THE LAST

Anne, one of our hospice nurses, died suddenly yesterday. Anne suffered from fibromyalgia; a syndrome where people experience chronic, body-wide muscle and joint pain. Anne had flare-ups over the years with her disease. She had just recently returned to work after being off for a while due to increasing pain. Due to her pain, she could no longer do home visits, but helped out in the office.

Four days ago, when I saw Anne for the first time in a while, we stopped and talked. She spoke of the frustrations of her disease and the pain she endured. She was unable to live her life the way she had hoped because of her disease.

She spoke about the difficulty of living with so many limitations due to the pain she was experiencing. She did not want to live the way she was living.

Her sudden death shocked the hospice office. Her disease was chronic, not terminal. It makes one stop and become aware of how precious life is and how, in a blink of an eye, it can all be taken away.

The following poem is about my last conversation with Anne. At the time, I did not know how profound that discussion would be.


THE LAST


We talked just the other day.
I didn't know it would be the last.
We spoke of life and expectations.
How best to handle the cards we are dealt.

She talked about her illness.
How she somehow had no control.
The limitations; the frustrations.
The chronic pain which slowed her down.

She wanted to live her life.
She wanted to do her work.
She struggled with unanswered questions,
while her faith remained steadfast and strong.

I listened and offered support.
There wasn't much else I could do.
She said she never wanted to live this way.
"If it is so, then I am ready to go."

I shared my thoughts on life's mysteries,
hoping she knew she was never alone.
We gave each other a goodbye hug.
I never thought it would be the last.