The following "great moments in hospice helping" are inspiring vignettes hospice workers have shared with me over the past two decades:

When a wife of a patient whose case I just opened, called the office after I left their home and told my supervisor "Thank you for sending us such a wonderful nurse." and who later told me "my husband didn't think he'd be able to share his death with anyone until he met you and now he can.."

One of the most touching experiences I've had in Hospice occurred one night in the Unit--an experience which touched my heart & soul in a way which I will remember my whole life long.  A rather young patient of ours had a real problem accepting his deteriorating condition and terminal diagnosis. He carried on with us and with his family as if "everything would be ok--and he was going to get better." Shortly before he lapsed into semi-consciousness, he told me how much he liked me and what a wonderful nurse I was. He then proceeded to cry out in anguish, "Make me better...do something...help me...I don't want to die." He sobbed afterwards, almost uncontrollably. I held him in my arms. I had to tell him that I couldn't make him well. At that moment I learned what "touching one's very soul" really meant.

Once in a while you experience a real connection with a patient. About a year ago, through an act of great silliness, I made a patient laugh. I found out later that he had never even smiled after he was diagnosed and that it was a real breakthrough for him. His wife said that I gave her husband back to her for the time he had left.

The most memorable experience I have had was working with a patient and family who very religious. I only worked with them one day and the patient was dying. Religious hymns were being played in the room and it was very beautiful. The family was all there at the bedside. As the time of death grew closer I asked the family if they wanted me to call a priest. The death was very beautiful and spiritual. The family all held hands at the bedside in silence. It was very moving. I felt honored to be a part of it. The family thanked me later for calling a priest which made me feel good that I had a small part in "making a difference" for them.

Upon entering the room of a patient who was very quiet and having extreme pain, she raised her arms to me and stated, "You are the sunshine in my life." This one simple sentence affected me more than the many gracious remarks we often bear.

One of my most treasured Hospice moments occurred in the inpatient unit. Upon observing a previously unresponsive, non-verbal patient tap her bed rail in time to a song, I handed her a tambourine. I continued to sing and play the guitar and the patient tapped the tambourine. I wished to share this moment with the unit nurse, but was unable to continue the music and also summon her. When I glanced over my shoulder at the door, the nurse had entered the room and was indeed a part of the experience.

The patient's wife was frightened about the moment of death and felt that even though she loved him and wanted to do what he wanted--to die at home--she couldn't keep him at home. It was several weeks before he died. He understood her fears and loved her even though she was afraid.  We spent long hours talking, sharing and supporting. She did it--he died at home and she was
happy.

I was called when an elderly patient was dying, at the bedside were six granddaughters standing around her bed--they had decided not to call their mother to come for her sake but would all stand together during those last hours. They were weeping. I suggested to them that since their grandmother could still hear and knew they were present that they should share some of the fun times they had with their grandmother through the years. For almost two hours they shared stories, laughing and crying together. I became part of their family and know that my being there made a difference!

When he was searching for a relationship with God yet cutting himself off from his children by not allowing them to visit, he revealed he had never told his adult children that he loved them.  Turning to me he said "You have to help me." Like helping a child I asked him to identify which child was easiest to talk with. Then having named one I guided him to say "-----I love you."  Repeating 4 times (for each child) I guided him, and made a plan. He told them (each child) of his love the day before he died.

I visited a man in his 20's, dying of brain cancer, and he shared his deep feelings and his faith with me in a powerful way. I was able to share words of encouragement with him, my own feelings, and we prayed together. When he tearfully (but with a smile on his face) said to me that he knew I'd been sent to him by the Lord, I knew I was in the right place at the right time, doing what I was supposed to be doing.

A nurse shared five ways she made a difference: Got a pain med, desperately needed--when it seemed hopeless; Someone trusted in me when it was hard for them to trust in anyone;   Developed a cleansing DSO procedure a family had been requesting for years; Helped a family sort their feelings about choices; Listened when no one would.

Having a patient dying of cancer who was also a mental patient who spent the last night of her life asking me about having a husband and children. I had never been able to understand mental illness (never had enough patience for it) but from her I understood how she wanted to be "normal" but just could not always do it.

I had become close to the patient and the family when the patient needed to be hospitalized. She lingered and finally after not speaking for approximately 2 hours, she asked for me. I was not on call but she wanted me. I went and she said, "I'm in pain--please do something." I arranged for her to have Morphine and she died 45 minutes later. The family was so grateful they asked me to speak at her funeral. It was an honor and a privilege to know and interact with this patient and family.

I was on call and received a call from a family who had been with us only a week. I stayed with them for 5 hours while the patient was actively dying. His wife, 2 sons and their wives, and his grandchildren, were all there. They reminisced and shared stories. I felt "This is what it is all about. I hope I can have such an experience when I die."

One person died within minutes of my arrival. She acknowledged my presence with a smile,
then died. Her family told me that she was waiting for me.

A bereaved person came to the office, unannounced, saying, "I need help." She had been
grieving for several months, was pushing herself to go to college, while holding two part-time jobs, and impatient that her "superwoman" efforts were not hurrying the process. After 2.5 hours of talking, listening mostly, and holding her while she wept and was angry, she smiled and said "I'm going to make it."

Your own "greatest moment" can go here:


Reflect for a moment on the most positive moment you have ever had as a helper or caregiver--a time when you've felt "This is why I'm doing this." I encourage you to keep a journal in which you record this experience and other critical moments on your helping journey.