What We're Reading at Agape

The Agape Book Club, made up of  volunteers and staff, chooses books (and sometimes films) that lend perspective on death and dying (which, when you get down to it, is really life and living). 

This past month's book, "The Bright Hour," was introduced to the group by volunteer Kaelin, who wrote: Nina Riggs wrote this book about her journey with terminal cancer at the tender age of 37. At the same time her mother was being treated for terminal cancer.  (That mother/daughter paralleling was a first for me.  Another lesson in how bad things can get.) Shortly after Nina had a mastectomy, she wrote the following. The emphases are all hers.   

We have called in hospice for my mom.  It's strange, because hospice is one of those words that when you say it, people's faces fall.  It is a word that evokes last breaths and hushed voices.  But the more I think about it, the more I'm struck by what a beautiful word it is -- hospice.  It is hushed, especially at the end.  But it's comfortable and competent sounding too.  A French word with Latin roots -- very close to hospital but with so much more serenity due to those S sounds.  

Hospice used to mean a rest house for travelers--for pilgrims. And is there anything more welcome to a weary pilgrim than rest? A great read from Riggs (who is, by the way, a descendent of Ralph Waldo Emerson) with robust discussion among the group. For any who are interested, here are the book club discussion questions: 

1. Nina Riggs has written a remarkable memoir—about facing down a deadly disease—and done so with courage and even, at times, humor. Find passages that strike you as particularly brave or inspirational or witty or sad. What passages stand out to you in terms of their sheer emotional power?
2. Riggs poses a question we all grapple with, but for her its answer was most urgent: what makes a meaningful life, particularly when that life is to be cut short? How does Riggs answer that question? How would you answer it?  Has this book impacted how you might answer this?
3. After her surgery, Riggs' doctor dissuaded her from reconstructive surgery—"That's a survivor issue. We're not there yet." Was that a proper response on the doctor's part? How might you have felt had you received the answer: angry, fearful, or grateful for the honesty? 
4. Riggs wrote: "There are so many things that are worse than death: old grudges, a lack of self-awareness, severe constipation, no sense of humor, the grimace on your husband's face as he empties your surgical drain into the measuring cup." Do you agree that there are things worse than death? If so, what would you add to that list?
5. The book's title comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson: "That is morning; to cease for a bright hour to be a prisoner of this sickly body, and to become as large as the World."  What does the passage mean and what is its significance to the memoir?
6. Talk about how the death of Riggs' mother, Jan, affected her? Consider how painful it must have been for her mother to know she couldn't be there for Nina when she needed her.

Four-Legged Family

-The new Sam-

One of my favorite tenets of hospice is: We serve the entire family 
unit. Sometimes family is a spouse or children, niece or nephew, a friend or even a neighbor. And sometimes, family is a friend of the four-legged variety, like Sam.

  

Sam is the best friend of one of our hospice patients. In fact, Sam is much of what this gentleman lives for. He does not have local family and relies on a church community, plus Agape, to help care for him. Recently, the progression of his illness has prevented him from being able to actively care for Sam – and removing Sam is unthinkable. 

But hospice cares for the family unit, a team effort that often includes volunteers. Enter volunteer, Kelly Rawlins, who is helping this gentleman to keep Sam at home. Kelly is walking Sam on her days off from work. She also took him to see the groomer. Sam had become dirty, matted and unable to see well because of the wild fur over his eyes. Kelly took care of the coordination, and the Agape Foundation footed the bill. 

Thank you, Kelly, and thank you Agape Foundation--what a tremendous gift. With deep gratitude for all of our staff and volunteers in this work --Beth 

Saying Goodbye to a Stellar Volunteer

Gary and Volunteer Manager Beth Kelley

This past week, we said a sad farewell to Gary Gustin, an Agape volunteer whose next adventure is calling him outside of Colorado. Gary has been with us since November 2013. In these 3 ½ years, he has made 296 patient visits for Agape – all while working full time.  In addition, he has spent most of every Sunday at Gardens on Quail helping their residents to get to church services at the facility and then sitting and having coffee and cookies with most of their male residents who are veterans.

