Amateur Hospice Care

I just spent 26 hours helping manage some of life's relentless details so a sister in Christ could attend to her dying husband. In short, I did all the menial things I could, which took no talent at all, just a willing mind and body and it was a help. 

Mostly,  I listened very much and tried to talk very little.

     It happened like this. We are not close, or maybe were not close, but the Lord was relentlessly burdening me on Monday and Tuesday when the word was things were very bad and he would pass soon:

"She needs help."   "But Lord, we aren't really friends." 

"She needs help, you should go." 

"I am praying for them Lord, but she has friends and family nearby."

"I want you to go. Pack a bag."

"Surely someone is doing this. Plus I've not been so healthy and have a cheese order to fill..." 

( I waited. I doubted. So I made calls, but no one knew who was managing things. Which meant that no one was managing things. I sent an email and an FB message and a phone call. No response. No one managing...)

"It's time to go." "But I'm so afraid of intruding or offending or over-stepping..."

"Now. Will you not go for Me?"  "Yes. I will go. But Lord what will I say?"

"Listen much and talk little."

     On Wednesday, as I drove the 45 minutes to her house--where I had never been--I started out afraid, but He confirmed and comforted me. He reminded me of a few other times that He has asked me to not 'mind my own business' but step in and how each time it had been needed and wanted. And then He brought to mind that when C and P married, she likely had an attendant who helped prepare her to be with her husband and how now she needed an attendant to help prepare her to be without him. The rest of the drive I prayed and worshiped and prayed some more and tried to consecrate myself because I was about to step on holy ground. When I arrived I still didn't know what to say except that I was there to help her and if she didn't want me to be there I would leave, but if she didn't tell me to leave I was staying. She was stunned, relieved, thankful and tearful--and all I had done was show up.
Mostly, I listened very much and tried to talk very little. That's not a tough job.
     I shall recap my unremarkable duties so that no one can pretend they are not capable if the Lord asks them to do something similar:
I started by taking over the phones--all of them. I listened to messages, answered some, listed all and deleted basically everything. I noted every phone call, the time it came in, and if it needed a follow up call which I was able to discourage in every case but two and I made one of the callbacks myself.  I listened very much and tried to talk very little.
When I heard the words "I should..." or "I need to..." I offered to do it unless it was clearly not my job, or I suggested that it could wait--if it could. This precious time is short. I wrote an update, posted it on Facebook and had her email it to their friends who wanted to know but wouldn't call for the family's sake. I made a calendar of who would be at the house overnight and made some arrangements for the same. I tossed old meals, then sorted and put into cold storage the abundance of food being sent by caring friends. I heard wonderful stories of God's amazing faithfulness while I listened very much and tried to talk very little.
     I harvested detailed little bits of information about services and plans and discussions as they leaked out here and there from two exhausted and strained women until I had collected enough pieces to form a picture then clarified what I thought I saw. I offered my brain cells since I rarely use them anyway and theirs were otherwise occupied. I freed them from thinking. Thought and grief and problem-solving mix like oil and water and rocks. I listened very much and tried to talk very little.
    I greeted visitors and turned a few away gently. I made nutrient-dense fresh food and got it into a woman so focused on her ministering to her other half that the half I was ministering to was clinically dehydrated and unfed when I arrived near dinner time. I visited with guests and family members. I listened and asked questions when they spoke with the nurse. I washed the bedding and towels, and dishes and counters. I straightened the rugs. I comforted the dog. I determined that no matter what happened I would be a peaceful presence.  I listened very much and tried to talk very little.
     I hugged and patted and prayed and listened and rejoiced and wept and marveled and observed and tried to think through some of the ridiculously mundane details that are demanded from people at a time when only a few things matter at all, in the whole wide world that continues to turn when it should rightfully stop. 

     Pure and undefiled religion in the sight of our God and Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their distress...   (James 1:27)

     Amateur Hospice Care: No degree required. When a loved one is dying and life is messy and awkward and out of control and devastating and swirling and dream-like in all the wrong ways, a normal person becomes distressed and can't manage the small things. They shouldn't have to. Any amateur can do it.

     Did I do a perfect job? No. When I go back,  I will listen MORE and talk LESS.