Dad Update #6: “Bedside Manners”

Of Hospice and Poetry—all is right with the world.

If we HAVE to be in this space with Dad right now, and yes, we have to (Dementia is mandating that), then all IS right with the world.

With gratitude, we have allowed ourselves to fall gently into the hands and hearts of the supportive staff of EvergreenHealth Hospice. We have been in awe of not only the resources that have now become available, but more importantly the people who have dedicated their lives in service to the patients and families at the threshold before Death. We’ve only just begun Dad’s Hospice journey but already I can share that I don’t think I’ve experienced a group that is more compassionate and responsive within the professional healthcare system. We asked the Universe and the Universe responded by sending us new members of our family who will now support us in supporting Dad on the final leg of his Journey Home.

Synchronicity.

Less than 16 hours had elapsed since Tatek, our intake RN, met Dad to establish the proper care that needed to be implemented when we received both a comfort care medicine kit and new hospital bed. We’ve moved Dad to a new bedroom in our home where Trevor and I set up a new space that better accommodated a bed that will allow Dad to be so much more comfortable.

That is now the one and only priority we have and are dedicated to: Dad’s comfort.

So Dad is settled into his new space; we are settled into our new spaces feeling the foundation and comfort of Hospice. No one can tell us “how much longer?” We haven’t asked; we won’t ask; and, it simply doesn’t matter. We have THIS moment, and this is all we need. Dad continues to rest in peace as we sit bedside holding his hands and arms, rubbing his head, kissing his cheek and forehead, and telling him we love him. Often we get a whispered “I love you too.”

We are leaning fully into this dying process with Dad. He is showing all the classic signs of active dying—drastic weight loss, longer periods of deep sleep, dreaming out loud, no appetite (oh okay, he’s still asking for ice cream but these requests are dwindling and he doesn’t eat very much of it), reduced output of urine and bowel movements, gaunt features, sporadic pulse and body temperatures, fluid build up in the lungs, and the dreaded aspirations. Of any of his symptoms right now, for me, those damn aspirations are the most unsettling. Those are the only moments when I feel completely helpless. But our visit with Nurse Sheila, our Hospice nurse today, answered our questions—we now know what to do if Dad is ever distressed.

And then, yes, even now, the beautiful moments happen—some all on their own, some when we are looking for them, and some unexpectedly from Dad, even at 3 a.m. in the morning: “Will you hold my hand?”

We do.

Speaking of bedsides and synchronicity: While Trevor sat “first shift” with Dad in his new room (I take the second night shift), I was heading to bed Saturday night but on a whim picked up my copy of “Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems” (Cole-Dai and Wilson, eds. Grayson Books, 2017.) and turned to a page I had flagged I don’t know how many months ago—certainly much longer than Dad’s been with us. I had even forgotten I flagged this poem. Here’s what I read at the end of a very impactful day last night before “sleep”:

Bedside Manners 

How little the dying seem to need—
A drink perhaps, a little food,
A smile, a hand to hold, medication,
A change of clothes, an unspoken
Understanding about what's happening.
You think it would be more, much more,
Something more difficult for us
To help with in this great disruption,
But perhaps it's because as the huge shape
Rears up higher and darker each hour
They are anxious that we should see it too
And try to show us with a hand-squeeze.

We panic to do more for them,
And especially when it's your father,
And his eyes are far away, and your tears
Are all down your face and clothes, 
And he doesn't see them now, but smiles
Perhaps, just perhaps because you're there.
How little he needs. Just love. More Love.

~ Christopher Wiseman

Now I know why I flagged that poem—for THIS moment. Truer words have never been written.

Synchronicity.

Love, Always Love.

We love you have come to love our Dad. This is very easy to do.

🙏🏼

Kert

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PS: Today is March 5th. Our mom was born on March 6th. Mom died March 8, 2016. Yes, I’m wondering….