Naleena
Well-known member
True story. While being a hospice nurse is very hard at times, the good stuff like this makes it worth it. I get to see a lot of love 
It was another night, of another month in yet another year of my hospice employment; and as always, another lesson of life and death awaited me. In a room at the far end of my hall, lay an elderly woman imminently dying. Her feeble husband kept careful watch over her. It was late and the lights were turned down so low that everything in the room was bathed in shadow. The dying, you see, are very sensitive to light.
All was quiet as he laid his head on her pillow and took her hand into his. Ever so gently, so tenderly, he brushed her gray hair away as he looked into her face. I think perhaps he looked beyond her furrowed countenance and saw their years of life together. Memories lay etched in wrinkles and strands of gray. They spoke of stories only he could recall. Even though she never offered him a response, he kept assuring her that he loved her and everything would be alright. He told me they had been married for over 50 years and for the last two years, despite his own failing health, he had been her caregiver.
What is it that makes another human being want to love you and stand by your side no matter what? For better or worse, for richer or poorer and most of all, in spite of your flaws and morning breath? What is the alchemy of undying love? I thought about these things after I left the room. No doubt it was agonizing for him to watch the rise and fall of her chest; knowing that with each breath she took, it would be one less that she had.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes and fell asleep stretched between the chair and her pillow in a painfully awkward looking contortion. It was so beautiful and precious seeing them together; and it was so pitiful at the same time. What was years together had now become hours. I mumbled a silent prayer under my breath as I quietly watched. It wasn't a prayer for her or for him. It was for myself. I wanted to experience a love like that. It was a little past 3 am, as I remember, he lay there asleep holding her hand when she quietly left him.
It was another night, of another month in yet another year of my hospice employment; and as always, another lesson of life and death awaited me. In a room at the far end of my hall, lay an elderly woman imminently dying. Her feeble husband kept careful watch over her. It was late and the lights were turned down so low that everything in the room was bathed in shadow. The dying, you see, are very sensitive to light.
All was quiet as he laid his head on her pillow and took her hand into his. Ever so gently, so tenderly, he brushed her gray hair away as he looked into her face. I think perhaps he looked beyond her furrowed countenance and saw their years of life together. Memories lay etched in wrinkles and strands of gray. They spoke of stories only he could recall. Even though she never offered him a response, he kept assuring her that he loved her and everything would be alright. He told me they had been married for over 50 years and for the last two years, despite his own failing health, he had been her caregiver.
What is it that makes another human being want to love you and stand by your side no matter what? For better or worse, for richer or poorer and most of all, in spite of your flaws and morning breath? What is the alchemy of undying love? I thought about these things after I left the room. No doubt it was agonizing for him to watch the rise and fall of her chest; knowing that with each breath she took, it would be one less that she had.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes and fell asleep stretched between the chair and her pillow in a painfully awkward looking contortion. It was so beautiful and precious seeing them together; and it was so pitiful at the same time. What was years together had now become hours. I mumbled a silent prayer under my breath as I quietly watched. It wasn't a prayer for her or for him. It was for myself. I wanted to experience a love like that. It was a little past 3 am, as I remember, he lay there asleep holding her hand when she quietly left him.
