I have been a patient-contact volunteer for over twenty-four years. During so many of my visits, when the spouse is preparing to leave, she will give her husband (who is on our hospice) the shortlist of hospice staff who may be stopping by. Experience has shown me the most important person expected to visit is no surprise. It is the man or woman who is the nursing assistant. 

Being in the forefront as a somewhat passive observer to hospice, I have learned much about everyday hospice care. A good percentage of what I have learned is not so much what is in the books and brochures about amazing care by amazing staff; rather it is about what is most important to the person receiving the care. Not only is the person receiving a great deal of attention, but so is the family. To see so much attention focused on a loved one gives the family assurance that they are not alone. 

Each hospice generally assigns a registered nurse (RN); possibly a licensed practical nurse (LPN), also known as a licensed vocational nurse (LVN); a nursing assistant (aide, CNA, STNA); a social worker; and the offer of a chaplain and a volunteer to be of assistance. The one who makes the most favorable impression, by my unscientific study, is the nursing assistant. Theirs is a title that varies by region: nurse aide, certified nurse aide (CNA), nursing assistant, certified nurse assistant (CNA), patient care assistant (PCA), and state-tested nursing assistant (STNA). I’m sure that I have left a few titles out, but at the core they are the angels of hospice care. Probably the easiest way to describe what they do is to use the short version of the Prayer of St. Francis. It follows:

Lord, make me an instrument of Your Peace: where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is doubt, faith, where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved, as to love; for it is in giving that we receive, it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Let’s take a look at that prayer line by line, from the perspective of a nursing assistant:

Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Since the late 1990s, I am aware of only two people with AIDS who have been under the care of my hospice’s service. Both of the people, by their own admission, had become infected with AIDS as a result of their lifestyle. And they felt they were now paying the price.

However, their parents were also paying the price, although they had done nothing to deserve it. The parents heard derogatory comments about AIDS patients wherever they went. They hurt because their sons were suffering and because no one seemed to care about them.

No one cared until the families called my hospice and our staff entered their lives. I remember when one of our STNAs gently, tenderly put salve on one of the men’s sores. I felt as if I was watching Mother Teresa doing it. The STNA told me she only sees the need, not the cause.

Where there is injury, pardon. Our home-side nursing assistants visit the people on hospice wherever they live. In one particular setting, a newly hired nurse assistant had a difficult person she was caring for. After a few months, when the dying process started, the man reached for her arm and, in a barely audible voice, said, “Thank you. I love you.” The nursing assistant had taken the brunt of his anger over her previous visits with him. She endured much but understood where it came from. Those five words confirmed that this was where she belonged.

Where there is doubt, faith. People always think of the future, perhaps thinking of an upcoming vacation, a special outing with friends, or simply a day to enjoy one of life’s pleasures. When someone becomes terminal, everything changes because the person runs out of future. Doubt begins to settle in rather than looking forward to what lies ahead. Our nurse assistants remove a person’s doubt and fear by looking at the individuals with the eyes of faith. By their presence, nurse assistants bring emotional and spiritual comfort to those at the end of their life.

Where there is despair, hope. Often, terminally ill people have been lying in bed for an extended period. Often they may experience depression. The anticipation of the nurse assistant’s arrival gives them something to look forward to as a ray of hope.

Where there is darkness, light. I was talking to one of our nurse assistants, Stephanie, and she said that whenever she tells someone she works in hospice, she gets admonished in some fashion. “That’s so depressing.” “How can you work there? Can’t you find something better?” Truth is, Stephanie has been with us for quite a few years, and she told me she wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. She lights up the lives of the people on service with her unconditional and empathetic love.

Where there is sadness, joy. A woman was brought to the Pickering House for symptom management. She seemed depressed. Talking to her, one of the nurse assistants discerned that she had been engaged for quite a while, and now it looked like she and her fiancé would never get married. Hearing this, our STNA initiated plans that were quickly carried out by the staff of the Pickering House, the in-patient facility of my hospice. And the couple was married that evening. While the ceremony was taking place in the Sun Room, the staff eagerly made the new bride’s room into a “honeymoon suite.” Through tears of joy, the woman said, “Now I am complete.”

Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console. Patsy, one of our nurse assistants, walked into a person’s room to give her a massage. The lady was curled up in a ball, not from pain, but from fear. Over the next hour, as Patsy gave her a slow, gentle massage, she sang and prayed for her. The lady relaxed to the point that Patsy said she would lift the woman’s arm a tiny bit, and it would “plop” down on the bed. The woman went to sleep as Patsy was shampooing her hair. When Patsy told me about this, she said it had been a rough day up to that point, but the ill person came first, and Patty came second.

To be understood, as to understand. Near the end of her shift, Carla, a Pickering House nurse assistant, was pushing a man on service in a wheelchair. He had been restless, and she was hopeful this would relax him. The man noticed a woman carrying her purse, a floral arrangement, and a shopping bag. He asked if he could take them to the door for her. “Sure, I could use the help. I hope my purse isn’t too big,” she said with a laugh. He placed the three items on his lap, and Carla pushed him to the front door, where the woman thanked him. Earlier the man felt that he was “wastin’ away,” as he put it. Intuitively, Carla understood his need to be needed.

To be loved, as to love. I was talking to a woman whose mother had been on hospice. She mentioned that she had never forgotten how tenderly Kelly, the nurse assistant, would touch her mother. She also mentioned that when her mother wanted to talk, Kelly would pull up a chair and sit next to the bed so that she would be at eye level. “Where do you find people with so much love?” she asked.

It is in giving that we receive. Every nurse assistant I have talked to has told me they receive much more than they give. A family member told me that she was “almost startled” by the cheerfulness of our aides.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned. Our nurse assistants sometimes may deal with difficult people. It is a part of the job. They understand the emotion of a person losing control of his or her life. They easily pardon any negative emotion because it is not aimed at them.

And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Angela, a longtime nurse assistant, told me about a woman she was tending to at an assisted living community. When Angela visited one afternoon, she noticed that the dying process had started.

The woman always had a two-bulb lamp lit next to her bed, but as Angela approached the woman’s bed, one of the lights went out. She didn’t think too much about it at the time. Sensing that the woman’s final hour was approaching, Angela sat at the woman’s bedside. At almost the same instant that the woman took her last breath, the second bulb went out. The room was now dim, and Angela was enveloped by the spirituality of the moment. She was there at the most important moment in the woman’s life, as she entered eternal life.

What does a nurse assistant do? I think the quickest way to find out is to listen to the words of St. Francis.

 

     One of the misconceptions, or myths, of hospice is that it’s a place; some sort of medical building. The notion is that if you sign on to hospice service you will have to go somewhere. With many hospices, you don’t go anywhere. In fact, you stay where you live whether it is your home, a family member’s home, a friend’s home, a nursing home or an assisted living facility.

   However, not to muddy the waters, there are some hospices in America that do operate care facilities for those on their patients. When the famous Washington Post columnist, Art Buchwald, admitted himself into a Washington D.C. area hospice he moved into their facility. That particular hospice didn’t visit people in their home, as the hospice where I volunteer does. Our hospice facility is, at its core, a short term respite facility.

   And when we care for people who live in their house, we understand that it is their house and not ours. Therefore, they may have their bed set up where ever they want. As a hospice volunteer, several of the people I visited preferred to sleep in their living room recliners because they were more comfortable. It’s their home, after all.

   In your home, the feeling of who is in control is brought back to you. In a hospital, or in any type of institution, you are not in control. In your home you are in control and can stay in any room you prefer. During this stage of your life, being in control is one of the most important aspects of life.

Every hospice is blessed to have a wonderful group of volunteers. All hospice volunteers are vital to ensure that hospice fulfills its mission of helping those under their care. Hospice came into existence through the efforts of volunteers, but they aren’t just a luxury. Medicare requires at least 5% of all hospice patient care hours are provided by volunteers.

Hospice volunteers fulfill many roles. Sometimes they assist in the business office, some help with fundraising, while many are patient-contact volunteers or reach out to families through bereavement support calls. A volunteer chooses what area in which they want to serve. At my hospice, it may be all four.

