Hospice Humor

We've received overwhelming support since we announced on Facebook that Dave is on hospice care. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this blog. It’s quite therapeutic writing it.

Reasonably, people assume we are in a perpetual state of sadness. At the beginning it was hard, but right now it isn’t so bad. Really. We’ve had plenty of time to process and prepare for the inevitable. Dave has asked us to save our tears until we need them. “Right now, help me celebrate life.”

When Dave started hospice, we thought the end was nigh. He made his bucket list. Within a few weeks Dave had asked six friends to be pallbearers and chose music for the celebration of life service.

I made a mad dash to Magnolia’s Cottage to pick out clothes for the visitation and service. I told the store clerk, “I have 15 minutes. Please help me pick out two outfits.” In 20 minutes, I was out the door with two pairs of dressy caprices, two blouses, a necklace, chunky sandals, and a purse. Well, I guess I better now go shopping for pants and closed-toe shoes. It may be after the snow flies that we say the final goodbye. I told Dave to start working on his Christmas list.

It took a little longer to meet with good old Augie, long-time family friend and funeral director. Can you imagine doing funerals when you’re 86? Augie has kept count—20,000 funerals in his lifetime. Talk about commitment to your work.

I tried going through pictures to print for the visitation. That was too emotional. I’m giving that task to our kids.

After all necessary prep was done, I offered to make Dave’s favorite comfort food his mom made when he was a kid. Dave keeps adding to the list. He’s gained 30 pounds (with the help of being on steroids) and me 10 (I have no excuse). Dave said he looked at himself and said his cheeks look like a basset hound’s. That’s the steroids.

At the beginning when Dave napped quietly in his chair, I’d watch his chest to see if it was moving. A few times, he sensed me standing there, opened his eyes, looked at me and said dryly, “I’m still alive.”

Lately, I gently touch his shoulder or hand as I walk by. One day he rolled his eyes and said, “You’re making me feel like you’re going to start shaking me and shout ‘Annie, Annie, are you okay??” Oh, boy.

So, here we are. It’s kind of like being in labor before delivering a baby. How long is this going to go on?

Kay, Dave’s hospice nurse, has been very helpful in answering my questions. She’s had 25 years’ experience in hospice care. She’s much like me. Our humor could seem to others to be a little macabre (depicting horrifying things related to death. The American pronunciation is “muh-ka-bruh, just in case you probably didn’t want to know).  

But, what do you do? Humor helps with anything, even at end of life.

I asked Kay how people react to knowing they are going to die. She says it is different for everybody, but she’s noticed for those with faith, it is much easier. There is peace in dying.

I guess that is why we are doing okay.

One day, Dave isn’t going to wake up. I’ll deal with that particular sorrow when the time comes. Right now, we’re concentrating on living.