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| Carillion Roanoke Memorial Hospital |
My dad taught me a lot during his life. He was old school and passed on important values about right and wrong, how to shake hands with another man, and the importance of setting the hook properly when fishing. But probably the most important thing he passed along was the importance of being present for others in their hour of need, especially if they are hospitalized, and most especially if they are elderly and approaching the end of life.
He taught me this not by talking about it, but by doing it. Many times, he would bring me along for brief periods of time. I particularly remember visits with my older relatives when they were sick or dying, and the compassion he showed in trying to make them comfortable or just listening when they wanted to talk. He always made sure they knew they weren’t alone, and he’d be there for them even if the going got rough.
I knew instinctively that the love and support that he showed were a few steps beyond what people normally did. He was almost kind of a Shaman for our family and the community around the old neighborhood where he grew up. He took calls in the middle of the night like a priest, and he’d put on his clothes and leave until the next day. Even as a youngster, I understood. He never hesitated and never showed any fear, even when the person he saw was potentially contagious. It was his calling.
As I grew to be a man, I realized that it was my calling as well. There was never any question, and I started receiving calls that my dad used to receive. I realized that there was much to be gained and much to be learned as I got used to it. There is a special bond of trust that forms when someone entrusts you with their care in such situations. Sometimes you just listen to stories, memories or regrets. Sometimes you provide forgiveness or closure. Sometimes you just hold hands or give them space. Whatever the case, I always feel like I received the bigger portion of the blessings by being a part of their life during that difficult time.
I had the privilege to do this for Dad in the last weeks of his life. I received a call on Christmas evening in 1989. Dad was in the hospital, and I needed to fly home. In the next few days, we found out he had terminal liver cancer. After a couple blood transfusions, he was discharged. We sold his house and moved him to Virginia to live with me. He passed away on February 23rd of 1990 with me at his side. It was a challenging but very special time for both of us, an experience I’d never trade away.
For the past few years, I’ve been privileged to be with my mother-in-law Alice for many doctor visits and long hospital stays. We have that special bond of trust that develops, and she knows she can count on me to advocate for her, listen or just hold her hand when she's afraid. She’s been hospitalized with COVID since the day after Christmas, and will likely remain so for a while. She knows she won’t be alone - not on my watch.
During our stay, I’ve seen most elderly patients all alone, with few or no visitors. It seems like many of them must fend for themselves at a time when they are the most powerless and vulnerable. Hospitals are scary. Hospital staff seldom have the time to provide anything more than required treatment or checking of vital signs. They aren’t there to listen, hold your hand or just provide the simple dignity of knowing you aren’t alone. I personally think as a society, we need to do a lot better - both for them and for ourselves. As my dad passed these lessons down to me, I am passing it along to you.
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