Of the four areas of volunteering, the patient-contact volunteer is offered several unique privileges. The patient-contact volunteer is given the privilege of entering into someone’s life to help them complete goals and relive special delights in their personal history.

Will Rogers said, “We all can’t be heroes, someone has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by.” The volunteer allows the person on service to be the star of the show by allowing them recount their successes, failures, funny stories, regrets, accomplishments, and goals.

Supporting someone on our hospice with their goals may involve helping them reunite with an estranged child. It may be connecting them with people to help them complete a train layout as a final gift to a grandson. Or it may be lending a hand to a Marine veteran whose goal is to put his fishing boat away for the winter so that everything is in order and he can die in peace. Completing personal goals are an important part of the final stage of life. Patient-contact volunteers are often involved in helping make these final requests possible.

Along those lines, the patient-contact volunteer is in the position to help people relive a favorite activity one final time. For example, one of our volunteers, Margie, was talking to a woman, Kay, who was staying for a few days at our hospice facility, Pickering House. She was lamenting about how all her life she loved going on picnics. Sadly, now that she was ill and bedridden Kay knew she would never go on another picnic.

On her way home Margie thought, “Why not bring a picnic to Kay?”

The next day the two of them shared a lovely picnic on the woman’s bed in the Pickering House. It was that simple. The woman said the only thing missing was the ants.

As with Margie, many of the activities in which patient-contact volunteers are involved consists of a one-last-time event. Over twenty years ago, as a patient-contact volunteer, I was visiting with a man while his wife went shopping. When I arrived, he was sitting in his favorite chair, a recliner. After his wife left, he decided he wanted to nap so he slowly got up out of the recliner. His bed was a mere five feet away. I helped him get out of his recliner and waited while he steadied his feet. I assisted him by holding his arm as he took the short walk to his bed.

As it turned out, I walked with him during the last steps he ever took. The volunteer coordinator called me the next day and said the man’s kidneys began to shut down. He died two days later. I got to thinking that over eighty years ago he took his first step with, most likely, a lot of fanfare from his parents. I had the honor to be with him when he took his last steps after all of those millions of steps throughout his life.

I frequently hear comments about how sad it must be to volunteer for a hospice. Whether at a hospice in-patient facility or in the home of someone on hospice, our volunteers help them celebrate and complete their life. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing more enjoyable and satisfying than that.

 

Taxi cabs were still an important part of the cityscape in 1972. In an effort to pay my way through college, I drove a Yellow Cab in Dayton, Ohio during part of that year. My cab was #30 and that has been my lucky number ever since. Those seven months behind the wheel of a taxi exposed me to every facet of life. And as I look back on my cab driving career, one fare that took 20 minutes from start to finish eventually brought me to my last career position; volunteering and working for a local hospice.

On a very drizzly, dreary, dark evening in late February, I was dispatched to the Emergency Room of Miami Valley Hospital to pick up a fare. Since the location of a hospital’s Emergency Room is familiar to everyone that was where most taxi related hospital pick-ups were. Emergency Room fares were always interesting because I never knew if the fare would be a banged up Emergency Room patient being released, a staff member needing a ride home, or any of a myriad of reasons someone needed a ride.

As I pulled up, a small, frail woman probably in her 80’s approached my cab. I got out and assisted her into the back seat. Her address was on Xenia Avenue, just east of downtown. Since we were heading to an older part of the city I asked her about the neighborhood, how long she lived there, etc. I always enjoy hearing about the “good ‘ol days”. She talked for a bit about the neighborhood then gently turned the conversation towards me. I told her that I was recently married and my wife had been a nurse for about a year.

“Oh, you two have your whole life in front of you.” She sounded so happy and excited.

Then, as she gazed out the side window of the cab, said that she had been at the hospital visiting her husband of 63 years and that he was very sick. I wasn’t sure how to respond. But after a few seconds of quiet, she continued talking, almost wistfully, about her husband and their life together. Being newly married, I found it fascinating.

