The Sounds of Hospice
“Candy night is coming up pretty soon. I forgot about that,” spoken to no one in particular as light talk left the lips of dad.
The Hospice nurse came for her weekly round and as polite as he tried to be, he much preferred she wasn’t there at all. Entering into this sacred season isn’t exactly the invitation one looks forward to—neither sending nor receiving for that matter. Ministry for such a time as this from those who give and for those who receive is just that—ministry.
“They have Grape-Nuts cereal yet. I didn’t know that!” He spoke as if remembering long ago his enjoyment of.
“Broccoli is $2.49 a pound,” said another in response. She continued. “Margie called today— wondering how we are doing.”
“I wonder how much money she spends on that cat of hers,” dad chuckles.
The nurse keeps a steady eye on him. Not sure she’s buying into the lightness of the moment but as it is dad’s residence in which we are residing this hour, he gets to direct the conversation. No one is going to push him beyond what he is ready to hand over. Not yet at least.
Randomly he recollects, “Where was it that a cat would sense someone needing comfort? That cat would go lay by them—and the next day that person would have died.” You know his mind is connected at this point as to why all are present.
“He’s good at changing the topics,” the Hospice nurse whispers quietly in my direction.
The only thing I can do is nod as words are hard to come by and feelings run deep. It’s a challenge to watch him hand over his very dignity piece by piece. Yet, he does so with sheer kindness to all. And the Hospice nurse notices as her responses are as equally kind. The man sitting before us is not who he was or who he will be once resurrected and he’s doing the best he knows how… before death comes…and new life begins. The transition from this world is his journey and dad continues to teach as others are invited into the process. Perhaps some trick or treat candy for candy night might be better to hand over at the moment but I have none to offer. The hospice nurse watches on in due diligence. She catches his smile now and again and her presence is sacred as she keeps us together as we gather. We lean into that which is unseen and yet ever so present before us.
This morning I cling to the verse staring back at me upon my desk as I write this very moment, “And He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together” (Col. 1:17). And I am reminded we need not hold anything together. Rather, He not only holds all things but holds them together. Amen.
