It’s Friday afternoon. The October sun is shining, while the faint chill of fall swirls the parking lot dust around my bare ankles. I enter the building through the sliding doors. There is something about those doors and the strange feeling when they close behind you. Again the little voice inside my head asking, “What are you doing here?” I am used to it now, so I just ignore it. This place is supposed to be like home. Oh, this is just like home! Here comes my crazy neighbor now, the one that pushes himself backwards in his wheelchair, all day through the hallways. He has his usual hand towel hanging from his mouth as he sucks on the end. I give him my usual hello neighbor smile. Today his head nods slightly as I pass. I am elated. I usually just get a low growl.

The bleach smell is stronger at the end of the hall. The floor washing machine must have just gone past on one of its endless rotations. The last door on the right is open. I pause, as I always do before I enter. Stopping to read the little biography on the door, “loves sweets and caring for her grandchildren” I know the rest by heart. She is motionless in her bed. The tiny room is warm and her little bay window looks out into a courtyard. I have never seen anyone in this courtyard; the planters are now full of dying summer flowers, looking brittle and dry. I open her fist and gently slide my hand around her fingers. Leaning close to her, I rub her forehead, “Hello dear, you’re doing so well. I love you.” Her eyes barely open, her breathing becomes more rapid and she squeezes my hand. Still holding her hand, I reach over and turn on her favorite CD, the sound of the ocean fills the room. Then I reach and slide over a chair, I make myself comfortable and rest my feet on the bottom rail of her bed. “I’ll be right here,” I tell her. On the wall, the institutional clock ticks the minutes by. Time seems to pass both slowly and quickly at the same time. Outside the sky is darkening, evening has come. A nurse comes in and turns on a small table lamp. “How is she?” she asks. “I’ll bring her something for pain,” she says. “No, I don’t think she needs anything,” I tell her. Then I ask, “Are they coming? Is anyone coming?” Slowly shaking her head she tells me, “No, they aren’t, her family won’t be able to get here.” The room feels even smaller now. I tell the nurse, “I’ll stay then.” She rests her hand on my shoulder, “Thank you; I’ll bring you back some tea.” The CD player, on repeat begins playing again.

Nicola King - Hospice Volunteer

It has been 2 years now since I started volunteering in the capacity of sitting Vigil during nighttime hours for terminally ill patients with Hospice. These are patients who, under palliative care, have come to the end of their life journey. I serve most patients in care facilities such as Hospice House, Cottonwoods, Millcreek and others, but some are at home as well.

I often will get a phone call in the early evening or morning asking me to sit with people in their final hours of life from 2am to 6am. I count it a privilege to be part of Hospice, an organization that answers the need - to be a support for the dying and their families. I have been asked on a number of occasions, "Why I would do Vigil work and travel in the middle of the night through all sorts of weather to sit with someone who is dying?" My answer: I say this from my heart, "I count it a privilege to be part of the life of the dying person even for just a few hours so they are not alone when they pass on."

Often I sit and talk to them even when they are in a coma. I will often caress their arm or hold their hand and speak softly to them. It has been my experience that they are able to hear me even when they cannot respond. I was with one lady who, just minutes before she passed on, opened her eyes. She of course did not recognize me. But I spoke to her and told her that it was ok for her to go. I assured her that angels where waiting for her to take her to a beautiful place of peace and rest for her to enjoy for eternity. She smiled ever so slightly and past on peacefully.

I believe that dying has a spiritual element connected to it no matter what one’s belief system is. On another occasion I was asked to provide one-on-one support for a man my own age that had cancer. When I was introduced to him I felt that this could turn into a long and close friendship. We talked cars and car engines. We talked sports, and ended up with making a golf tee time at a local golf course. This all took place on a Friday morning and the golf game was to be played the next Tuesday.

Saturday evening, I received a phone call from his wife telling me he had been recommitted to the hospital for medical treatment. According to the doctor this could take several days. On Monday afternoon she called me again and told me that he had been transferred to Cottonwoods Douglas Fir Hospice Unit. This came as a shock to me! I told her that if there is anything I could do for her, to please do not hesitate to call me. She told me then that the family from out-of-town would be arriving the next morning. She also indicated that she had very little rest and was exhausted from lack of sleep. I offered to sit with him that night so she could go home and get some rest and sleep. She told me she would call, and did. That Monday evening I sat with my new-found friend and client from 8pm to 4am the next morning. He rested peacefully and slept throughout the night. His son came in at 4am and I went home.

That evening I received the call that he had passed on. I was surprised how fast these events had unfolded but my comfort in all of this was that I was able to touch the lives of everyone involved, even though it was for such a brief time. The importance for me was that I was able to make a difference in people’s lives by being able to help in a small way - giving of my time. I cannot express my gratitude adequately in words how great a privilege it was to have been a part of this man’s life and a comfort to his family.

I thank the people who took the time to train and equip me to be able to do this rewarding work as a Hospice volunteer.

Paul Gysen - Hospice Volunteer