The Heart of Hospice: The Story of One Woman Who Answered the Call to Work in Hospice

I’d like to introduce you to a very special woman and share a bit of her story with you. But first, I want to explain why.

I was eleven years old when my grandpa died. I vividly remember walking into my grandparents’ bedroom to say goodbye to the man who had filled my young life with memories I would undoubtedly carry into adulthood and who made “weekends at the lake” among the highlights of my childhood.

Perhaps more vividly, though, I remember the years leading up to the day I said goodbye because it was in those years that I saw more suffering than I thought possible for a person to endure—and certainly more than what a child could comprehend. Bone cancer is a horrible disease, and it was merciless with my grandpa. But in those years I also witnessed incredible moments of faith and love and even joy. As my grandpa’s body grew weaker and weaker, his faith in Jesus Christ as his Savior only became more and more evident; my grandma’s unconditional love for her husband was a constant example of Christ’s love for us; and the hospice nurse who cared for him was like an angel on earth who blessed my grandpa—and by extension my grandma and our entire family—in incredible ways.

The name of that special nurse is Sharon, and it’s her story I would like to share with you. Because much like finding a well in the desert, having Sharon care for my grandpa and become part of our family during his final weeks, days, and hours was like having a little bit of joy in the midst of death.

It had been nearly twenty-three years since my grandpa’s death when I called Sharon to ask if she would allow me to interview her about what it’s like to be a hospice nurse. Graciously, Sharon agreed to an interview, and so we talked—for a long time. (I never did ask her about the time she cared for my grandpa. And while I wanted to, I think not doing so was my feeble attempt to keep emotion from creeping into the interview. That backfired, though, the minute she shared the sweet story of Kate and Milton. You’ll get to meet them in a second.) When we spoke, I asked questions here and there, but I mainly just listened. And gladly so. Because when Sharon talks about hospice, you can hear the love she has for the profession, yes, but more so you hear the love she has for the people.

The Making of a Hospice Nurse

In the early 1970s, Sharon began in hospital nursing in St. Louis, Missouri. Various moves, job changes, and promotions throughout the first thirty years of her career ultimately landed her in administration, but it wasn’t long before she left the world of administration for the world of home care. Two short months after making the transition, Sharon was asked to be a temporary fill-in for a hospice nurse who needed to take some personal time. With no hospice training or experience, Sharon agreed—a bit hesitant but confident her thirty years of experience in hospital nursing would carry her through her temporary assignment in hospice care. Twenty years later, that temporary assignment has turned into a second career—a calling she has faithfully answered. And while Sharon entered into hospice care as a fill-in, she stayed because of the patients.

Patients like Kate and Milton, Uncle Harry’s nephew, Virginia, and every patient in between, my grandpa included.

“I stayed in hospice because I love the patients,” Sharon explains. “I get a basic one-on-one with the patients and their families that I don’t necessarily get in the hospital. Helping my patients and their families get through one of the most difficult times in life, teaching the families how to care for their loved ones, keeping them posted on how the disease is progressing, preparing them for what it will be like at the end (which is always overwhelming), and helping families prepare to let their loved ones go, is why I do it. And knowing that our patients and families are benefitting from us being there—when they tell us so—is always an incredible blessing.”

A Love for Her Patients

Because Sharon gets that one-on-one time with patients in hospice, she gets to meet a lot of wonderful people. And while some might be more wonderful (or perhaps easier to love) than others, there are times when she forms close friendships with patients or the family members—especially when a patient is in her care for a long time, sometimes up to two years. And while those friendships are certainly blessings, they also make the inevitable losses that much more personal.

“I will never forget Kate and Milton,” Sharon said, reminiscing.

“Kate had cancer, and while she was fairly independent and doing okay, she had limited time. Milton, her husband of nearly sixty years, was her caregiver. But one day, Milton went out to the library and had a fall. At the hospital, they discovered Milton had brain cancer. Suddenly, we found ourselves in a double hospice situation: both spouses with cancer, both trying to be each other’s caregiver when they were able. 

“When Milton first came home, he was bedridden and bitter—blaming God for giving him a cancer that prevented him from caring for his wife. Kate, a woman of great faith, took on the role as caregiver and did the best she could. But when Kate got to the point when she, too, was bedridden, we would push their hospital beds together in their bedroom so they could hold hands.

“Having Kate and Milton in hospice together was just amazing because they were only ever concerned for the other,” Sharon remembered. “They were one of my favorites.”

And then there are the “Uncle Harry” stories—stories that summarize one of the biggest challenges facing hospice nurses: the well-meaning family members who offer a constant stream of treatment advice because of what worked for someone else they know. Unfortunately, in many cases, including Uncle Harry’s nephew, what worked for Uncle Harry was not going to work for his nephew, because the cancers were two completely different monsters.

