One of the volunteers at hospice wrote a poem about what hospice work means to her. In the poem she writes of golden moments. I really like that—because there are golden moments that happen—and when they do, you feel as if you have been transported to a place that is not of this earth.
I recently had one such golden moment…
Therapy dog, Frankie in tow, perched in her doggie car seat; we made our way to hospice for a visit this past Friday.
With hospice visits there are many unknowns, and you never know what the time spent there will bring.
After getting a list of patients, I decided I really wanted to visit with Lucy again. We had visited her twice before this point, and it has been interesting learning about her life.
It is hard for me to say how old Lucy is, but if I had to guess I’d say she is in her late 70’s, early 80’s. From what I have learned in visiting with her and talking with her daughter on our last visit, Lucy’s whole life was raising her family. Her husband was controlling, so she did the best she could. The degree of control, I do not know, but I sense it was a different time, and it was the way it was then.
Lucy now living out the last stage of her life has found some freedom, her husband having passed away before her. She is finding great joy in giving. Something she was not able to do before.
As Frankie and I visited with her on Friday we talked about writing, as she knows I’ve written children’s books. She also told me that she would be leaving on Monday. She would be going to a new hospice closer to her daughter in another state.
She had some journals sitting beside her as we spoke. I commented, “What a pretty journal.”
She picked up the journal and began thumbing through it. Her glasses hung around her neck on a thin beaded gold chain. She looked outside and with her attention out on the blossoming summer grounds as she said, “I wrote a poem for my grandchildren. Do you want to hear it?”
I said, “Lucy, I would love that.”
She placed her glasses upon her nose and with great care began turning the pages of her journal again. She stopped when she found the page, slowly folded the journal cover back, leaned forward and handed me the poem titled, “Chirpy the Chipmunk.”
Lucy said, “I was thinking of Frosty the Snowman the other day and saw this chipmunk running outside and this poem came to me. I wrote it to the song of Frosty the Snowman.”
As I writer, I know how hard it is when you are first starting out, to share your work. It’s as if you are exposing yourself, every flaw, every mistake, out there for others to see- and every feeling you’ve ever felt. It’s not an easy thing to do.
I took that knowingness and read each word of Lucy’s poem out loud with gratefulness that she was sharing her work with me. As I read the poem, and was in the moment of what I felt was a blossoming for Lucy, I realized I was in a golden moment of being a volunteer with hospice. Knowing this was occurring, I relished in each glorious minute of being a part of Lucy’s last words and last days. To be in this moment with her, was a gift, like no other.
After I got done reading I said, “Lucy, this is absolutely wonderful. What a beautiful gift for your grandchildren to have from you.”
Lucy said, “You really think so?”
“Absolutely,” I said. I asked her if she had ever wanted to be a writer, and she said she had thought about it at one point. I tried to not react to the sadness of knowing she never became a writer, but instead realized she was now exploring it, and no matter her length of time still here, she was writing.
“Would you like a copy for yourself” Lucy said.
I said, “I would be so honored.” I shared with her how I have a journal where I keep quotes, saying and poems, and I would put it her poem in that journal. I also told her I would always treasure it. She pressed her help button and when the nurse came she asked her to make five copies of the poem.
When the nurse returned, Lucy took one of the copies, and with pen in hand signed it to me and Frankie. She wrote, “God Bless You and Frankie.”
I was unsure of what else to say after that, but realized at times there is no need for words. It is a time to soak in the golden moment and take it with you as you move forward.
As Frankie and I got up to leave, I walked over to Lucy and asked if I could give her a hug. I kissed her on the cheek and hugged her close. Before I left I said, “I will keep you in my heart, Lucy. Keep on writing. You are really good.”
She smiled and said, “Thank you.”
With Frankie rolling beside me, I felt like I was floating out of Lucy’s room—floating on a moment of golden sunshine that will be mine forever.
God Bless You, Lucy.
The name of the hospice patient has been changed to protect her privacy.