I’m always asked why on earth I would do something as difficult as working in a hospice. People often ask, “Isn’t that so depressing?” Sometimes it’s sad, yes. There’s really no way around this. But I don’t find my work depressing. In a way, it’s actually a sacred gift to me. The people I met in their dying moments changed my outlook on life and, far from being depressing, I find their stories precious and inspiring.
Take for example Jason, 80 years old, married, with children and grandchildren. When he was diagnosed with metastatic liver cancer and it became clear he was in the final days of his life, his entire family gathered in the home where he and his wife, Susan, raised their children.
I was Jason’s hospice nurse for a few weeks and his condition, although terminal, remained stable. The last time I paid a visit, however, his condition had changed.
In the couple’s bedroom, Jason was unconscious and unresponsive. Jason and Susan’s three children and several grandchildren were gathered around their bed, leafing through a stack of photo albums. They laughed and cried as each shared their favorite family stories and memories: trips to the lake, highlights of Christmas and vacations, secret childhood pranks. The love that surrounded Jason was all anyone could ask for as they walked towards their deaths.
Wanting to honor this moment, but also be available for whatever they needed, I positioned myself in an office across the hall to record my notes about the visit. As I worked, I heard snippets of the family’s conversation.
“We love you, dad. We love you.” “It’s so easy to love you.”
“You have been the best husband.” 「Okay. You can let go.」
“We love you.”
The entire family made the transition effortlessly with Jason’s sudden decline and were able to say goodbye the way they wanted. To me, in the other room, it felt like a powerful, sacred love. It seemed, ironically, that this kind of death is what life should be like.
What I do doesn’t seem depressing because I see patients having these beautiful deaths, being welcomed with love in a place that is good. I can witness families and friends truly loving each other. I can help people who are dying feel comfortable about dying and help them and their loved ones embrace the reality of death – which helps them live better It is die better. I see the power of what is possible when we faithfully accompany people until they die. And as professionals, or as loved ones, we have the power to make a real difference in people’s lives.
See more information: The language of hospice can help us better discuss death
I often hear family members dismissing the experience of the person who is dying. It can sound in several ways:
“Don’t say things like that, Dad. You’re not going to die.
“Don’t talk about how much you love me. You’re not going to die.
“I don’t want to learn how to garden because you won’t die.”
I know this can be difficult, but we do the dying person a disservice when we don’t let them tell the truth. They know they are dying and deserve space to talk about it. Is it comfortable to talk about death? Rarely. Is it a way to honor and care for the person who is dying? Absolutely. It’s always time to talk about death. Talk about it when you’re sick. Talk about it when you’re not sick. Talk about it at the Thanksgiving dinner table. There is never time not to talk about death.
Talking about death – and even simply being around it – is considered a painful experience. But do not need be like that. Often when a loved one is dying, I encourage your loved ones to pause and pay attention to what is happening in and around you. Notice the feeling of stillness. Take a break and be present in the moment. Notice what you feel and what you need. Enjoy the silence or turn on the music if you prefer.
At some point, you will make a request for the body to be removed from the home.
Eventually, you’ll call everyone who needs to know.
Ultimately, you will take care of other responsibilities. One day you will wash the sheets and make the bed.
But when the person you love dies, there’s nothing that needs to be done immediately. Death is not an emergency. Give yourself the gift of pausing to be present.
Extracted from Nothing to Fear: Demystifying Death to Live More Fully by Julie McFadden, RN with permission from TarcherPerigee, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © Julie McFadden, RN, 2024.
This story originally appeared on Time.com read the full story
