Hooked on Hospice®: Love Is All That Matters

By Karla Wheeler

Copyright 2007 by Karla Wheeler. All rights reserved.

My chosen volunteer work for the past 20 years has been supporting patients and families facing that most difficult of situations -- terminal illness.

As a hospice volunteer, I am trained not only to provide a much-needed respite for weary caregivers by visiting with dying patients, but also to serve as a grief counselor to those who are bereaved following the death of someone dear.

I have found my niche. Being invited into the inner sanctum of a family’s life during such a sad and sacred time is truly a blessing for me. Each person — each encounter — enriches my life enormously, reminding me to slow down and savor every precious day.

My hospice volunteer work also provides an opportunity to give something in return to the local hospice that enabled four of my immediate family members to die with dignity and without pain. This includes my beloved husband of 30 years, who died in October 2006, just a month after being diagnosed with advanced cancer. A hospice nurse helped ease the way for us – especially for our 14-year-old daughter – as the family gathered by Gerry’s side the afternoon we decided to honor his living will and remove him from life support. Gerry lived for almost an hour without the tubes and machines that kept him alive, and during those precious minutes, we said our goodbyes; thanked him for being such a kind, loving father, husband, brother, and son; expressed the depths of our love again and again; and gave him permission to make his transition. Without that hospice nurse by our sides, I simply cannot imagine how we would have emotionally survived that tragic day.

My mother, father, and grandmother also were blessed with a “good death,” thanks to hospice.

In 1987, I was by Gramma’s side when she took her last breath, and her death was as beautiful as she had told me it would be. That night I vowed to better understand what dying patients and their families are experiencing, and to try to ease the way for them.

In the community where I live, work, and volunteer for hospice, we have quite a divergent population. We have huge numbers of people who come from opposite sides of the economic spectrum. We have a large percentage of multi-millionaires who live in mansions on or near the beach of the Gulf of Mexico. We also have a significant population of migrant workers and others living well below the poverty level.

Regardless of their societal position in life, I have found that there is one major common denominator among all families facing the imminent death of someone dear: Love.

Yes, whether a family has two Jaguars parked in the garage or has never been able to afford a vehicle of their own, when facing end of life, all that matters is love. Whether a family lives in a three-story mansion or a beaten-up trailer, when someone is dying, all that matters is love. Whether the breadwinner for a family is a Fortune 500 Chief Executive Officer or a tomato picker, when terminal illness enters the picture, all that matters is love.

Following are snapshots of patients and families who have taught me life lessons that enrich my life enormously. Each person embraced me and welcomed me into their lives during the most bittersweet of times imaginable. Each experience taught me one thing: Love is all that matters.

 John, the Courageous One

When I entered the tiny trailer perched at an angle in a muddy field, I met John, who was dying of emphysema after 45 years of heaving smoking, That first afternoon, John and his wife told me how they both had learned to forgive John for causing his premature death. Tears welling, John later confided in me that he was ready to die but harbored a huge regret that he and his sister had stayed estranged for 20 years. Then he chuckled and said, “And to be honest, I can’t even remember what we fought about that caused us to lose touch.” As we chatted some more, he said he was angry with his sister because his wife had sent her a Christmas card – something they hadn’t done in two decades – telling his sister about the seriousness of his illness. “And Louise hasn’t even picked up the phone to check on me. Go figure.” After minutes of silence, John whispered, “Well, I guess maybe I could be the one to pick up the phone.” I smiled, said my goodbyes, and promised to visit the following week. That next visit, John was too weak to greet me at the door, but his wife escorted me excitedly to John’s bed in the corner by the window. “John, tell Karla your good news.” Between wheezes and coughs, John shared that he had gotten up the courage to call Louise the night before. “At first I thought she’d just hang up on me, John explained. But instead she quipped, “Johnny, you little bugger. Do you remember what we argued about that day at Ma’s house? Cuz I tell ‘ya, I don’t have a clue!” With that comment breaking the ice, John said that he and Louise laughed and laughed. Then Louise told him she loved him – in her own special sisterly way – and they agreed both were sorry they hadn’t stayed in touch. I told John I was in awe of the courage it must have taken to make that phone call. I gave him a hug – and his wife – and thanked them for teaching me about the power of courage and the power of forgiveness. The next morning, my hospice volunteer coordinator called me to relay the news that John had passed away peacefully early that morning, with his devoted wife by his side.

Hooked on Hospice® is a registered trademark of Quality of Life Publishing Co.