“The challenge with such well-meaning family members is that their suggestions of what we should be doing and their comments that what we are doing is wrong, often ends up frustrating the patient,” Sharon explains. “While the family member is listing all these treatment ideas and why they should work (because they worked for Uncle Harry), my patient is looking to me for reassurance, wondering, ‘But my situation is not at all like that, is it?’”

Sharon shares a brief laugh because these “Uncle Harry” stories—while frustrating to many hospice nurses and disheartening to many patients—can also at times offer a bit of levity to a somber situation because they offer an opportunity for both nurse and patient to develop a “thick skin” so to speak against the well-meaning intentions of a worried family member.

And then she talks about sweet Virginia.

Virginia was a firm believer in Jesus Christ as her Savior, but she was also an equally firm believer in that she hadn’t done enough good works. Virginia had faith, but her perceived lack of enough good works was a constant source of worry. And this worry plagued her conversations with Sharon.

“We always had the same conversation,” Sharon remembers. “It was the ‘Yes, but . . .’ conversation. However, at the end of every one of these conversations, I would ask her whether she believed in Jesus as her personal Savior. She would say, ‘Yes . . . but I haven’t done enough.’ It was then that I would take the opportunity to reassure her that Jesus took care of everything and that her salvation is secure in Him.”

When I ask Sharon about that part of hospice—about witnessing to men and women nearing the end of their lives—she says it’s a joy to have opportunities to offer reassurances like the ones she would offer Virginia but that she is also careful to respect the wishes of her patients, especially those who forbid any talk of God or religion. Sometimes, though, those individuals end up being the ones who ask her the most questions about God, faith, prayer, or how she personally handles difficult situations—which, of course, opens the door for her to share her Christian faith.

“A lot of people are lost in this whole thing,” Sharon says. “They’re angry, they don’t see they can get through it, and they don’t want to count on God. They think He’s the one that gave them the cancer or caused the stroke to happen. In those situations, our chaplains offer the support to help them get through it. If I have an opportunity to answer a question and express my faith, then I do, but my focus is—and has to be—on the nursing.”

After listening to Sharon share about Kate and Milton, Uncle Harry, Virginia, and others, I had to ask her how she prepares for the all the various situations she walks into.

Her answer?

Prayer.

“You can’t just walk into a home and not be prepared,” Sharon explains. “Before I go into any home, I pray for guidance. And sometimes my prayer is, ‘Lord, that last visit was really hard. Please get me through this one too.’”

Sharon explains that whether she walks into a home with family members who are not on the same page and argumentative and angry at the situation, or a home with a loving and supportive family, or a clean home, a home with bugs and sticky floors, a hoarder’s home, or a nursing home, her focus is the patient. As the nurse, it’s her job to look past the home to focus on the individual she is there to care for. But she also relies heavily on her team to bring in support when needed, especially when dealing with family issues.

“I might be walking into a home by myself,” Sharon says, “but I never feel alone because I know I’m part of a team.”

And that team, Sharon explains, in addition to a registered nurse, includes a social worker, chaplain, nurse assistant, office staff, and volunteers, plus pet therapy and message therapy teams.

As with any job, the longer you do something, the more you discover your strengths and your weaknesses. After nearly fifty years of nursing, Sharon is well aware of both, but draws on her strengths to offer the best care she can for her patients and their families.

“Knowing your strengths and your weaknesses as a hospice nurse is very important, and one of my gifts is that I’m calm—even though my children would never say that!” Sharon jokes. “When I walk into a home and meet with a patient and their family, I have a calm approach. At each disease progression stage, I offer a step-by-step process of what we’re going to do and how to get ready for the next stage. When a family thanks me for helping them get through the process—that’s the blessing for me.”

At the end of our conversation I ask Sharon if she would do it all again. Knowing what she knows now . . . experiencing all she has experienced . . . would she become a hospice nurse again?

“Probably.”

Her answer was immediate and matter-of-fact. It wasn’t a resounding yes, and it wasn’t a resolute no.

It’s an honest answer fitting of a seasoned nurse who has tirelessly and faithfully walked with hundreds of men and women through their final days, many times present at their deaths.

It’s the response of a woman who has developed deep friendships with patients and their families and subsequently grieved the loss of not only a patient but also a dear friend.

It’s the reply of a Christian who has had the joy of witnessing hard hearts become soft and soft hearts go on to meet their Savior face to face.

It’s the answer of a wife and mother who has made it her life’s work to care for the sick, love the unlovable, and prepare families and individuals to say goodbye—all while raising her own children, being a wife, and dealing with her own personal heartache, struggles, and challenges.

It’s the reply of a woman who—through the saying of a prayer, the singing of a hymn, the holding of hands, the introduction of a friendly dog to a very sick man—sees joy in the midst of death.

And about that question Sharon says she always asked when filling in for a colleague—“Have you done hospice before?”—I like to think that even if she said nothing but a simple yes, the patient and the family would quickly realize the blessing that just walked through their door.