After years of witnessing my father’s physical decline, my three brothers and I tried to encourage our mom to look into nursing home facilities or other forms of help to come to the house.
Both were far too expensive.
Yet the constant caregiving was really taking a toll on our mom, a woman 13 years his senior but also a cancer survivor with many of her own medical problems. Growing up in a Greek community, I’ve seen other women struggle with putting their spouse in the care of others, feeling it is just too emotional. So, we simply tried to support her the best we could — until things took a turn about a year ago.
My dad was not doing well
Last summer, my kids and I traveled south to visit my family. My mom warned me on the phone, saying, “Dad really isn’t doing well.” Historically, I’d heard her say this a lot, so I figured it would be more of the same — Dad struggling to walk or even get up on his own.
What I found was much worse. Not only was my dad in physically awful shape, but he would barely eat. Rather, he had no desire to eat.
If you know any Greek people in your life, this is not normal. He also could do nothing on his own. At one point, my 13-year-old son, now stronger than me, had to help my older brother pick my dad up off the floor. This seemed to be it. So, as the little sister, I took it upon myself to call his primary doctor and ask about what was only inevitable — home hospice.
Hospice positively surprised me
I called the local hospice business, and they came by that same evening. The nurse spent hours with us, conducting the onboarding process. My mom, the nurse, and I sat around the table while the nurse asked us questions about my dad’s health — what he could do on his own, and what his daily life looked like. What started off as a pretty tense and emotional time ended with our frayed nerves coming together. I quickly learned that watching your loved one fade is terrifying, but can also be loving and beautiful. Putting this into action, however, was a little harder.
My dad was a fighter. So, when he grew weak (and stubborn), my brothers and I wanted to push his will a bit. But the first day the hospice nurse came to the house, I realized that the end of his life should be about one thing — gentleness.
A smiling woman came to our house the next day to meet my dad, and we had him in a chair, strapped in. We didn’t want him to fall, so this felt like the safest option. The nurse immediately saw how frustrated our dad was and said, “Hey there, honey. You look uncomfortable. Why don’t we get you onto the couch?” Humbled, I immediately felt like a giant jerk, but also saw how this game was supposed to be played.
The dying get what they want because that’s how the end of life should be. If my dad wanted chocolate pudding for breakfast, sure. If he wanted to drink half a beer with one of his sons, why not?
Insurance covered the cost of hospice
There were other parts of the hospice that surprised me, too. For starters, it’s free. What an absolute relief. Families caring for a loved one don’t need stacks of bills piling up during the most difficult time of their lives. Insurance, thankfully, covers hospice entirely. So, we had one less worry.
I also envisioned home hospice setting up shop in my parents’ house, but that’s not how it is at all. The nurse came about twice a week to check vitals and to simply see how he was doing overall. Essentially, they do this to see how one’s decline is — if it’s speeding up and if the end of life truly is around the corner. These visits last only about 30 minutes. Two other days a week, a nurse’s aide would come to the house to clean my dad. This took a big burden off my mom, who was doing round-the-clock care.
My dad ended up being a bit of a trickster. Last Fourth of July, I thought he had about a week left. He started showing some signs of the end of life, like pinching the blankets around him and grasping at the air above him. His appetite decreased even more, and his overall will, well, vanished. But he ended up living another nine months.
I will never forget his primary nurse tenderness
In the end, my dad went fast and furious. In his last few days, the hospice nurses delivered the news that he was, in fact, dying. During his final hour, we frantically called the primary nurse for help, and despite it not being her night on call, she headed over at 9:30 p.m. anyway. I will never forget her tenderness.
As we thanked our nurse endlessly, her response each and every time was, “It’s been an honor to care for your father and your family.” And the best part? We believed her.
In the days and even weeks that followed, this same nurse would send me texts to check in to see how we were holding up. She came to our dad’s visitation and wept at his casket. To say hospice nurses are angels would be an understatement. Our family is forever grateful for their tenderness during the most difficult time in our lives.