This tradition began when he was visiting one of our patients; but, whether we had a patient at Gardens or not, he would go back every Sunday to “be with his guys.” He is the same man who an Agape patient’s son said had become his father’s best friend for the last year of his Dad’s life. This man deserves a standing ovation for his commitment to veterans, hospice care and Agape.

Gary--may the dedication and Agape love you have shown to so many be returned to you 10,000-fold. You will be missed.

A Magical Summer Camp: Kids Take a Vacation from Parents' Cancer

Agape Partners with Camp Kesem!

Children who have a parent living with cancer, or who have lost a parent to cancer,  typically bear their burdens alone. It can be tough for these kids to find understanding, especially with their peers. 

Camp Kesem was established as a place where these children can connect, find support and experience all the fun a week can hold. Kesem summer camps are free of change and run by highly trained college student leaders. The 2017 Kesem CU Boulder camp begins Sunday, June 25^th and runs for one week. 

Agape was introduced to Camp Kesem through Agape Palliative Nurse Practitioner Michael Dunkle. Michael (a.k.a. Yoda), has been with Camp Kesem since 2012, serving as nurse and consultant to the CU students running the show.

Michael says, “Our Kesem chapter has been talking about ways to expand our support base as our camp continues to grow. Agape’s heart for not only caring for people, but helping all community members through a patient’s illness or death, make them a natural partner for Kesem.” 

The team at Agape loves the idea that the children of the patients they’ve cared for could have a community like Kesem near home and without financial burden to the family. 

Kesem means “magic” in Hebrew.  Agape looks forward to supporting and helping Kesem share the magic with families in their care or others in the community whose children can benefit from this opportunity. 

For information or to refer a camper between the ages of 6-16, visit Camp Kesem Boulder or call Agape 720-482-1988. 

Happy Dove Day!

Every year on June 16, Agape Bereavement Manager Karrie Filios honors her mother by handing out Dove bars. She's been doing this every year for 12 years. 

When Karrie’s mom was living her last days, she wasn’t the typical hospice patient in terms of food. She ate up to the day before she died. That day, she enjoyed her last, and favorite, treat: a Dove Bar. The morning of her death, October 15, 2005, Karrie and her family raised their Dove Bars, eating them in tribute to her mom. They did so at her memorial service and have continued this tradition on her mom’s birthday ever since.

As our Bereavement Manager, Karrie knows all about loss, grief and the power of remembrance. How a  simple, tangible token (in this case, a rich, creamy treat perfect for a mid-June summer day), can stand as a sweet memorial.

Thanks, Karrie, for the call to remember and for including us in this delicious tradition every year. Happy Dove Day.   

An Amazing Sing

Agape’s partner group, Moon Over Mountains Threshold Choir (MOMTC), recently offered a bedside sing. Six choir members lifted their voices for our patient while her husband and daughter stood near. Although the patient was non-responsive, the family expressed appreciation for the visit. Then the choir sang “Amazing Grace.” With the sweet, familiar strains, the patient opened her eyes wide, perhaps even trying to sing along. 

This lovely patient died not long after the sing. In subsequent conversations, one of the themes that continued to emerge was how grateful this man was to have seen his wife’s eyes again. He asked that the choir sing “Amazing Grace” at her memorial. This was not possible, but the group agreed to record their rendition of the song on CD, along with a few other offerings. The family was touched.

We are so grateful to Tory, Dia, Danya, Kathy, Elizabeth and Kaelin for singing bedside – and to all who helped with the recording. As Kaelin wrote, “It is beyond precious to bring comfort to a patient and family during the 11^th hour.”

--Beth

Sunset Threshold Choir: Can You Sing?

Agape has a partnership with Moon Over Mountains (MOM) Threshold Choir in Boulder.  Over the past couple of years, they have provided their beautiful lyrical presence, song and tone at the bedside of many of our Boulder-area patients.  I am now THRILLED to announce the launch of a new threshold choir that will rehearse in Arvada and expand our bedside singing capability beyond Boulder.  