“His nurse said that he wasn’t doing very well and that he needed his rest. Someone came in and said that visiting hours are over and that maybe I should go home and get some rest, too.” Talking softly, as if to herself, she said, “He is going to die tonight, I know it. They wouldn’t let me stay.” I thought to myself, “After an entire life together, on a day that was just as important as their wedding day, why did the hospital staff send her home? Why separate them when their need for each other is so intense?”

I pulled up to their house, the house they moved into as young-marrieds over 55 years ago. Low clouds and drizzle muffled the sounds of the city and dimly reflected the lights of downtown onto the small front yard. Hurrying around the cab, I opened the taxi’s rear door for her and she slowly got out. I instinctively put my arm around her and walked her up to the front porch.

She gave me the house key and I let her in. She wished me and my wife a happy life together and as I turned to leave she embraced me, pressed her head in my shoulder and started to sob. “He was such a good man. I’m going to miss him…I’m so scared.” Caught off guard, I held her for a bit. I did not want to leave her.

Again she said, “He’s going to die tonight. I know it. Why wouldn’t they let me stay?” Again, I had no reply. She turned, went in, and I stood there as the door closed. After a moment I turned and took a few steps toward my cab. I stopped. My bottom lip started to quiver and my eyes moistened. Gazing back at the dark silhouette of her house I realized her life was ending, mine was beginning. It was as if she passed the baton of life to me.

A lot has changed in the medical field since 1972, but the change in the medical field has not just been in technology or pharmaceuticals. There has also been a change, albeit a small one, in the thinking on the part that the family plays when dealing with a serious illness. Through the hospice philosophy, we are turning back from medical invincibility to reality.

When I think of that woman I picked up from Miami Valley Hospital, I think how different it would have been had hospice come to America by that time. Hospice care has brought some common sense into what modern thinking had turned into a clinical event: the end of life. Common sense, or maybe I should say “hospice sense”, tells me that the woman’s husband did not need rest. Rest for what? He needed his wife and she needed him. She needed to be with him and to comfort him. Couldn’t the hospital staff have bent the rules just a little for her? All these years later, I still think of her. Little did I know that that short fare would eventually bring me to hospice.

Twenty five years later, in January of 1997, I saw an ad in the paper about hospice seeking volunteers and instinctively knew that I had to do it. I didn’t know much about hospice then but I did know that hospice care focused on people. That it encouraged family and friends to gather when someone was approaching the end of their life, and not send family home to “get some rest”. In fact, many times at the hospice where I now volunteer, our staff has helped a spouse get in bed with their dying partner so that the one could comfort the other.

When I got back in my taxi that night the dispatcher was calling my number. He had a pick up for me at the Galaxy Club on Linden Avenue….It was a “go-go joint”…. And life went on.

Late on a recent Tuesday afternoon a text was received by one of FAIRHOPE Hospice and Palliative Care’s military pinning volunteers. The text, sent by one of our social workers read, “Are you available for a pinning tomorrow, by chance? The family is flexible with time. In town.”

The volunteer immediately replied to the text with a, “Yes.”

That simple text exchange between one of FAIRHOPE’s social workers and a volunteer got the ball rolling. In other situations where the end of life is eminent, our volunteers can immediately leave their homes to arrive at the veteran’s bedside as soon as possible.

The text from the social worker was alerting the volunteer that a Vietnam veteran, Bill, had just been admitted to our family-centered care. Upon learning from the social worker that we offer a military pinning ceremony for veterans on our service Niki, Bill’s daughter, eagerly agreed to it.

“We knew he wanted to be honored for his service.” Niki said.

Adding, “I’d never heard of it. I didn’t know such a service was offered.”

In this case the veteran was at the very end-of-life and the Military Pinning Ceremony would have to be performed soon.

The volunteer quickly sent a group text to the other three FAIRHOPE volunteers who have dedicated themselves to honoring our veterans. The text alerted them to the time and location of the event.

All of the pinning ceremonies are performed where the recipient lives and in this case the location was Bill’s house across the street from the fairgrounds. His bed was in a small room at the front of his house.

