As usual, my time making Hospice calls was well spent on Saturday. I've mentioned before that before I start making calls, I make the intention that I will KNOW beyond a doubt which call will be my last. I've seen way too many situations where the timing of my call was perfect for the person on the other end of the line, and so I want to make absolutely sure that I don't leave before that 'special' call is made.

The special call on Saturday lasted about 1.5 hours, and there was no doubt in my mind that this 83 year old woman needed a call that day.

I'm going to be sketchy about a few details, because I want to ensure that I'm in keeping with HIPAA guidelines.

The call started out like all typical calls, except for the holiday bit:

RisibleGirl: Hello, may I speak with [client]?
Client: This is she
RisibleGirl: Hello [client], this is [RisibleGirl] calling from [my hospice organization]. I'm just calling to check in with you to see how you've been doing the past few months, and to offer you some extra support since this was your first holiday season without [Hospice patient]
Client: Well, I've been OK.

I was then silent for a while. I've found this to be key in getting people to continue talking.

After a few seconds of silence, she shared with me that this was her deceased child's (not our Hospice patient) birthday and she was very sad that day. I asked her if she would like to talk about it for a while, and she accepted my offer.

We talked about her child's birth, and how it was so different from her other child's birth. We talked about how he died many, many years ago, and how she and her husband (our Hospice patient) would go visit his grave every Sunday. We talked about how her husband is buried next to him and there's a space for her when her time comes.

Eventually, we talked about her relationship with our patient- her beloved husband. They were high school sweethearts who grew up, had children, and grew old in the same town.

She shared lots of stories about their dating years; how they were jitterbug champions and continued dancing every week at the local town hall until her husband started suffering from Alzheimer's three years ago.

It was so fun to listen to all of the things that they did back in the 40's, and I could tell that she was enjoying herself in re-visiting the past.

She then told me about the last time she visited her husband. He'd had no concept of who she was for about two years, but she visited him three times a week anyway. This last visit was a special one. It was their 62nd wedding anniversary.

She brought balloons and a big sign reading, "Happy anniversary to [client] and [Hospice patient]". She said that about twenty minutes into the visit, he looked at her with a look of recognition; something she hadn't seen in years. Then just as quickly as it came, that spark left.

Holding back the tears, I offered to her that she was given quite a gift by her husband. She acknowledged that this was indeed a gift, before sharing the rest of her story.

Her husband died the very next day.

I truly believe that something within his sub-conscious kept him going until he was able to give her this good-bye gift. Just another testament in how much control we humans have over our death experiences, whether we consciously know it or not.

She buried him in his lettermans jacket; something she'd been wearing frequently after he'd been placed in a nursing home. Even though it brought her comfort to wear the jacket, she knew it was special to him.

We talked more after that; things like how she now danced with her girlfriends, how she is still best friends with her girlfriend from first grade, town history and other chit-chat. By the end of the call, she was a very different person than the one I spoke with in the beginning of the call.

When I hung up the phone, I knew that it was time to go home. I felt that I'd lightened her load that day, and in return I was able to hear an up close and personal Nicholas Sparks-type story.

I can't imagine a better ending.