Kaelin Kelly, Agape volunteer and MOM threshold choir member, has been working to develop and lead Sunset Threshold Choir.  Kaelin is ready to hear from prospective choir members. Learn more and get in touch: Sunset Threshold Choir on Facebook.

This is such an amazing gift to offer our patients and families during their dying process and I am deeply grateful to Moon Over Mountains Threshold Choir for continuing their mission – as well as to Kaelin for her commitment to building Sunset Threshold Choir.  

I will keep you posted on when the choir will be ready to begin to offer their song in this expanded area.  

-Beth

Got Your Back

Consider hospice care: A team of providers steps into people’s lives at one of the most sensitive and complex times. Like other providers, they answer questions, educate and provide medical care and support. At Agape, there’s also an element of personal investment.

Agape’s vision has staff ensuring a “meaningful end-of-life journey” for those we serve. We take it to heart, and we are all in.

 

We've celebrated many significant Agape anniversaries: docs, nurses, CNAs, social workers, chaplains and support staff who have been with Agape anywhere from five to 12 years.

There are reasons. For many, hospice work is a calling. As a small, private provider, Agape feels more like family than a healthcare business. There’s another factor: team support.

Emails come across every day with words of help, encouragement and recognition of a job well done. There’s road and weather conditions (like RN Nici’s Denver traffic report or Director Kelly’s weather admonitions: Be safe. We need you.). The Agape team jumps in for one another, meeting pressing needs: “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

Hospice work is hard. It's also immeasurably rewarding. End-of-life care takes grit and an open heart. What helps is what we express to our patients and families: The journey is better with support by your side. 

"Match.com" Approach Enhances Patient-Volunteer Connection

When Volunteer Manager Beth Kelley tells people what she does for a living, they typically assume her work is sad, even dreadful. She's quick to say the opposite is true: Every day, she gets to witness people connecting at a sacred time in life. 

Beth came to Agape six years ago, after 20 years in corporate HR. She enjoyed her work but wanted to know at the end of each day that she was making a difference in people's lives. In her current role, she does HR for unpaid employees, her team of hospice volunteers.

Agape volunteers are a unique part of the care team. They don't show up with a blood pressure cuff or a list of diagnostic questions. Instead, volunteers are present with patients (and family) in ways that are most beneficial.

How do they know what people need? For one, Agape volunteers receive special training on end-of-life issues and how to be present and open with people in the last season. Beth also has engineered a method for connecting volunteers and patients using a "Match.com" model. She writes a profile for each patient, allowing volunteers to choose match-ups based on common interests or traits. These have included:

• Jazz
• Southern Roots
• Chocolate Ice Cream
• Schnauzers (and all kind of breeds!)
• Military Service
• Grandchildren 
• Love of music, poetry, art, travel and more. 

Beth calls her volunteers "extraordinary beings" because they knowingly sign up to form a relationship with people who likely won't be here in the next six or so months. And, knowing the loss will cause them sadness, they are willing to do it over and over again.

Self-Care: Not Self-ish

March is National Social Worker Month and an ideal time to connect with our inner social workers. (It's also a great time to give a social worker a hug, gift, or recognition for the stellar work they do to make our world a better place.)   

People in healthcare professions pour themselves out as they serve patients and family. No matter what our jobs, life has a way of asking us to show up  and bring it every day. One of our volunteers, Lee King, compiled a handout on the subject of self-care. It starts with the following quote:

Self-care is not selfish. You can't serve from an empty vessel. 

This month, we're focusing on some ways to care for ourselves. Some of us are already good at this. The rest of us will need some practice. Regardless, here's a good place to start:

Self-Care Tip #1: Acknowledge Yourself
Remember, it is not selfish to take care of yourself. Consider sitting on a plane before take-off. The flight attendant instructs anyone traveling with children to first put on his or her oxygen mask, and then the child's. We are better at caring for others when we are properly equipped.

