Last month I heard that a friend of 48 years was critically ill in Berkley Medical Center. Yes, we were friends, but not close friends. Not buddies. More like colleagues. He was a Presbyterian lay minister.
I hadn’t seen him in 10 years. And now he was critically ill. I figured he’d rather get visits from closer friends than me. I didn’t visit.
And then I heard he was at the Hospice of the Panhandle. I thought of visiting, but I was pretty sure he’d rather see dearer friends in his final days. Besides, visiting the dying has never been easy for me.
But, then, dying is hard.
What’s my discomfort compared with that?
I dithered for several days.
And then I went.
I had met him soon after arriving in the Eastern Panhandle in 1975. I was an immigrant from California. He was a fifth-generation West Virginian. I was a stranger in a strange land. And yet he reached out and with his famous cheerful smile made me feel welcome.
He lived and worked in his world: Martinsburg. I lived and worked in mine: Shepherdstown. We ran into each other at various church events now and then. We exchanged pleasantries.
Sure, there are degrees of affections in friendships. But in the end, friendship is friendship, and it comes with duties, no matter how strong or weak the affection.
Duty called me toward him.
I went thinking we wouldn’t have much to talk about. It could be awkward. But I wanted at least to tell him how grateful I was for his friendship and how much I admired his work tending the small churches under his care.
I walked into his room. The man in the bed didn’t look like my friend. I assumed I was in the wrong place.
I asked a nurse. Yes, she said. That’s him.
I sat down by his bed. He breathed slowly, eyes closed. I couldn’t wake him.
I know that those who sleep on the threshold of death can still hear. So I held his hand and told him everything I had planned to say. Then I stayed for a while gazing on the sunken face that once smiled so cheerfully at me.
I no longer do “last rites.” But I kissed his forehead and offered him Bilbo Baggins’s blessing.
Wherever you fare, may you fare well.
My friend died the next day.
MY WIFE PAT (92) ENTERED HOME HOSPICE ON MONDAY. FAMILY HERE. SHE IS DOING WELL PHYSICALLY BUT BRAIN NOT KEEPING UP. MY MIND HAS ME THINKING A LOT AND GET MIXED UP WHEN PRAYING.
PEACE AND HEALTH, GEORGE
Dear George, May you and your family be blessed with comfort greater than your sorrow. May Pat be blessed with great peace and courage. Randy
She knows you are with her. For mom we played music and spoke to her even when she was not responding. Peace to you.
Doing the things we want to do least makes us the most human. I’m glad you visited your friend.
C.S. Lewis remarked, “Friendship…is born at the moment when one person says to another, ‘What! You too? I thought that no one but myself…'” In friendship, no matter what degree of affection, we share our common humanity and vulnerability. But we do more—we bless each other with care and grace. Thank you for sharing your touching story, one which in itself is a blessing in my day.
In my latter years I increasingly pay attention to weather reports, obituaries, and word about town of folks I know that have gone on or have one foot on the platform and one on the train.
Your human act of compassion brings forth the connection of us all. Compassion is a deep well from which to draw to share with those we know well, those we know in passing, and those living and dying an ocean away.
Thank you for sharing this wonderful very human story, for lighting dark places with the wonderful message: we all suffer and some things in life are hard but rewarding.
I lost a very close friend to breast cancer and I visited her in her final days. Like you I was struck by how haggard and different she looked. She could not speak but her husband said her reaction to my voice was very special. Your story touched my heart.
He was such a sweet and gentle man. He always filled our pulpit in Williamsport at Christmas and preached a great sermon! He will be missed.
I’d like to say I only regret the things I didn’t do. (It’s all in the framing.) But regret is something we should fear.
Thank you for your vivid description of feelings I have had in the past as well…
After 3 family hospice journeys, the process is more familiar and less complicated… I am in Morgantown with my friend, who is sitting with her mom in hospice care… and being here with them is important… connection, support & loving kindness – hospice is amazing; working to find how to reduce her pain – keep her comfortable in her final days & hours… mom calls them her angels…grateful for them😊💓
Thank you. Yours was a loving choice, among many. And aren’t we here to practice “doing” Love above all, for therein is Presence, Care, Compassion, and one of our greatest Truths–“You are not alone on this journey.” Perhaps your “reward” is “second breakfasts” with friends whose connection helps bear any burden, any grief. I trust the challenging visit with your friend was, for him, an eternal blessing and affirmation of his faith in humanity and in his god. Bilbo’s vulnerability fed Frodo’s courage.
Thank you for this reminder and of course, the nicest blessing of all.
Thanks for this, I was hunting for something sad to help my own sadness and this was it. But, like many things, it was both sad and lovely. Tearful and touching.
Thank you. Such a beautiful reminder to follow our hearts, even after doubts and dithering have prevailed. I’m glad you went to send this fellow off with a kiss and that lovely farewell. Bilbo Baggins says it best. Thanks also for the reminder that even while sleeping or seemingly unconscious, words and music are heard, hands are felt.
It’s always a tough call – to visit or not.
Michelle was not up for visitors, except for her Mom and for you when you would come by. That made me the bad guy with the rest of the family, as I was charged with keeping all others out.
On the other hand, my good friend Art’s nephew called Art when the nephew entered into hospice. He was calling everyone he knew to bid farewell and arrange visitors when possible.
Bottom line: before a visit it is always best to check with the caregiver, if known, to determine and respect the patient’s wishes.
Not a bad idea to reflect in advance what our own wishes would be when that inevitable time comes.
Thanks Steve, good experience-borne advice!
Oh – My Heart … I am so thankful I kept this to read later. You may know when we relocated here I was “chosen” to be a volunteer hospice worker. Mmmhum – as a volunteer various tasks include: sitting with a patient so the caregiver can go for appointments or groceries; collecting memories “legacy work” which is enjoyable; playing from the cell phone favorite music for the patient; reading their favorite book, Bible, magazine; holding their hand in the 11th hour and walking them through life’s passing.
Your sharing from your heart … I am giving you a “Lores Hug” – which, as you may recall, is intentionally long, meaningful, for we all are precious to hold and behold.
I have chosen to volunteer for hospice, and have been given my third patient. Because I’m not in a good place emotionally right now, I’ve hesitated. Thanks for helping me to remember it’s not about me.