I was still a little flustered over missing my bus when I stepped into the hospice unit for my very first day of volunteering. After introducing myself to the nurses, I began working through the list of activities outlined for volunteers to complete and quickly settled into the homey environment of the unit. About halfway into my shift when I was restocking the gloves, one of the nurses approached me and asked if I would like to feed one of the patients. I jumped at the opportunity. Patient interaction was what I was there for.
The nurse and I walked into the room carrying the patient’s lunch of macaroni and cheese, fruit salad, chocolate milk, and vanilla pudding. He awoke from his nap with a smile that illuminated his bright, blue eyes and greeted us in a thick Eastern European accent. The nurse showed me what size bites were most comfortable for him to eat, and how to hold the cup and straw to help him drink. Then she left us alone to chat.
At first, we made small talk. We talked about the weather, where I went to school, and where he was from in Eastern Europe. Between bites, our conversation began to steer towards more serious topics. He told me how he came to America as a young man because he wanted more than his hometown had to offer. He told me about his relationship with his wife and how much he loved her. Then he told me that he had not always been a good man; that he had been a bully. He said he had not always treated the people in his life as he should have. I told him those actions were in the past and that he was a sweet man now. I told him that was what mattered.
Our conversation lulled as he chewed his macaroni. He swallowed, took and deep breath, and closed his eyes. I did not know what to expect. Was he about to cry? Was he going to yell? Was something going to happen that someone with minimal medical training was not equipped to handle? He opened his mouth, and to my surprise, out came song. His body was frail, but his voice was strong. It took me a few moments to realize that he was singing in Ukrainian. Though I could not understand what he was saying, it was clear from his passion and the melodies that he was singing hymns he learned long ago. He raised his thin arms over his head as he hit his last note. Such an outpouring of emotion must have drained all his energy. Soon he was fast asleep.
I sat in the chair next to his bed for a few minutes processing the beauty of what I just witnessed. Realizing that I should probably return to my other volunteer duties, I quietly covered his food, and tip-toed towards the door. I looked back at him before I left the room. His face looked more peaceful than it did when I first walked in. All I hope is that my presence helped give his last days just a little bit of extra closure. My heart smiled as I walked out the door.