When I first got into hospice, I really thought I would have memory of every patient I cared for. I was so excited to work in hospice that I told my mentor during orientation I would want to attend the death of all my patients day or night. He smiled at me and explained how impossible that would be. I didn’t realize how many people I would care for.

I have been in hospice for just under 7 years. I can say, without fear of contradiction, I have cared for hundreds of dying people. It is impossible to remember everyone. The sheer numbers alone make it difficult. Still, some patients remain a part of my memory forever.

I will never forget Angie. She lived in a rural area of Kansas City in her daughter’s basement. Every time I would visit she would be pulled up to her computer reading Facebook. She was almost completely blind, so she used a large TV screen for her monitor, and everything was blown up to about 200 percent. She would look at the screen from about 6 inches away. Any time I visited she would just wave me into the room without making eye contact.

”I’m working on FarmVille, James. I’ll be right with you.”

I would just sit by her hospital bed and wait patiently. Eventually, she would push herself away, apologize and let me perform my assessment. She was a cute little short lady with heart failure. Over the next several months her health continued to decline. She was not a candidate for any type of aggressive care. We addressed any out-of-control symptoms as they would arise. I would call her cardiologist and get new orders to treat extra fluid and chest pain.

It is normal for all hospice patients to begin to lose their appetite. The body is slowly failing, and the desire for food begins to subside. As the caloric intake declines, weakness and lethargy take over. This isn’t painful at all. It is a normal part of the dying process. Eventually, everyone becomes too weak to get out of bed. Angie was no different.

One day I made a visit and, for the first time, she was not sitting in front of FarmVille. She was lying in her hospital bed. Her daughter was sitting in the other half of the room as I sat down next to Angie’s bed.

”I’m too tired to get out of bed, James.”

”I know.” Was all I could get out.

I sat there in the quiet for a few minutes. I could tell her daughter knew things were getting closer to the end. She understood.

I looked back at Angie and said, “Your heart is failing you.”

She looked back at me and said, “You mean I’m not going to make it?”

I got goosebumps. I looked at her daughter. Her daughter looked back at me and gave the slightest nod.

I looked back at Angie and managed to say, “No, you are not going to make it.”

Angie cried.

After a few minutes, she gathered herself. I pointed to a ledge on the basement wall where she had at least a dozen Bible based figurines. She had the entire Christmas Nativity set up on the wall. I looked at Angie and asked her what I was looking at.

”That is Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I also have some of the saints up there. Peter is there and so is James and John.”

”So, do you believe you will go be with Jesus when this life is over?”

”Yes, I get to go be with him.”

“Will it help you to think of them every day when you wake up?”

”Yes it will help a lot, James.”

Her daughter looked at me in approval. Over the next few weeks Angie moved from this world to the next. With every visit we looked at her figurines on the wall and discussed what awaited her. Eventually, she went home to be with her Savior, Jesus.

I will never forget Angie.

I remember her, because she was the first person I ever told they were going to die.

James

James worked on-and-off as an LPN for over 20 years. In 2014 he completed a bridge program and became an RN. James became a hospice nurse in January 2015. He lives in the Kansas City area with his wife of over 30 years, 4 daughters and 2 sons in law.