Working as a Hospice Chaplain, there's never a dull moment. This is true for every patient who comes to our service. You pray, you say, and you do the right thing to give them peace at the end of their lives. My patients have been told they have limited time left; for some, they are more than ready to go. For others, not so much. I want to tell Lilly’s story.
Sometimes, patients or family members opt out of having a chaplain visit when coming to hospice care. There are various reasons why. Much of the time, they misunderstand the role of a Chaplain. I'll leave it at that.
On Fridays, like most days, I visit a particular list of nursing homes based on their proximity to each other. I remember meeting Mrs. Lilly on one of these Fridays. On any given day, I will visit six or seven patients and countless others who are not always my patients. Walking through the door of any nursing home, all that lives within those walls is precious to me. Even though they are not Hospice patients. I have also worked with fifty to seventy-five nurses in the nursing homes I visit. When I first meet a nurse, and after introducing myself. I always leave them with one thing. If someone you think needs a visit from a Chaplain, even if they are not on my service, you must let me know. I’ve had several handfuls of people (not my patients) the nurses have asked me to visit. Without question, I find time for them. This is how I met Miss Lilly.
I was called to one of my nursing homes to visit a patient who was not doing well, as she was coming to the end of a life well lived. As I entered the long hallway, I was greeted by one of my favorite nurses—thirty years in that same nursing home. Kathy loved every patient, as they responded well to each other. Kathy was slow to talk, which was never a problem for me. I talk enough for three people. Yet this time, she beat me to the draw, saying, “O Chaplain” I ‘m so glad you are here. I need you to see one of my patients. Never refusing any, she wanted me to visit. I asked which one. The one thing I thought about all day today, Chaplain, is that she is doing ok, yet I can’t get her out of my mind. Over the years, I have grown to know precisely what that means. This patient needs to be loved up. Her family is on their way, but they live out of state.
Chaplain, I do not think she will go anywhere anytime soon, but I was hoping you could work your magic on her. Kathy did not wait for me to ask what room or say yes. When she blurts out a room number, Kathy, let me see my patient, and then I will sit with Miss Lilly.
As always, I spent a reasonable amount of time with my patient, saying my goodbyes and promising to return. Then I went to the room number Kathy had given me. As I approached the door, I noticed the door was closed, which was unusual. Most nursing homes keep the room doors open to better care for the patient. Knocking is always the protocol for closed doors in these situations. So, knocking on the door, I heard a faint voice say, ‘Come in.’ Quietly as possible, slowly opening the door. I entered the room.
The first thing I noticed was that the room was dark. No lights were on, and even the TV was off. My eyes took a moment to focus as very little light was in the room. The room slowly became focused, and she was lying neatly in bed. The edges of her covers were tucked on both sides and pulled under her arms. Miss Lilly looked so tiny in that bed, as she was a small, petite person.
Hello, sweet Lilly, I said; How are you? Ok, she said very softly. I am just so tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open. She said several times during my visit, which I always followed up, saying, ‘I won’t stay long.’ Miss Lilly asks me, ‘How are you’? Fantastic, I said. Can I be anything other than great in the presence of such a sweetheart? A big smile came over Lilly's face, and it made my heart happy to see that smile. I asked, “any pain? “No pain,” she answered, ‘just tired.’ All the time we were conversing, I looked around the walls surrounding her bed. The walls were covered with photos. Looking at the pictures, I figured at least three generations of family photos were on the walls. I remember commenting on the pictures, saying someone in this room is loved. She replied almost instantly, ‘Yes, I am’. Finding a chair to put beside her bed, I sat down. Lilly asked me why I was visiting her. Kathy, the nurse, sent you, didn’t she? Yes, she did. Lilly confirmed what I always knew about Kathy: she is a sweetheart of a person.
I positioned myself as close to the head of her bed as possible and then sat down. Yes, Mrs. Lilly, I’m a chaplain, and I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. Again, she had fallen asleep when I got situated and would many more times before I would leave her. When asked about all the photos around her, she once again got a big smile and, one by one told me who everyone was in the images. This gave her an energy boost, and the possibility of telling me about those she loved gave her temporary strength. During this time, she reached for my hand, and, trying her best to hold it lightly, she finally gave up and just placed her tiny hand in mine. If I had not already said so, Lilly was a petite little lady whose hands were smaller than I imagined. She never took her hand out of mine during my visit. It was beautiful for her to speak of the lives of those she had helped create. I found out later that those photos were of her four boys, three daughters, their daughters, and sons, and some of them had children. So, imagine, from the love of this seventy-pound, four-foot-nine-inch lady came three generations of a legacy that would live on long after she was gone. In our conversation, she talked about her only love. His photo was on her bedside table. She still blushed slightly when she spoke of him. There was only one man in my life, she would tell me. He was all I needed, and when he got sick, all he could do was tell me he was all right and would focus on me. After his passing, my children said to me that he spoke to them individually, explaining that they would need to care for their momma after he was gone. Even with all his suffering, the Chaplain never told me until almost the end. And even then, he worried about me. I couldn’t have found a better man. I must admit that at this point in my story, I was at a loss for words. Those who know me would find that hard to believe. But it was true. Lilly was downloading a lifetime in the fifteen or twenty minutes we would spend together.
After finishing her story about her husband Paul, she began going in and out of sleep—at least, that’s what I thought it was. Meetings like this with Mrs. Lilly were why I got up every morning and headed out, excited about possibly meeting another Miss Lilly. I firmly believe that everyone, without exception, has a story to tell. Lilly’s life was just more proof of that fact.
She was asleep again. In our conversation, she told me she was a woman of faith and believed she would be with all those who had passed before her. Before I went, I whispered that I would leave her with prayer. She smiled, closing her eyes again, and I began to pray. Remember, I never let go of her. Or should I say she never took her hand out of mine? When I was done, I said my goodbyes quietly, not to wake her, and laid her hand back on her chest.
In my profession, I have spent much of my time carefully watching my patients breathe. Miss. Lilly was no exception. That is a habit I have had for years, after standing up and looking down at this sweet lady and pausing to look more carefully. It seemed like minutes, but it was just a few seconds. Then, something came over me. She was gone. No longer here with me. Of course, I thought I could be wrong. I am certainly no medical doctor or nurse. I slipped out of her room and went to find Kathy; she then asked me what was wrong. She could sense by my expression I had something to say.
Kathy, I think Miss Lilly is gone. Of course, I said everything like I'm not a doctor, so I could be wrong. I followed Kathy back to Miss Lilly's room, and when Kathy looked at her, even before she checked her vitals, she said she was gone. Her family would come in the morning to be with her as they did every week, but I am thankful you could visit with her. I told Kathy what we talked about and how she kept falling asleep. Then silence filled the room, and Kathy started to shed tears. Thirty years of caring for older people, and she still cries when they pass. Before I left Kathy to call Miss Lilly's family, I sat back in the chair next to her bed, and Kathy left the room to make those calls. I sat silent, looking at Miss Lilly and all those photos on the wall. I left her room with no sadness, no sorrow. Miss Lilly was with the ones she loved so much. I was thankful and honored to have had my time with her.
Blessings Miss Lilly
Chaplain John
PS: I received several calls from Miss Lilly's family. They all wanted to hear their mother's last words. When I explained to them how she focused on her family and loved them all, that gave them peace. I was blessed to spend time with a lovely person. And from our visit came peace for the family that loved her.
Comments