Arriving early in order to learn a little bit about the recipient, the four volunteers and Bill’s family gathered around his bedside. That little room quickly filled with laughter and war stories as the volunteers and Bill’s family realized that all had ties to each other through, believe it or not, the crossroads hamlet of Maxville.

Being a military family, military pictures and medals from all of the family members were prominently displayed on one of the walls of the room. No hall, no stage, no parade ground could have matched the feeling in that little room. There simply could not have been a better location.

One of the hallmarks of FAIRHOPE’s pinning ceremony is that any family member is encouraged to participate by fastening one the pins to the recipient’s garment. They, also, were affected by their loved one’s tour of duty so they, also, are given an honor. George, one of Bill’s nephews, a Marine veteran, and Niki agreed to do the actual pinning.

Throughout, Bill was in the deep sleep that is characteristic of the end of life. But even at this stage of life, he could still hear.

The ceremony began when one of FAIRHOPE’s volunteers, acting as the facilitator, told Bill that he was being honored for his service. As he lay silently in bed, hands crossed on his chest, Niki reverently fastened the American Flag pin on her dad’s garment, over his heart.

Then his nephew, George, fastened the Branch of Service pin beneath the flag pin, briefly fumbling with it due to tears blurring his vision. Only a few faint sniffles disturbed the silence.

Following the actual pinning, the facilitator expressed FAIRHOPE’s appreciation for Bill’s honorable and faithful service to our country. Another of FAIRHOPE’s volunteers read the official certificate from the “We Honor Veteran’s” program and presented it to Niki.

The ceremony was closed as all veterans present formed around the foot of Bill’s bed. When Bill’s nephew, Will, gave the command, “Present, Arms” all veterans snapped to attention. They saluted and held their salute. After a few seconds, Bill’s right hand moved slowly up his chest to his chin and after barely touching his nose, it plopped back down. With literally every ounce of energy in his body, he had returned the salute.

If there was ever an example of “Once a Marine, Always a Marine” that was it.

Niki said the military funerals with the presentation of the flag, the 21 gun salute, etc. are for the benefit of the surviving family and not seen by the veteran. But as she watched our ceremony unfold she realized that, “Bill was fully aware of what was happening.”

“He knew he was being honored. In his final moments he saw that he was appreciated.”

“There is no doubt that this ceremony helped him to let go; Helped him to know he was honored.” Niki remarked.

This event occurred a month before Veteran’s Day, but on that October afternoon, all present agreed they experienced one of most profound Veteran’s Days of their life.

Many aren’t aware of FAIRHOPE Hospice and Palliative Care’s military pinning ceremony. It is part of the “We Honor Veteran’s”, a program of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization (NHPCO) in collaboration with the Department of Veterans Affairs. Veterans from all branches of the military, including the Coast Guard and the National Guard are honored.

FAIRHOPE Hospice and Palliative Care focuses on what makes life significant.

Bill died in peace the following evening.

One of the central reasons that FAIRHOPE Hospice and Palliative Care is such a blessing to families is that we redirect attention away from the illness and back to the person on service.

For example part of our intake process is to discuss various aspects of the ill person’s life, including if they were a veteran. Realizing the sacrifices incurred as a member of the military, FAIRHOPE Hospice and Palliative Care offers a military pinning ceremony to individually honor each veteran under our care. This ceremony emphasizes that the veteran is appreciated.

This ceremony is part of the We Honor Veterans program of the Department of Veterans Affairs and is in association with the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization (NHPCO). The ceremony takes place where the veteran lives and is performed on a 24/7 basis. The actual pinning ceremony itself is not hurried. Time is often given to listen to the veterans stories, whether told by the veteran or the family. We listen to the stories and ask questions. This part of the event can be lively, especially when FAIRHOPE’s volunteers, themselves veterans, share war stories with the honoree.