You have wishes, dreams, hopes for each day. You also have needs and limits. Some people have been rolling on auto pilot for so long, they haven't listened to their inner social worker in years. In the spirit of the movie "Inside Out," wake up that inner social worker. While you're at it, give the dude (or lady) a name!

Take a pause, a few quiet minutes to be without thinking about anyone's expectations (including your own). Be aware of your breathing. Recognize how you're feeling in the moment. Think about what you may need: Is the way you're living honoring your physical, mental and emotional health?

Your thoughts and feelings are valid and worthy. So are you.

Note: Self-care isn't something you put on your to-do list. Nope, it starts right now.

Images of Agape

Since joining Agape Hospice last July, I’ve been asked a couple of times, “What the heck is Agape?” On occasion, I encounter a perplexed face, as in, “What did you say?” when I tell someone the name of our agency. 

As a former church pastor, I’m naively surprised by these responses. After all, I have personally explained agape from the pulpit in no uncertain terms. I was tested on its definition by professors in seminary years ago.

As I  think about it, it makes sense that most people are unfamiliar with agape. After all, it is a Greek term and not English. Although it is used many times in the Bible for selfless, unconditional love, it isn’t actually seen in print as agape. Rather, it is translated into English as just plain “love.” In reality, the concept behind this word demands thoughtful reflection. It’s an idea that really can’t be reduced to mere words; it can only be understood through action.

For many years, I thought I knew agape, but I didn’t really know it until I came to work in hospice. Now I encounter it every day. I see it in:

●     The CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) gently combing a lady’s glistening silver hair.

●     A social worker holding the hand of a man who gasps for each breath of air.

●     A chaplain listening attentively to a young woman explaining her struggle with how to tell her teen that she won’t be there for milestone events, like hearing about her first kiss or celebrating her graduation from high school.

●     A volunteer sitting at the bedside of a dying man until the wee hours of the morning,  waiting for a family member to arrive, to ensure the patient doesn't die alone.

●     A nurse compassionately explaining to members of a family what to expect in their loved one’s final days.

I now understand agape to be a verb. My Agape teammates inspire me to be more selfless and caring, to embody what Agape is all about, and to awaken each day to the simple thought: “How might I agape today?”

Jeff Jenkins,  M.Div.

Chaplain

CoBANK Awards Generous Gift to the Agape Foundation

Agape had the honor of accepting a $5,000 check from CoBANK to the Agape Foundation. The check was presented by Agape volunteer and CoBANK employee Lee King this week at our all-staff meeting.

Lee received the check in combination with winning the CoBANK volunteer of the year award for 2015. We are grateful for this generous gift and what it will provide for patients and families in need.

As Volunteer Manager Beth Kelley said at the acceptance ceremony, Lee approaches her work as volunteer the way she approaches her life: Fully focused and dedicated to whatever she is doing. That means putting concerted effort into knowing each patient and family, what's important to them and how she can help make their days as meaningful as possible. Here's just one example:

Volunteer Lee King with Agape Owners,
Larry Woods and Kim West

When 97-year-old Trudy came onto Agape service, she asked if any of our volunteers hailed from Kentucky. Unfortunately, none of them did, but Lee King entered the scene and did the next best thing: She poured herself into learning about Kentucky, even finding a link to the town newspaper where Trudy used to live.

And Lee learned a whole lot about basketball. She said, "Basically, basketball in Kentucky is nothing short of religious. They love their basketball!"

This was true of Trudy. So Lee, armed with her new Kentucky knowledge, planned a special evening. She made Trudy's favorite foods (potroast, veggies and potatoes) and she, Trudy and Trudy's son gathered to watch the Kentucky Wildcats play Ole Miss.

The icing on the cake? Final score: Wildcats 80/Ole Miss 74.

We congratulate Lee for winning this honor. Humble thanks to Lee and CoBANK for the incredible support.

Patient name is pseudonym to protect privacy. 

