I love respite duty.  Hospice saved my sanity when I was an overwhelmed, sleep-deprived caregiver.  So I wanted to give back.  

 

Whenever I came to see my favorite “auntie,” she would beam me with her infectious smile and pat the seat next to her.  “I’m glad to see you.  Come sit.  Let’s talk story.”  Being 102 years old, she had some good ones, with photos too - growing up on a sugar plantation, one of 13 children.  Tales of joy, of hardship and humor, charmed me back to another time.

 

Then there was my weekly visit with a lovely, soft-spoken lady, spent mostly in companionable silence on her daughter’s lanai, looking through flowering shrubs at the ocean and idly paging through the New York Times.  We enjoyed warm breezes and were amused by the resident kittens.  I felt I was the one who got the respite.

 

I was present when a patient died, his wife, the love of his life, by his side.  I witnessed how the staff treated him with such tenderness and respect, not as another patient but as a man, with a history, a family and worthy of honor.  That was a powerful experience I hold dear to my heart.

 

In a home full of fabulous treasures and photos from a well-traveled life, I sit with a patient who is bedridden so his partner can run out for a quick swim and shop.  In spite of the huge responsibility he carries, this caregiver is always upbeat with a ready laugh.  I had to ask him how he does it.  His secret, he says, is giving up perfectionism.  The advice I take to heart.

 

I could go on and on.  Actually, most of the time nothing happens.  The patient sleeps, I read.  But there are the jewels - often seen in retrospect.  If you want to learn about courage, spend time with those to whom the inevitable is close.  Meet their caregivers.  Observe the caring  staff.  Therein lies inspiration.  Plus it feels good to be useful.