Care On Call

WHEN PARENTS GET OLD

Let them grow old with the same love that they let you grow.

Let them speak and tell repeated stories with the same patience and interest that they heard yours as a child.

Let them overcome, like so many times when they let you win.

Let them enjoy their friends just as they let you.

Let them enjoy the talks with their grandchildren, because they see you in them.

Let them enjoy living among the objects that have accompanied them for a long time, because they suffer when they feel that you tear pieces of this life away.

Let them be wrong, like so many times you have been wrong and they didn’t embarrass you by correcting you.

LET THEM LIVE and try to make them happy the last stretch of the path they have left to go; give them your hand, just like they gave you their hand when you started your path!

Author unknown

“Honour your mother and father and your days shall be long upon the earth”

Vreemde Demensie

met soveel liefde en soveel vrede

leef jy nou in die verlede

nie bewus van plek of tyd

gaan jy maar rustig voort

met die dinge van lank gelee

nog nie uit jou geheue gevee

name wat ek nooit leer ken

die ouderdom het die keer gewen

jou brein is nou opgeroes

jou spraak ’n sagte mengelmoes

deur jou oë probeer ek soek

’n stukkie van my in jou boek

jy kan niks meer van my onthou

net nou en dan die dag van ons trou

sien jy nie vir ons in my oë

die vreemdheid laat my so bewoë

as jy net nog my naam sou ken

’n uitveer het alles uitgewis met tyd

is ons al ons hele lewe kwyt

ek sal vashou aan my onthou

jy bly elke dag my vrou

en al ken jy nie meer my naam

ek onthou ons jare saam

ek sal ons twee lewendig hou

en aan die herinneringe klou

kom sit maar hier by my asseblief

ek is vir jou vreemd, maar ek het jou lief

noem my maar net wat jy wil

ons is bymekaar, al is dit stil

Caring is personal.

When the last petal falls.

I had the honor of sitting with a woman who asked me to be with her in the last few hours of her life. She was the mother of a very dear friend of mine, who we lost about twenty years ago. I hadn’t seen her in several years, but we emailed a few times a year, and we always exchanged birthday and holiday cards. We had a phone conversation every few months that usually lasted an hour or two. I kept her up to date on my life as a hospice nurse and an end-of-life doula, which she was very interested in hearing about, and always very encouraging and supportive.

She had many questions about the work I do and was interested in the dying process and what it might feel like to die. In a million years I would have never known those questions were being asked because of her own personal decline, that she kept secret from me and everyone she loves. It was not because she was stoic and strong, it was because she wanted to live her life fully without the worry that others were tiptoeing around her.

I remember one conversation very well, and it was before I knew she was given a terminal diagnosis. We were talking about those last few days someone has just before they die, and what that must feel like and what they might think about. She and I both agreed there was deep thought, even when there were no more words. She very eloquently compared the dying process to a flower whose petals dropped slowly to the ground when it was dying. Our conversation was colorful and lovely and imaginative and beautiful, and I will carry it with me for the rest of my life.

A flower, when in its fullest bloom, stands so strong and confident, sometimes even in the fiercest windstorm. And then, as it nears the end of its life, the petals start to fall… sometimes two or three at a time, sometimes only one at a time, and when that last petal falls, it has reached its end.

About a week before she died, I received a text message from her, it simply said, “my last petal will fall soon, can you come stay with me”. She kept the secret of her illness from everyone, yet I knew exactly what she was saying, and I went immediately to her bedside, no questions asked.

She sent me the text message after several of her petals had already fallen, she only had a few left and she chose me to be with her at her bedside. I walked in the door, and her forever friend Anna greeted me with tears in her eyes. She said, “she’s going to die soon Gabby." I responded, “I know,” and we both walked in silence to her room. She looked up at me and smiled, she raised her hand for me to take, and in a very soft whisper she said, “My last petal is about to fall, sit with me”. I held her hand until she took her last breath.

Life is unpredictable, and we just never know when either ourselves, or someone we love is suddenly given the notice that the garden they have been tending for so many years is about to go bare. The honor was all mine to be called to sit at her bedside in those last hours, and while a part of me wished she had shared this with me earlier so that I could do more for her, I realize that my place was at her bedside when the last petal fell and that is good enough for me.