To give you an idea of the stories told by local veterans, the following are mostly snippets of some of the veteran’s stories and memories they’ve told us over the years. As you read these, you’ll notice that some experienced active combat and some “only” saw the aftermath and horror of combat. Some were in the military during peace time, yet experienced apprehension due to a world crisis that potentially could involve the military. Some were prisoners of war, many never left our shores. Some of the veterans want to talk about their experiences, even combat; I don’t want to think about the stories of those who don’t want to share.

To wit, a fragment of their experiences:

-A veteran on our service was a tail gunner on a B-17 bomber in WWII. He said he felt like he was bravely serving his country until a German fighter shot the tail off of his plane about three feet over his head. “That’s when it became war....and frightening.” he said. Upon landing after each mission, his crew always kissed the ground…evidently the Pope wasn’t the first.

-A veteran told me, at one of our military pinning ceremonies, that his job was to pick up bodies floating in the water, the day after the Normandy invasion. He said he’d scoop up a body, “or body part” put it on the floor of the boat. Take a swig out of a bottle of wine then scoop up another body, or body part, out of the water. Then he’d the take another swig of wine. He said the job took a few days.

-Another guarded the A-Bomb and the plane that delivered it before it took off for Hiroshima.

-During the Korean War, a veteran’s duty was to open body bags containing those killed in combat and confirm they were properly identified. He said often when he opened the bag, “I didn’t know what part of the body I was looking at.”

-Another veteran was a tank mechanic and a crane operator during Korean War. He lifted Ted William’s F9F Navy fighter out of a ravine after it made a belling landing. The event was national news because Ted Williams was a nationally famous professional baseball player. (He was the last player to hit over .400)

-When asked about his service, a veteran told one of our nurses, “I killed people.” Then began to cry.

-The son of a veteran said that his dad always kept their refrigerator stuffed with food. Later in life he learned his dad had been a starving POW and never wanted to be out of food again.

- The family of a veteran on service told me he was the actual person whom the movie “Platoon” was based upon.

-A veteran on our service said in late 1959 he was in the honor guard when Cuban dictator Fidel Castro arrived in Washington D.C. to meet with Vice President Nixon. He said he stood directly behind Castro and said he had a “…bad case of dandruff.” (Well, now we know.)

-Speaking of Castro, a veteran on service in the National Guard during peacetime was deployed combat ready, to the Gulf Coast area during the Cuban Missile Crisis in the Fall of 1962.

-A veteran told me he was in Vietnam’s DMZ during 1969-1970. All he said was, “A very dangerous place.” He then looked away.

-The wife of a veteran we pinned said her husband was a crew member “ of a submarine in the River” in Vietnam. Their mission was to drop off Navy Seals involved in covert operations.

-The wife of a Vietnam War POW told me that many years later her husband mentioned that surviving the experience proved he was stronger than he thought.

-One of those honored with our military pinning ceremony had served several years as part a security detail that kept constant vigilance of the airspace over Washington D.C. During 9/11 the security detail was ordered to shoot down everything they saw in the air. The plane that hit the Pentagon was undetected because it flew below the radar. He said that he was so afraid that he would have to kill innocent civilians.

The stories I’ve heard convince me that the transition from military service to civilian life is never fully complete.

Thank you, veterans.

 

    

“This may be a dumb question, but…” That preface to a question is something FAIRHOPE Hospice’s staff hears frequently from family members of those on service. They might be asking about the illness, if there is more they can do to care for their loved one, or if they are “allowed” to do something in particular.

There are no dumb questions for us. We understand the family is under strain and sometimes aren’t thinking as clearly as normal. Depending upon the question we give an honest answer or reply with a, “We’ll see what we can do.”

Since our care of the person and their family deals with all facets of life, the questions asked might not necessarily be of a medical nature. Often the questions deal with last wishes. Surprisingly, questions regarding last wishes, or Bucket List type questions, most often deal with one-last-time desires. Many people on hospice service want to do something one last time. My experience has been not many people want to “See Rock City” at the end of life.

Recently, Tammy, one of our nurses, completed arrangements to transport a man on service from his home to The Pickering House. The man was born and lived most of his life in rural Perry County. He and his son loved to fish together and as the years went by, his grandson joined them. After retirement he and his wife moved to Florida.

