Hospice workers a special breed
by Gina Phillips, LOCAL COLUMNIST
published September 29, 2007 12:15 am



I keep running into the woman who was present at my mother’s death. She is a Hospice nurse. Our chance encounters in a small town are not unexpected yet it never fails to absolutely take my breath away. I manage a perfunctory chat of protocol and forced humor; I always think she is different, has lost weight, new hair color ... she keeps telling me, no, she’s the same. I wonder about my perception of her?

The Hospice in our county is a dignified group and maintains a low profile in our community. I suppose that’s only tasteful. I often think “the old Hospice gang” will be glad to see me — after all, we were side-by-side in the trenches for almost three years during the deaths of my parents. Truth is they shy away in public and rarely acknowledge me. Are they trained not to impose themselves upon an otherwise cheery event? Do they think they are reminiscent of bad times?


Admittedly, it does bring me to my emotional knees.

Debt that can’t be paid
Perhaps they know that they are statements from an account I cannot pay. That does bother me. Mom and Dad pounded into us to pay our debts, “plus some” to preclude any question of integrity, but this account has simply been closed. All this time and I still entertain such thoughts as these. But then, Robert Benchley says, “Death ends a life, not a relationship.”

I have spoken with four people in the past 24 hours that are affiliated with Hospice. Two were volunteers as a result of personal losses, not exactly payback but rather a springboard of inspiration. One, Mom’s nurse, was an employee. The other is a new beneficiary of their services. I hope I had some influence in that decision. The trick is not to market hospice involvement as a death knell, rather, think of it as a firm step toward claiming stake to what is left of life ... making the most of that!

I know they are on to other cases and have endured many losses since mine. I suppose this column is my on-going therapeutic attempt to purge grief. Or just the opposite — maybe to hang onto it a little longer ... come to think of it, as I’m writing today, it is the three-year anniversary of my father’s passing.

Sometimes I wish I had Hospice. I could often use help making the most of life.

Perhaps I should wait until I’m at least running a fever.

John Cheever wrote a story called The Crow about a woman who always showed up to take care of anyone dying — not for the benefit of others but to insert herself into the center of critical attention. Symbolically crows may be harbingers of death but I view Hospice, at least in my county, as robins — representing Spring, new life. Thanks guys.

Gina Phillips is president of the Samuel L. Phillips Family Foundation and a partner in Great Meadows, Inc. She is also an actor and director. She lives in Spruce Pine. Her columns appear on alternate Saturdays and she can be reached at ginaalisonphillips@yahoo.com.