A Sandwich at the Hospice Diner
You’re only as happy as your saddest child. You’ve heard that one before, for sure. There doesn’t appear to be an analogous version for how you feel in relation to your parents though. Not at any part of your life that I can think of at least. Maybe in your younger years it went something like you’re only as successful as your parents think you are. We Baby Boomers are famous for coming up with terms to describe our life stages, and then of course infamous for describing them as if we were the first generation in the history of mankind to experience them.
As if we are the first generation to ever find themselves the “filling” in the sandwich between our direct ancestors and our progeny.
With the exception of mass migration events (think northern movement of Black Americans from the Jim Crow south in mid-20th Century), it appears that we are the first generation to have chosen to follow our personal “destiny” and move away from our hometowns in numbers not common in prior generations. As such it’s kinda funny to listen to ourselves kvetch about how far away our children live from us. Especially once our children beget grandchildren! As an aside I like to think of my grandchildren as the “secret sauce” that makes my own little Sandwich Generation meal a bit more delicious. But in our present time, as we begin to exit the Sandwich when our parents take their ultimate leave, many of us face not only the emotions of watching ourselves become orphans, we also experience one more time the consequence of one of our great generational decisions: really leaving home.
In the past I’ve written countless words about how friendships and the blocking and tackling of maintaining a friendship have changed over the years of our lives. Sunday evening long-distance phone calls have become send a text and an ask if it’s OK to ring up a friend or family member. Letters and postcards migrated to email, and almost all long-form written communication was ultimately displaced by either the truncated convenience of text, Snap, and WhatsApp or the letters free images traded on Instagram. So very much easier, and yet so much less satisfying. The Chinese food of friendship: 30 minutes after modern communications are consumed you are “hungry” again.
Another quick aside: since it’s so very easy to connect with so little effort, if you don’t even make enough effort to order some Chinese takeout it stings. You don’t have to wait for Mother’s or Father’s Day to call your folks.
But that’s likely a rant for a different day. It’s the part of the Sandwich that’s going away that’s really on my mind today. My Mom, the last parent that Beth and I have left, transitioned from an assisted-living program to Hospice 2 weeks ago, a change that is at once both a respite and a clarion call for us all. I learned so very much about Hospice Care when I attended the first Ken Lee Memorial Lecture at my home hospital some years ago. What I learned, I have recently discovered, was only a small part of what Hospice means and what it is, and can be. The lecture was given by the head of Hospice Care at Dartmouth, an inpatient care paradigm provided within a large academic medical center. Subsequently we’ve known people who went “into” hospice–a literal move into a hospice facility–or had hospice care in the very last few days of life so that the passing might be peaceful.
What I’ve learned these last couple of weeks is that the concept of hospice care is much larger, much more inclusive, and consequently much more merciful to many more people. Mom simply moved 3 doors down, and family and staff welcomed a wave of additional support so that we might all, Mom and family, be more comfortable. At the same time I have learned of other family members and friends who are either in our shoes or on the cusp of lacing up to join us. It’s a good time to remind myself, and any of you should you so desire, that now is simply a time for love.
Allow me to once again channel my close friend Bill, the surgeon, to provide context for preparing for this stage, for the time when we are no longer the filling but have rather become the bread. Unlike me, an eye surgeon, Bill was a surgeon who operated on life-threatening illnesses and was therefore in a position to give counsel to both patients and families on end-of-life issues. Bill was surprised, always, at the heroic efforts family and friends made to be with the dying so that they might “make it right” before the end. He wasn’t quite sure which was the more heartbreaking scene, meeting those who didn’t make it “on time”, or those who did, only to find that the dying prevented any meaningful outcome other than “goodbye”.
The doctor from Dartmouth agreed. His counsel was that each of us should be prepared for either the departure of someone significant to us, or indeed, our own ultimate departure by saying at some point before the end these four things:
“I love you.”
“I’m sorry for anything that has hurt you.”
“I forgive you.”
“Thank you.”
If you have covered these bases there is peace to be found, for all of the things that YOU can say have been said. There may still be peace left unclaimed, of course, because those four statements are only half of the conversation. Someone may very well feel less at peace if they have not heard them back. If, for example, they have not heard a declaration of love. I have learned that peace in these circumstances my be a glass less than full, and I ache for those who find themselves with such a glass, one that they will seek to have filled until the very last moment that water may yet flow from the urn.
For me, for my siblings and our loved ones, for now we may each and all be comforted in the knowledge that my Mom is now under the care of lovely people who will see to it that however long is her remaining journey, her ride will be peaceful. Such is the gift of Hospice, for this will also bring us peace as we either ride shotgun or simply follow along. The menu is always the same at the Hospice Cafe. It’s always a sandwich, one that they handle with tenderness and compassion, hopeful that those who enter do so with as little hunger as possible.
It’s a place you can always come home to, no matter how far you’ve come, where love is always on the menu.
I’ll see you next week…
This entry was posted on Sunday, June 2nd, 2024 at 11:30 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
June 13th, 2024 at 5:47 am
So Beautifully written. Hospice, I’ve witnessed more times than I want to count for friends and for family. But at the tender age of 13, losing my own momma, to colon cancer in 1998 was traumatic. I don’t even know if Hospice was a thing at that time. She was in and out of comas. Moaning and trying to continue to fight to be here and be present for my sister (8) and myself. But as fate would have it, she left this earthly world to be with our Heavenly Father and most important to no longer suffer. I still have this memory etched in my brain where my grandpa, my mother’s father, whispered to me and said tell your mommy it’s okay to let go. You will be fine, we will protect you. I am balling as I type this. But at that moment I did as I was told and she peacefully went to be with the Lord. But it was hard, it’s still hard as a momma myself and as a 39 ya old adult. Saying Goodbye, has gotten in some sense of the words less painful with Hospice nearby.
Blessings to you and your family during this difficult time.