When the man became seriously ill, he and his wife moved back to their beloved Perry County to be cared for by his son and daughter-in-law. Their plan was to stabilize his health so that they again could go fishing; at least once more. Regretfully, things didn’t work out as planned and he was admitted to FAIRHOPE Hospice.

He was bedridden when we admitted him and remained so. His wife and grown children cared for him at home. In time it became necessary that he was brought to The Pickering House, our in-patient facility. His health was deteriorating and additional nursing care could be administered there.

Arrangements were made and the next morning the transport ambulance arrived and preparations were completed. As the man was placed in the back of the ambulance, his wife joined him. She had the empty feeling that this was their last ride together. His son and teenaged grandson were to follow in their car. Our nurse Tammy, who was the man’s nurse and assisted the family prepare him for the transfer, was to follow in her car.

But before everyone got in their cars, the son asked them to wait. Hesitantly he asked Tammy, “This may be a dumb question, but…can we stop by the lake? It’s on the way and I’d like to take Dad fishing one more time.”

“Sure.” was the quick reply from Tammy. As a FAIRHOPE Hospice nurse, Tammy instinctively knew the importance of that question. Jubilant, the son exclaimed, “Dad, we’re going fishing!”

Initially, the ambulance driver was stunned by the seeming absurdity of the question. However, remembering the many hours fishing with her dad while she was growing up helped her to understand the importance of the request. This was not going to be just another patient transfer.

After notifying her dispatcher of the change in plans, the impromptu “fishing trip” began. A few miles out of town the entourage turned off US 22 and followed the narrow country road to Rush Creek Lake; the lake where they spent so many lazy days fishing. The slight sound of the gravel crunching and popping under tires broke the silence as the vehicles slowed to a stop in the parking area near the shore. I can’t imagine what was going through each person’s mind as they stared at the lake.

After a brief silence, the son asked, “Dad, do you want to try near the standing trees, or fish off the dock?” Even though his dad was semi comatose he knew his dad could hear. The son was painting a picture, reliving their many hours spent together fishing.

“Would you like to be near the water?” asked the driver.

Ever so carefully, she backed the vehicle toward the small boat dock. A tear blurred her vision as she realized that she was allowed a part in this intensely sacred event. Gingerly, everyone helped move the gurney onto the pier then stepped back. Words were not necessary. I’ve heard it said when a dad gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his dad, both cry. There wasn’t a dry eye.

“This looks like a good spot, Dad.” Since childhood, how many times had he said that to his dad?

“You find a good place to sit down, Grandpa, I’ll get the tackle box.”, said his grandson.

They were creating another day at the lake. The son then cupped his hands to bring up some lake water. As he let the lake water roll over his dad’s hands, he could sense a smile on his face. For his dad, it was obvious that the frustration he experienced in his final months of not being able to go fishing was gone.

To those present, the entire Universe boiled down to just that scene on the dock; Grandpa, son, grandson fishing. Observing this his wife, almost whispering, said, “This will be forever in my heart, I will never forget this.”

What started as a simple transfer from home to The Pickering House unfolded into an event that made a lifelong, life changing impression on all of those involved. Tammy, the FAIRHOPE nurse, did not hesitate when the son asked if he could take his dad fishing one more time. She knew that fishing doesn’t just mean fish. She sensed that fishing must’ve been an important part of this father/son relationship. It was just that simple.

The patient was non-communicative, but that didn’t matter because men communicate through an activity more than they communicate by talking. This last fishing trip was a way for father and son to reminisce about their life together and to say a final good bye. The man’s son and grandson talked to him as if they were all fishing, but in reality they were communicating a life time of love and memories. Boys inherently follow their dad’s example, not their advice. And what a profound example this was for the grandson.

Although losing a husband, a Dad, a Grandpa is sad, the family had good memories of his last day. FAIRHOPE allows families to do what they feel is necessary to complete their life, and will try to assist if needed. Hospice doesn’t change what is going to happen but it changes how it is going to happen.

It is never too late to take your dad fishing, or to help him enjoy his favorite hobby.