Recently I had a young patient assigned to me who had a beautiful two-year-old son. Sadly, this patient was not in our care long. Caring for this patient and her family was difficult, and it reminded me of how life can change in an instant. After I left her home for the last time, I found myself at home charting clinical notes on my sofa with my 16-year-old daughter sitting next to me telling me about her day, excited by life and wanting to share every detail of her day with me. At that moment, I felt so blessed that I was able to be with my daughter the last 16 years and God willing many more years ahead.
Anyone who has lost a loved one or is caring for the dying knows that support and connecting with people who “get it” are the keys to finding strength.
My father was the strongest man I ever knew. A WWII hero, he rarely talked about his plane going down in the Philippines but when I moved him out of his apartment into the first of many nursing homes, I found the NY Times article from 1942 that told about the accident. “Henry G. Jackson is credited with saving the lives of the whole crew,” it said. Next to the article is a picture of him, 18 years old, beaming in his Marine uniform.
I learned to celebrate life on my brother’s last day on earth. He had pancreatic and colon cancer. I walked into his room at the hospice suite in the hospital and there was someone sitting with him. I had no idea who this man was, but his presence and peacefulness told me all would be well.