call, never quite ready to say goodbye, I am grateful and I feel blessed knowing that I was able to be blessing to others during what are some of the most vulnerable moments of their lives.