Yesterday while making my Hospice calls, I had an encounter that made me cry.

I work very hard at keeping my emotions in check when talking to the families of those that have passed on, and I do a really good job of it. Some of the calls that I make are very painful to hear, especially for someone like me. I feel that I was blessed (or is it cursed?) with an extra dose of empathy for other people and I sometimes can literally feel the pain coming from the other end of the phone.

This is one of the reasons why I'm glad that we're not supposed to do much of the talking. We're just there to listen. Sometimes the lump in my throat feels like a grapefruit and I know that there is no way I could talk at any great length without exposing my emotions.

Yesterday was one of those days.

Before I make a call, I review the file to pull out pertinent information, such as what the deceased did for a living, what their interests were, how long they were suffering, how many other relatives were involved in their care, etc. Some files have several calls to make, upwards of 4-5 calls in regard to the same person. Between what I've learned in the file and what the family members tell me, I get to know that person who passed on very well. This is one of the things that I love about doing this; I love hearing people's stories. There are so many interesting things about the people around you, if you will only take the time to listen.

Yesterday, I made a phone call to the son of a woman who passed on in early January. The woman had lingered for a very long time. A woman answered the phone, so I asked if I could speak to (son of patient). She asked me who was calling and I told her my name and that I was calling on behalf of Hospice Bereavement Services. Her voice started quivering as she told me that (son of patient) had recently died. She answered yes when I asked her if she was his wife. At that point, I quit being Hospice Bereavement Services, and just became a voice on the other end of the phone. I shut the file so I could concentrate on what she needed to tell me. It was no longer about our patient and her son, so she was not a "client". She was just another human being who needed to talk to someone. She shared some memories of their life together with me, and that seemed to bring her comfort. She went on to tell me that her husband went very quickly, and she felt it was because of how long his mother had lingered. This was just another testament to how much control people have over their own death experience.

When I hung up the phone, I cried. Maybe it was the surprise of calling for someone who had died that caught me in this emotional state. I don't really know. I started thinking about hanging up my hat for the day, but instead I challenged myself to move past whatever caused these unexpected and uninvited emotions. I had a strong feeling that I wasn't done for the day and there was someone else I needed to call. So, I got up and opened the door leading to the garden in the middle of the Hospice House, sat on a bench and listened to the birds for a while.

It was my original plan to make four hours of calls and then leave at 2pm. After I was able to pull myself back together I made another hour of calls. When I looked at the clock and saw that it was now 1:45, I knew I was on my last file. I also knew that as long as I didn't get on an call with someone experiencing extended grief issues, I would be able to make it out of there by 2pm.

I opened up the last file for the day and saw that this patient had a husband and a daughter to call. The first phone call, to the husband, was brief. "I'm OK." "Yes, I've been reading the information you've sent." "I'm OK." The call was very brief, less than 5 minutes.

Then I called the daughter. When I asked her how she'd been doing these past few weeks, she never talked about herself. She only talked about how her dad needed support and how she was working very hard at taking care of him. Whenever I'd try to bring the conversation back around to what SHE was feeling and what she was doing for HERSELF, it became apparent that she was having a difficult time understanding that this call was to support her, not her dad. Eventually she allowed herself to be supported by me and then she admitted that she needed help with her grief but added that she didn't want to "be a bother".

I reminded her that just as she has been such a wonderful support for her father, she also needed to allow someone to support her.

It was then that I knew why I didn't end my calls after the call that had me in tears. I was talking to myself, just as much as I was talking to the person on the other end of the phone.

She agreed to a follow-up call from the counselor, but I'll never know if she really *heard* what I was saying. My relationship with the family stops the moment I hang up the phone.

*I* heard what I was saying, and I'll just hope that she did too.