To Make Sure Sue Keeps Dancing

Charlie Conner and his wife Sue spent the winter at their Florida home for 17 years.  He loved the warm weather, dancing with his love of 52 years, and listening to her sing.

But when Charlie was diagnosed with cancer, everything changed. Winters in Florida seemed impossible.  Instead, they stayed closer to home, where Sue took wonderful care of him.  She didn’t leave Charlie’s side for four years.

As his condition worsened, Charlie told Sue he wanted to spend one more winter in

Sue and Charlie Conner 5

Charlie with Sue, the love of his life.

Florida.  It wouldn’t be an easy trip, and it would take a lot of planning, but Charlie wanted to see Sue dance and sing in the Florida sun again, so they made the arrangements. In November, they returned to their Florida home and were able to stay until April.

Not long after returning to Kentucky, Charlie’s physician suggested they look into hospice care.  He was admitted to Hospice Care Plus and his hospice team began to care for him. They quickly learned that he had another wish. He and Sue had always attended both of their family reunions in the summers.  Charlie wanted to attend one more reunion.

As the July reunion drew near, Charlie’s condition worsened again.  Knowing how important it was to him to make it to the reunion, the hospice team worked diligently to bring pain and symptoms under control, making frequent visits, adjusting medications, and collaborating with his physicians. When the big day approached, Charlie felt well enough to go. He wasn’t able to stay the entire day, but he did get to make that last trip to see his family.

A month later, Charlie passed away.

That’s when Sue told us that he had one more wish, and this one only Sue could help him with.

Sue was the love of Charlie’s life.  Throughout his illness, he worked hard to prepare her for his leaving.  His final wish to Sue was that she go on living.

Sue and Charlie Conner 1

Sue and Charlie surrounded by all the littles ones they love.

“He told me, ‘you love to dance and you love to sing.  When I’m gone, you go on living. Find someone to dance with and keep on singing,’” remembers Sue.

Hospice’s bereavement program stayed in touch with Sue to offer support. They were delighted to learn that Sue would, in fact, honor Charlie’s last wish.

“It’s only been a few months since Charlie passed, but I went to Florida this winter, because that’s what he would have wanted.  I’m continuing to live, just like he asked me to do.”

To Learn to Drive

In this reflection from a current staff member and former volunteer at Hospice Care Plus,  we learn that sometimes, even family members of hospice patients have important bucket-list items.

Faced with life without her longtime husband, a grieving widow learns to drive, with the help of a special hospice friend.

Faced with life without her longtime husband, a grieving widow wants to learn to take the wheel, literally.

I became acquainted with hospice as a volunteer while in college. My first assignment was with an older couple I’ll call Mr. and Mrs. C. I was asked to visit them weekly to give Mr. C some company and Mrs. C a brief break.

On my first visit, Mrs. C asked me to sit with her husband while she went to do laundry. I sat there, full of the sense of immortality young people have, and realized how quickly it can all be taken away. Yet, there was something very hopeful in what I saw. I saw a man in his own living room, being cared for by his wife of 52 years. The wall next to his bed was filled with photographs from Mr. and Mrs. C’s life together. I saw him as a young man with his parents, as a brand new husband and then brand new father, as a smitten grandpa, and then as a comfortably older gentleman with his arms around his wife.

I saw a life and a person—not a patient.

When Mrs. C came back, she leaned over him, kissed him on the forehead, and said, “I’m back, Daddy.” He broke into a huge smile and held her to him for a bit. I sat a little uncomfortably, trying to pretend I wasn’t misty-eyed.

This, I thought—this is what it should be like in the last months of life.

Mr. C died peacefully, at home, about two months after that visit. I continued to see Mrs. C as part of hospice’s bereavement program, which offers grief support after a loss. We became fast friends, and I quickly learned that she was anxious about life now that she was alone.

Mr. C always paid the bills and balanced the checkbook. He was also their driver. So, with Mr. C gone and their children far away, Mrs. C felt lost and helpless. She couldn’t get a handle on the whole checkbook business, and she felt very limited by not being able to drive. We talked about these issues each visit, when I’d come to take her to the grocery store.

One week, after we shopped and returned to the car, I asked Mrs. C if she’d like to learn to drive. She was frightened by the prospect and insisted she didn’t want to risk harming my car. I assured her that I had faith it would be okay. She got behind the wheel of that car in the grocery store parking lot, and spent 10 minutes learning about the pedals and the next 10 minutes weaving in and out of parking lot lanes.

We continued this for weeks, until, one fall day, she went for her road test and passed. We celebrated by letting her drive me to the grocery store, where she insisted on buying me a box of cookies. We ate the whole thing on the way back to her house.

Over time, we also worked together to master the art of the checkbook. I stayed in touch with Mrs. C for more than 10 years. I called to tell her all about the boyfriend I was sure would become my husband (he did). When we had our first child, I paid her a visit. When I moved out of state, we wrote letters. When I learned she passed away peacefully at home one morning, I cried, got in my car, drove to Kroger’s for a box of cookies, and ate the whole box in her memory.

Mr. and Mrs. C’s experience convinced me that hospice care is essential to the best quality of life in the last months—so respectful of dignity, of relationships, of hopes and dreams. They also taught me that our dreams change when life hangs in the balance. For them and for her, the dream was to share a life together, at home, until the last moment, and then to learn how to go on—independently, behind your own wheel—when you suddenly find yourself all alone in the driver’s seat.

To Show Other Kids You Understand

This doesn’t exactly fit our bucket-list-story mold, but we couldn’t help but share it. As we’ve said before, most of our bucket-list wishes come to us in response to the question, “What’s most important to you today?” We didn’t ask that question of these teenagers, but still they told us how important it was to them to help other kids through a loss. After all, who better than a teenager who’s been through it herself?

Have you evephoto 2 (1)r tried to buy a sympathy card for a child or teenager who’s lost a loved one? It’s very hard to find something that fits.

Our bereavement coordinator, Nora Brashear, LCSW, recently went in search of such cards. When she came back empty-handed, she decided to go to the experts.

Luckily, we have access to some brilliant teens who’ve been through it and know first-hand what works. Nora asked two of them what they found most helpful, and they agreed that the homemade cards they received from other kids were the ones that most lightened the load.

Two of these teenagers talked with Nora about making cards for our hospice to uphoto 4se with children.  One is a 13-year-old who lost a parent suddenly a few years ago. Another is a 17-year-old who recently lost a sibling. Both of them have received grief counseling through our Bereavement Outreach program, and both were delighted to put their arts-and-crafts skills to work for other kids who are grieving.

Nora used grant funds to purchase the card-making supplies, gave them to the two teens, and they went to work. These photos are of the first set of cards they’ve completed. We thought they did an outstanding job!

Nora and the rest of our bereavement staff will use the cards with the children of our hospice patients, and also with children in the commphoto 3unity who come to us for grief and
loss support.

We’re so happy to have these cards on-hand, but we’re even happier that two special teens used their own losses to help make another child’s loss a bit easier.