I was nervous. I had never been this close to someone who was about to die. I introduced myself, but the patient was non-responsive. I told her that I was going to sit with her and that I would stay for a few hours. As I sat down, I noticed her breathing–it was irregular, and each breath sounded like she was slowly and painfully drowning. Almost trying to distract myself from her breathing, I studied her face. The structure of her face–her jaw- and cheekbones–was well defined. My eyes wandered from her head to her shoulders and along her arms, and then I saw her hands.
In that moment, I knew the right thing to do. I reached out and held her hand. Its radiating warmth surprised me. I had expected her be cold, an embodiment of her appearance. I continued to sit with her. I fidgeted a bit. I got up and fetched some lotion and smoothed it onto her hands. I sat back down and again took her hand in mine.
I turned to study her face again, and I saw something different this time: I saw the face of my grandmother. I thought about this woman’s family, who could not be here, and I thought about how much love they surely had for her. With those thoughts, in that moment, I loved her as a grandchild might love her.
This experience was a memorable part of my work as a volunteer for a program called No One Dies Alone, which was created to ensure that hospitalized patients can have a volunteer sit with them during their waning hours or days of life.
Prior to this experience–whether it was teaching my favorite sport, basketball, to a team of ninth-graders or working as an EMT in the emergency room–I had found meaning in improving others’ health or helping others achieve a goal. My experience with this program, however, was different. Through it, my perception of what it means to give care was completely transformed.
During this experience, I found meaning in simply approaching a patient with care and compassion. The fact that I could be a part of the team caring for this woman in her final hours gave me great pride. I knew that I was not helping to save her life, but I was able to provide care at a critical and difficult moment–and in that I found meaning.
Alexander Gunn
Durham, North Carolina
1 thought on “Learning the Meaning of Care”
Thank you Alexander for this meaningful account of accompanying the dying. It should give the family much solace to know their loved one did not die alone . What an incredible gift this volunteer organization provides.