Death is Not Something to Fear

I often avoid writing about my work as a hospice volunteer, and especially avoid talking about death. Many people are afraid of the topic, or find it unpleasant, and don’t want to face the reality: we are all going to die. Death also ensures pain and loss, which families dread experiencing. Religions have provided ways to help the faithful deal with the concept of death. Of course, acknowledging a concept and embracing the reality are not necessarily the same thing. So, generally, family members of the patient often try to avoid the topic of death. Period.

As a hospice volunteer of over 20 years, I have experienced death in many forms; prior to volunteering, I also witnessed the passing of my parents. The one helpful factor that has struck me is the ability to accept the inevitable: we are all going to die. This truth shows up with the patients as well as the soon-to-be bereaved. And we all have various ways to move through the pain and sorrow, especially when we recognize that life will eventually greet us once more.

Part of my commitment to hospice is due to my belief that no one should die alone, and the families should be comforted. Most of the time, the patients are supported by their families; depending on the relationships, however, some families are in denial of the inevitable. The difficulty for patients is that family denial sends the message that death is a forbidden topic of conversation. Yes, there are wonderful chaplains who can provide solace for everyone. But if patients are on the brink of death, and their families won’t acknowledge that fact, family members may not realize that they are intensifying the pain and fear of the patient by ignoring the obvious outcome. There are patients who choose not to discuss their impending death, and we should honor that, but in a sense, death can be their friend. If they have faith practices, they can be reassured about life after death, and they will finally be free of their pain.

At this point in my volunteer career, I have been making bereavement calls. (I’ve written about this previously.) Three to four weeks after a patient dies, I call the bereaved. I tell the person that I’m calling to “check up on how they’re doing.” Somehow this phrase seems to open the door to our conversation. I only have about five questions to ask (since the form I complete includes information that the person might offer voluntarily). Over time, I have become more comfortable with the process, and listen to what the bereaved is not saying: are they still deeply suffering? Are they uncomfortable with my questions? (In which case we discontinue the process.) I always ask permission to ask questions, indicating it will only take one or two minutes; by putting the decision in their hands, people are often positively responsive. My call is also an opportunity to offer the services of a bereavement counselor; many times, when a person has a rich support system, including a church family, they decline asking for a counselor. They can always change their minds down the road; the offer stays open.

Lately, I’ve been pleased that the connections are sometimes warm and joyful. They may not talk about the deceased person, but will often mention that they know the person is in a “better place” or the patient’s suffering is over; that thought gives them great comfort. No matter, I try to meet them right where they are: if they want to keep the conversation short, that’s fine. If they want to tell me some stories, that’s fine, too. In those moments I try to be fully present and engaged. And frequently they make a point of thanking me for checking in on them.

When I tell people I’m a hospice volunteer, their reactions are intriguing. I think most of them think that hospice is a frightening or negative experience; people often say, Oh, I could never do that kind of work. I don’t know what they think they will encounter, but it likely has something to do with death. I tell them my role is rewarding and inspiring and a blessing.

After all, we all have one thing in common: we’re all, one day, going to die.