Grateful for a Safe, Peaceful Place

It was Saturday morning, and I was worried. My husband hadn’t eaten anything since early in the week before he’d been transferred from Wyoming Medical Center to Kloefkorn Hospice Home.

Walking from the privacy of his room to the kitchen, I thought of how important it was for him to eat something nutritious.

“Could you fix Larry a bowl of oatmeal?” I asked the woman wearing a Christmas apron.

While I sat waiting in the family area, Mrs. Brown, the supervisor, walked over to me. As she approached, I stood up.

“I hear you’d like some oatmeal for Larry,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied. “If he doesn’t eat, he’ll die.”

She put her hand lightly on my forearm and looked into my eyes. “That’s what we do here,” she said. “I don’t think you understand. We help people die.”

My eyes filled with tears. My head knew what was going on, but my heart was slow in catching up. She had said the words I needed to hear since no one else would say them.

What is death? I wondered that as I felt Larry’s spirit leave his body later that day. Surrounded by those closest to him, he died in a safe, peaceful place.

A deep connection formed inside me with Hospice and their desire to help others through the hardship of those final days in the life of a person they love. I can think of no better reason to donate to such a worthy cause.

Won’t you join me?

—Carol Chapman