Before meeting my first hospice patient as a volunteer, I felt nervous and uncertain about how I would react. Despite years of studying end of life care at home and my deep interest in conscious dying, I knew that no amount of academic preparation could fully equip me for the experience of being with someone actively nearing death. The reality would undoubtedly be different from anything I had learned in textbooks or lectures.
When I arrived at her home, I found Janet (not her real name) lying in a hospice-provided bed. The room felt sterile, with harsh fluorescent lights, offering little in the way of comfort. Janet appeared exhausted, barely awake, and disconnected from her surroundings. Her husband, Joe (also not his real name), greeted me and explained that she had just had a nervous breakdown before my arrival. He suggested we take things one step at a time, adapting to how she responded to my presence. Janet’s first language was Spanish, and while she knew some English, she had stopped speaking it entirely since entering her critical condition. In fact, she was barely communicating in Spanish either. Unsure how to engage with her, I pulled up a chair beside her bed, smiled softly, and settled into a quiet presence.
I recalled my training in Compassionate Presence—an approach that emphasizes the importance of being fully present, without the need to fill the space with conversation. I let go of any pressure to speak and focused on remaining calm, open, and supportive, trusting that my presence alone could be enough.
Minutes passed in silence, with only the sound of her shallow breathing filling the room. Slowly, Janet turned her head toward me. I smiled gently, and to my surprise, she smiled back, although her expression showed curiosity and mild confusion at the presence of a stranger. Her husband kindly translated between us when needed, helping to bridge the language gap. Over the course of the visit, something remarkable happened: Janet became more alert, her tension eased, and she began speaking in Spanish—clearly and coherently—something Joe told me she hadn’t done in days.
By the end of our time together, Janet seemed not only calm but genuinely happy. Her transformation from an unresponsive state to one of clarity and engagement was incredible to witness. As I left, I felt a deep sense of amazement and gratitude. Firstly, I didn’t run away, even though my initial nervousness could have overwhelmed me. That in itself felt like a personal victory.
More profoundly, I realized how true my training had been: the power of calm and compassionate presence can sometimes mean more than a thousand comforting words. Even without verbal communication, Janet could intuitively sense my sincerity and care. It became clear to me that in such moments, it’s not about what we say, but about how we show up—with love, patience, and an open heart.
Having access to end of life nursing care can also play a crucial role in providing the necessary medical and emotional support during such difficult times. Similarly, understanding end of life support and the emotional aspects of end of life care at home highlights the importance of being present, not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well.
