For the past few months, my partner Gavin and I spent our Sunday mornings visiting our hospice patient, Lela. She lived at home under the care of her husband. They lived in a quiet, homey neighborhood located a little over twenty minutes from campus. I vividly remember our first visit. It was early January and the roads were covered in snow from the snowstorm the night before. Pulling up to their house, Gavin and I waddled towards the door with our snow coats and boots. Lela’s husband greeted us warmly, welcoming us into his home. He walked us over to the living room, where Lela was, laying in bed. She was asleep, surrounded by pictures of children and grandchildren. I remember smiling, thinking about how she reminds me of my own grandmother.
I was also a bit upset, seeing that Lela looked exhausted. Her husband told me that she was not allowed to leave her bed; in fact, she could not even shift in bed without assistance. She was unable to feed herself because it was too painful and exhausting for her to move her arms around; she needed assistance with every basic necessity—eating, drinking, going to the bathroom, blowing her nose, sometimes she needed to be reminded to swallow, etc. It was heartbreaking to witness. However, her husband remained upbeat as he told us how we should feed Lela and where things are around the house. Lela was coming in and out of consciousness, but he still talked to her as if she were fully there. From the way he spoke and looked at her, it was evident as to how much he loved her. I gained an incredible respect for him; I remember wondering what it would be like to be in his position, to watch your spouse go through the dying process. I felt empathy for him. I realized just how much the family members are affected by the pain and fears of the dying process.
When Gavin and I were watching over Lela, she slept for the majority of the time. Towards the last twenty minutes of our visit, however, a wave of responsiveness came over her. She turned her head towards the both of us and began speaking. Lela was very funny, cracking jokes about her hairball of a cat. She also insisted on telling us about her life. She lived her whole life in that town. She spoke fondly of her grandchildren and asked us what our families were like. I appreciated how open she was with us and felt fortunate to get to know her, even if it was a short conversation. Lela passed away during my spring break. It still feels surreal that she is no longer with us. I feel very lucky to have met her vibrant personality.
Through meeting Lela and her husband, I feel that I have gained a new perspective on life. I have begun to realize just how unimportant previous stressors in my life really are. We are given just one life—it is vital that we cherish it. Close relationships with others are what make life so meaningful. Even though it seems like a scary time, I have learned that the dying process can bring out the best in people.