DAUGHTER-MOM

The hospice nurse and I went out to admit "Kevin" to our hospice program. Kevin, who is only fifty-six, was diagnosed with brain cancer six years ago. Kevin has been married thirty years to his wife, "Pam". Kevin and Pam have two daughters. Their eldest daughter, "Julie" has two daughters also. Julie's daughter are aged eleven and nine years old.

We met with the patient, his wife and two daughters, in the family room. Julie's two daughters were sitting at the kitchen table in the next room. Kevin slept in his recliner chair throughout most of the Admission Visit. Pam shared that Kevin is a strong man and fought his disease so hard. He has outlived his doctor's estimation.

Kevin and the family found out three days ago that there is no further treatment available to help him. It appears that Kevin has started to slowly let go. He has been in a rapid decline these past few days where he is sleeping more, eating less and weaker. His family is appropriately struggling with this rapid decline.

We could see the two granddaughters sitting at the kitchen table from where we were in the family room. Julie frequently would look at her two daughters with such sadness. She left the room a few times to check on her daughters throughout the visit. Julie is struggling with her grief, but is so much more focused on her daughters. She is as much a daughter as she is a Mom.

Grief is so powerful that is hard for any of us to ignore. I am sure Julie was so torn between her grief and her daughter's grief. Julie asked if I could talk with her daughters; which I was honored to do. Her parting words were such a beautiful gift in return. This experience is such an amazing example of why I do what I do. When one gives from the heart, it is so profoundly returned a thousand fold. All I can say is also a quiet, "Thank You."


DAUGHTER/MOM　

She has always been a devoted daughter.
Loving her parents with all of her heart.
Now that her dad is imminent; is dying,
her feelings of loss are so painfully strong.

He's been sick for a long time,
fighting his illness with all that he had.
But now he has told them,
"I am tired. I don't want to get beat up".

They know he is ready to go.
She sees her two young daughters
with tears flowing down their cheeks.
She knows they are grieving "Papa".

Her need to help them remains strong.
I sat down with the two young girls
offering comfort and support.
They stared at me so intently
wanting to know what to do.

'Papa is giving you time to tell him
what you would like for him to hear."
"I would say I love you Papa.
He would always make me laugh."

When asked do you have any concerns,
her younger sister, wise beyond her nine years,
with tears slowly flowing down said,
"I don't want him in any pain."

I listened; I normalized; I validated.
I so hoped I helped them both.
Their Mother, also a daughter,
is primarily focused on caring for them.

As I was walking out the front door,
Mom looked at me so kindly.
With a soft voice from deep in her heart
she quietly said, in such a profound way,
          "Thank you."