Yesterday I was doing my fortnightly shift at Garden House Hospice. As part of duty, working in the small beverage room, I have to give each patient a jug of fresh water and offer tea and coffee to relatives. One of the nurses made me aware when I saw her for a take over that an inpatient was dying. I went into his room to deliver his water, he looked peaceful attached to a machine although I did feel a little bit uncomfortable. Later on, I met the voluntary organiser from Elmside, who I was surprised to see in the hopsice. It wasn't until I spoke to her that I realised, that the dying man, was her husband. It was when I made those connections that I began to feel emotional; this poor lady has had the worst couple of days of her life, to be widowed at the age of 40 with very young children, in the week that she had taken off work to go on a family holiday seemed all too much. I cannot even think of how difficult that must be, feeling isolated, helpless, broken, alone.
From seeing his peaceful body in bed to having the realisation that this is someone's husband, brother, father, adds more meaning to the situation. I think it is harder to see someone you know struggle and grieve than someone you have never met.
This has been an eye opener to the complications and emotional strains with dealing with death, it so important to deal with the family's spiritual needs sensitively; allowing them to grieve in peace but making sure they know there is someone there for them.
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