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

You can find this blog here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/when-the-last-petal-falls

"Exploring Vergelegen Wine Estate was more than just a scenic outing—it was a journey into teamwork and understanding. Amidst nature's beauty, we discovered how our diverse perspectives and strengths intertwine, creating a tapestry of collaboration. Here's to embracing our differences and harnessing them for a stronger, more cohesive team. Cheers to many more adventures together! 🌿🍷 "

I promise you you this
as the years take their toll
my memory may fade
but my soul remains whole

I may not seem there
to the unknowing eye
I may mix my words
and cause you to cry

Names may elude me
and places confuse
time may escape me
and days I may lose

But your little face
with its cheeks ever bright
will live strong in my dreams
in the still of the night

Your spirit so brave
is still etched in my heart
so never forget
how I loved from the start

I promise you you this
as the years change my brain
I’ll remember the love
and forget all the pain.

Donna Ashworth

(I know how heartbreaking this long-goodbye is and these poems are simply written to bring comfort where possible ❤️)

From Wild Hope:
UK: https://amzn.eu/d/eDGFsCs
US: https://mangopublishinggroup.com/books/wild-hope/ (signed copies)

Art by Jeronimo Fernandez.

https://youtu.be/vz13fErCYPU?si=pb3W1RD64hnx7Ebb

The Way We Talk About Dying Matters Patricia is living with an incurable illness. Mumtaz’s husband Rasheeque died in 2021. And Lucy is a Palliative Medicine Consultant at North London Hospice.T...

Growing, ripening, aging, dying — the passing of time is predestined, inevitable.
There is only one solution if old age is not to be an absurd parody of our former life, and that is to go on pursuing ends that give our existence a meaning — devotion to individuals, to groups or to causes, social, political, intellectual or creative work. In old age we should wish still to have passions strong enough to prevent us turning in on ourselves.
One’s life has value so long as one attributes value to the life of others, by means of love, friendship, indignation, compassion. ~Simone de Beauvoir

(Book [ad]: The Coming of Age https://amzn.to/4bqDYyn)

(Art: Photograph of Georgia O’Keeffe by John Loengard)

Teamwork in action! 🌟 Meet Sr. Michelle and Sr. Shirean, the dynamic duo behind the scenes ensuring everything runs seamlessly. Their dedication, collaboration, and tireless efforts keep our operations running smoothly day in and day out. Here's to their incredible teamwork and the difference they make every single day! ✨

The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the greatest intention.
- Khalil Gibran

Artist: Asatryan Artist

This poem is beautiful and true. Let's normalize this:
>
>
>
Silver~
"How many years of beauty do I have left?
she asks me.
How many more do you want?
Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.
When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and
ripe, having carried the weight
of a passionate life.
When your hair is aflame
with winter
and you have decades of
learning and leaving and loving
sewn into
the corners of your eyes
and your children come home
to find their own history
in your face.
When you know what it feels like to fail
ferociously
and have gained the
capacity
to rise and rise and rise again.
When you can make your tea
on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon
and still have a song in your heart
Queen owl wings beating
beneath the cotton of your sweater.
Because your beauty began there
beneath the sweater and the skin,
remember?
This is when I will take you
into my arms and coo
YOU BRAVE AND GLORIOUS THING
you’ve come so far.
I see you.
Your beauty is breathtaking."
~ Jeannette Encinias

There is no one right way. We are creative, adaptive creatures who thrive when we allow ourselves to embrace change.

“You don’t stop laughing when you grow old, you grow old when you stop laughing.” ~ George Bernard Shaw

Credit: Xacobe Casal, Portugal

You Don’t Just Lose Someone Once.

You don’t just lose someone once.
You lose them when you close your eyes at night.
And as you open them each morning.
You lose them throughout the day.

An unused coffee cup.
An empty chair.
A pair of boots no longer there.
You lose them as the sun sets.
And darkness closes in.

You lose them as you wonder why.
Staring at a star lit sky.
You lose them on the big days.
Anniversaries.
Birthdays.
Graduations.
Holidays.
Weddings.
And the regular days too.

You lose them in a song they used to sing.
The scent of their cologne.
A slice of their favorite pie.
You lose them in conversations you will never have.
And all the words unsaid.

You lose them in all the places they’ve been.
And all the places they longed to go.
You lose them in what could have been.
And all the dreams you shared.
You lose them as the seasons change.
The snow blows.
The flowers blossom.
The grass grows.
The leaves fall.
You lose them again and again.
Day after day.
Month after month.
Year after year.

