Have you ever read, seen, or heard something that sticks in your mind like glue and just won’t go away? I have. It was an article that appeared recently in The New York Times. (Yes, I do read The Times, but I don’t inhale.) Jancee Dunn, who covers personal health issues for the publication, asked: “What would you do if you knew you were at the end of your life?”
This is an excellent query that is worthy of reflection.
In the article, Dunn asks palliative and hospice care experts about what they learned from patients nearing the end of their lives. This got my attention because my daughter-in-law, Jackie, is a nurse focused on hospice care. I can think of few more demanding jobs than dealing day-to-day with those who know — and you know — they are soon going to die. Of course, we all will at some point. We just don’t know when. If we did, what might we do differently?
We might start by not putting things off until tomorrow because we have more important things to do today. It just might be that what we are putting off — like checking up on an old friend we haven’t talked to in a while — is more important than changing the sheets or washing the car. (Note: I paused at this point and called my longtime friend from childhood, Derrell Clarke, to let him know I was thinking about him. It was a call long overdue.)
Dunn talked to Dr. Vicki Jackson, president of the American Academy of Hospice and Palliative Medicine Board of Directors, who obviously has seen and dealt with death and dying throughout her career. Dr. Jackson told her that she quickly lets patients know that she loves them. Nothing is more important than loving and knowing you are loved.
When my dad passed away, the family was waiting in a small room at the hospital for confirmation. When the doctor came in with the news, the first words that came out of my mouth were, “I have no regrets.” And I didn’t. I loved him, and he loved me. I didn’t have to reflect on things I wished I had said or done differently. That’s the greatest tribute I could pay the man.
When my 20-year-old grandson, Zack, died unexpectedly while training for an upcoming marathon, I remembered the last time I saw him was as he was leaving our house. He held out his hand to say goodbye and then remembered sheepishly that I don’t shake hands with those I love. I hug them. That hug will sustain me for the rest of the days I may have left.
Experts tell Dunn that hospice patients say they miss the little mundane things in their lives — ordinary things like grocery shopping, walking the dog, and exercising — things that aren’t so mundane when you can no longer do them. I will try to remember that when I put away the dishes, file paperwork, or open the mail. And to be thankful, I still can.
And the small stuff?
If we knew our days were but a precious few, how important would the small stuff be? Not very, I suspect. Yet, how much time do I spend fretting about something that happened to me yesterday that is gone or worrying about a tomorrow that may not come? In doing so, I miss a spectacular sunrise, forget to say thank you, don’t return a smile, and obsess about everything wrong in this world rather than being grateful for all that is good. I have just wasted a day, and I can’t get back.
Finally, Dunn says those dealing with hospice patients will often ask them what they have left undone. Or what is something they have always wanted to see or do?
Personally, I have seen just about every cathedral in Europe, been in the Oval Office, survived a roadside bomb in Iraq, and have a painting hanging in the state capitol. What else is there to do? A lot. I need to remind myself that at any moment, I could be one of those souls in hospice care.
I need to realize life is fragile, take nothing for granted, and have no regrets. I need to know that the only thing that really matters is that I leave this world a better place than I found it. I’m not there yet and have a long way to go. I thank Jancee Dunn for the wake-up call.
Reach Dick Yarbrough at dick@dickyarbrough.com or P.O. Box 725373, Atlanta, Ga. 31139.