Working at a hospice confronts losses, especially seeing the passage of your newly made friends. However, I firmly believe that the gains in experience far outweigh these losses. The relationships are always calm and friendly between the volunteers and patients and require input from both the patient and the volunteer. I have had many friendships in the past one and a half years, and they include guidance, casual, trusting, and listening. Through these relationships, I became more aware of the signs of death’s approach. Usually, they reflect in the patients’ conversations as confusion, loss of energy, and difficulty expressing themselves. I’ve spent time with a patient in prolonged unconscious states, providing companionship during their final moments. This experience gives me time to personally reflect on what life means and what relationships should be. It made me think that death is merely another phase, as the memories of those we love remain unchanged. Besides patient interactions, I got a booklet from the hospice center that writes about different symptoms that are seen in patients and ways to encourage them in nonverbal interactions. In addition, the training from the hospice center is very helpful in learning about the tips to interact with patients, such as putting your hand beneath theirs, and gently rubbing their hand with your thumb. Nevertheless, there are inevitable moments of regret as I realize another friend of mine has passed away. I remember that I met a patient four times in my visits, and learned that he had been in the army and traveled to many different places, at last settling in Maryland. He loves drawing and has many coloring books, but his hand reaches slowly, so I would sort out the coloring pencils for him to pick. As I attempted to make a fifth visit to him, I noticed his door was shut, and the nurse told me it was better not to disturb him. Thinking he may be having an early sleep, I didn’t think about it further and went to visit another patient. However, after two weeks in the next time I visited, I noticed the patient already changed in the room he used to stay. A sense of sorrow and regret surged up in my heart, and I thought only if I came last week, or came earlier in my previous visits, and now it is too late. These experiences repeat in hospice; one time I may say “I will visit you next time”, but the next time they may already be gone. From this, I’ve learned to treasure these interactions and constantly remind myself to preserve the memories of each individual’s unique personality and life story. I especially like the quote of Ernest Hemingway and it has helped me through the losses: “Every man has two deaths, when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name. In some ways men can be immortal.” This perspective helps me navigate through grief, knowing that as long as I remember them, they will continue to live on within my memories.