You lose them as you pick up the broken pieces.
And begin your life anew.
You lose them when you realize.
This is your new reality.
They are never coming back.
No matter how much
You miss them or
Need them.
No matter how hard you pray.
They are gone.
And you must go on.
Alone.

Time marches on, carrying them further and further way.
You lose them as your hair whitens and your body bends with age.
Your memory fades.
And the details begin to blur.
Their face stares back at you from a faded photograph.
Someone you used to know.
You think you might have loved them once.
A long time ago.

Back then.
When you were whole.
You don’t just lose someone once.
You lose them every day.
Over and over again.
For the rest of your life.

Friday spoils. Just because it is nearly weekend. This croissants surely tasted like weekend. Enjoy your weekend!

My intention with “The Conversation” is to help normalize the conversation about death and dying in a way that allows people to feel safe with their fears, their uncertainty, and their curiosity about all of it. If we can learn how to have these conversations without fear, I truly believe we will be able to honor the wishes of the people we love in a way that is compassionate and completely on their terms. I think we owe them that.

You can find this book here:
https://www.amazon.com/Conversation-guide-talking-about-people/dp/B0CZXD4BT4/ref=zg_m_bs_g_14258_m_sccl_6/135-9133169-9358565?

Let’s talk about it. Death will not happen faster because we do. What can happen is that wishes will be heard and honored, and that is a beautiful thing.

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

The Grief Bowl

One of the questions I am asked often, is whether I experience my own grief while watching others anticipate and go through their own. The answer is yes. I think any human being watching someone else navigate the realities of losing someone they love, feels something. Perhaps it is not always grief, however at least for me, it brings up feelings that remind me of my own personal losses.

Anytime I witness someone at the bedside of their parent, I ache a little inside. I am envious of their relationship because I didn't have that. When both of my parents died, I was across the room from them with absolutely no idea what to do, what to say, or how to feel.

When I witness someone saying goodbye to their sibling, I often struggle with holding back my tears because I am reminded repeatedly how deeply I ache from losing my sister and my brother. But the truth is, anytime I am with someone who is having to say goodbye, I feel something, and I always take it with me when I leave.

How do I process that? It has taken me some time to design a ritual that I have been able to incorporate into my daily practice of self-care, so that I too can work through whatever I feel after I see someone die.

You might have heard me talk about my grief bowl before. It has become my immediate go-to when I walk through my door at the end of a day after witnessing people saying goodbye to someone they love. Sometimes this could happen two or three times in a day, which can weigh incredibly heavy. I have learned that if I do not take the time to process it that day, the following day the weight will be heavier. This is not something you can put off for another day, that isn't healthy or productive and I learned that the hard way.

My bowl contains hearts of all different kinds, metal, glass, crystal, clay, wood, and pewter. Each one is special in that it was gifted to me. When I come home from a difficult day, I take my bowl and I empty all my hearts on the table. I think about the people I was with, the last breaths that were taken, the way it made me feel, the ache and pain I felt in the room, and I also think about the love that was felt, because in most cases it is big. I take each heart, one at a time, and I think about my lessons as well as my own emotions, and I send each person extra healing, and comfort, and I honor myself with the same, because I deserve it too and it has taken me a long time to realize that.

And if I do this, the weight is less. Self-care is mandatory, in general, but especially in the work that I do. Anyone who sits at the bedside of someone who is dying, comforts people who are saying goodbye, or holds space for anyone that might be struggling with grief, needs to be cared for well. And if you can create a routine, or a special ritual or ceremony that honors your physical and emotional reaction to loss, you will be far more able to do it again, and in my case, again, and again, and again.

For me it is my grief bowl... it is the ritual that comforts me, supports me, and allows me to do this work, day after day.

Whether you work in end-of-life care or you are trying to navigate your own loss and are grieving, please be kind to yourself. Honor your heart and your body, you deserve that tenderness.

xo
Gabby

You can find this blog here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/the-grief-bowl

Meet our new Team! We want to welcome Sr Michelle Baumgarten who was appointed as Operations Manager and Sr Shirean De Vos who was appointed as Nursing Manager. We believe they will work well together to make sure we continue with quality care. May you enjoy your time with us.