Living Spirituality in Hospice Care

People never really know when they’re going to die. But as a hospice nurse, I’ve seen the signs when someone is close to death. The gentleman I cared for had arrived at that point and I knew it wouldn’t be much longer. His family was there and soft music echoed through the room. I gently held his hand and prayed with him. From time to time, I combed his hair and straightened his sheets.

Meanwhile, his wife, beautifully stressed, was sitting across the room with a stoic expression on her face. She hadn’t touched him in the forty-five minutes I was there, but I could tell how much she deeply loved him. She had told me stories of their children and grandchildren and the deep love they had for each other. Her eyes would light up when she spoke of him and of their life together.

But nothing can truly prepare you for that moment. She’d ask me, “What do I do? I haven’t done this before.” And I would simply respond, “Whatever you feel like you need to do. There are no right answers.” The family would talk among each other but even when she was conversing, her gaze never left him.

The chaplain knocked gently on the door and entered, as I faded into the background of the room. I wanted him to have the full attention of the room and this is where a life-changing experience would begin for me.

The chaplain began to pray with the family, and one could feel the serene peace of the entire room. After praying, he started to sing “How Great Thou Art”. The love you could feel in that room was overwhelming. There’s no doubt in my mind that God was present at that moment. The tears were flowing and his wife, tissue in hand, started to move cautiously toward the hospital bed.

She made herself a little space to sit next to him. She held one of his hands and brushed his hair back with the other hand. I felt so much emotion and choked back tears. His breath slowed down and hers quickened. The music faded out and it became silent. That was his last breath — as if he had been waiting patiently for her before he passed.

That happened several months ago, but I still think of it as if it were yesterday. No one defines what makes a “beautiful memory” but I feel that this was one. It has depth, breadth and sorrow and compassion — these are the moments that make what I do so important to me.