HOW MAY I SERVE

One of the nicest gifts I ever gave myself was to become a Hospice Volunteer. Nothing beats the feeling of being helpful and the sense of fulfillment that comes unbidden, but so sweet.

Hospice provides support and care to patients at the end of their life. This is for patients who have chosen to stop aggressive, curative care in exchange for palliative or "comfort" care. That's not to say they are doomed. If they rally and grow in strength the hospice care is redirected back to to the more traditional care.

In Hospice the patient and the family are treated as a unit of care considering their physical, psychosocial and spiritual needs in an effort to provide dignity and comfort in the end stage of life. And so there are nurses, aides, social workers, grief councilors, chaplains and friendly volunteers for patients who would like to be visited.

As a volunteer I spend time with the patients and act as a sitter sometimes when their primary caregiver needs to get out and run errands, shop or just have a little time for themselves. I listen to wonderful life stories. I get to encourage patients and caregivers in whatever way seems hopeful and kind. For patients who live alone I might run errands, do light housework or if they are able, take them out for a breath of fresh air. I don't poke, prod or invade their privacy. I am just a friendly presence.

Here is a wonderful reflection that was given as a handout during my training. It tells a wonderful hopeful story. The author is Henry Van Dyke

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says: "There she is gone!"

"Gone where?"

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!" there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"

And that is dying.

picture 'Angel light ' by Flutemaker