us all rest

we can say, “No, you ’ re not allowed, it’s not good for you ” But what right do we have to say that to a coherent adult? Maybe none, but we did, although I’m not sure for how long we would have kept that up

The last column I wrote, about a month ago, was also about my dad, his health and the medical system At that time I was complaining about the lack of home care, which seems sadly ironic now It turned out he wouldn’t be at home much longer

Soon after I wrote that, he was in emergency, from there it was up to the internal unit Then up another floor to palliative and finally off to the hospice

Perhaps the toughest part was in palliative where he was stuffed into a room with three or four others It was around Christmas so everyone had visitors At one point, I realized my dad had spent 12 days surrounded by a white curtain, (he was never lucky enough to be put beside a window) hearing disembodied voices from around the room, sometimes hallucinating due to a blood infection.

It felt like a form of torture

When I pointed this out to the doctor (who, by the way, was brilliant in his care for both my dad and the rest of us as we came to terms with what was happening), he asked the nurses to move his bed into the communal lounge area for a couple of hours. It was Boxing Day and they were already short-staffed, but they did it My daughter started playing the piano under the DO NOT PLAY THE PIANO sign I fed him crushed ice, which the nurses forbade for fear he’d choke And didn’t he rally swearing, cracking jokes, teasing his grandkids

Unfortunately, it didn’t last and the next couple of days he mainly slept and finally the decision was made to move him to the Rotary Salvation Army Richmond Hospice

Again noting the circularity of life, one of the first stories I did for the Richmond News as a reporter was an announcement that Milan Ilich was making a significant donation toward the building of what would be Richmond’s first and only hospice.

I’m not sure if I even knew what a hospice was at the time What was obvious, however, was the incredible amount of passion fueling this project And I can assure you now, that passion lives on Touches like the hand-made quilt on every bed may seem small, but in moments of vulnerability can give the sense of coming home

It occurred to me that the hospice was everything home health wasn’t. The hospice is a private organization, yet the coordination between it and the hospital was seamless Is it because there’s only one, or because it’s a not-for-profit? I don’t know, but our experience there couldn’t have been more different than when we left the hospital after earlier visits and began negotiating the fractured and confusing hybrid world of private and public home support

As I looked out the French glass doors of my dad’s hospice room at the glorious sunrise that followed just minutes after his passing, I knew this little sanctuary, that provided such a gentle end, would make it possible for us all to rest in peace