Honor Them: Patient & Volunteer Vets

Don, Carl and Captain Schermerhorn

A certain camaraderie exists between two people who have served in the military that seems to span experience and generations. We've seen this in the depth of many relationships forged between Agape veteran patients and Agape volunteers who have served in the U.S. armed forces. 

This past week, we experienced something new: an honoring ceremony for two vets, both patient and volunteer. Patient  J. Carl Montoya (United States Army) and Agape volunteer Don Straney (United States Navy) both were honored for their service to our country in an "Honor Them" pinning ceremony. Volunteer, family, caregivers and staff of Agape and Villa Manor Care Center, where the ceremony was held, gathered to witness a deeply moving event.

This ceremony, carried out by U.S. Army Captain David Schermerhorn, was established by All Veterans Funeral & Cremation to honor as many veterans as possible for their sacrifice and service. All Veterans was founded in 1989 by a US veteran who was passionate about every service member receiving recognition, not just on Veteran's Day, but the other 364 days of the year.

Andrew Martinez honored 

Not letting any opportunity for recognition pass by (and acknowledging the importance of home front support), Captain David recognized Carl's wife, Esther, for her support of her husband as a service member. Carl's brother Andrew also was recognized for his own military service.

The room was heavy with emotion and humble strength. What a privilege to be there!

Can We Still Grow at the End of Life?

I REMEMBER cradling my newborn baby girl in my left arm, amazed that she could fit between the palm of my hand and my elbow. Fifteen years have since passed and today she stands 5 ft., 9 inches. Physically, she is almost fully grown; emotionally, like all of us, more growth is needed and will continue throughout her life.

When we think of growth, we focus on the physical; it's what we can see and measure in concrete terms. Emotional growth is less measurable and more difficult to describe, yet it unfolds before our eyes and can be quite apparent as behavior is demonstrated.

However, even more difficult to wrap our minds around is spiritual growth, which has a plethora of definitions and depends on one's faith tradition or perspective.

MY ROLE AS A HOSPICE CHAPLAIN is not to reduce spiritual growth to a simple, one-line definition. Instead, it gladdens my heart to present to hospice patients and their families a bold, incredibly energizing idea: Death is not without hope; growth can happen at the end of one's life.

When you think about it, this is mind-blowing! It's counter-intuitive because we are so focused on what we can see and measure (like measuring our children's height with pencil marks on a door frame). When someone is dying, when biological systems are failing, how is it possible for growth to happen? 

Yet (I dare say), the end of life possesses the potential for a kind of growth that is unfathomable at any other point in one's life.

Jesus said, "Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds" (John 12:24 ).

WHEN A TERMINAL DIAGNOSIS comes to us, our instinct is to think, "This is the end." Certainly, it may mean that the end of this life is drawing near. What if, however, as hospice professionals, we were able to help those involved see that it can mean much more than the end?  What if they could see they are, together, on the verge of something beautiful being birthed? The process of dying is difficult, but it is a sacred event that is ripe for transformation in the lives of those involved. It begs courage to enter into this way of thinking, but it offers such potential.

  

THIS POTENTIAL at the end of life can be encapsulated in one word: Hope – hope that something larger than oneself is happening. In patients and families I have met, I have seen both ends of the spectrum, from hopelessness to hopefulness. This could be expressed as, "I'm done; I just want to die," or, "As I die, I want to teach my children how to die and not be afraid of death."

My patients have taught me the truth of what Jesus said in John 12:24:  That life can be birthed out of death. My hope with each patient and family I meet is to introduce them to unseen possibilities and encourage them to step into a blank canvass upon which something beautiful and inspiring will emerge.

Retired Doc Finds Surprise, Challenge as Hospice Volunteer

Retired physician Larry Larsen’s path to medicine started with a pause. It was 1979, and he was a grad student making his way from Denver to St. Louis to begin study at St. Louis University School of Medicine. He and his wife, Jeanne, packed up their few belongings and headed down the stairs of the spartan three-story apartment building they’d called home. Before stepping out the door, Larry stopped. His thought, one that would reverberate off the halls of his experience years later, was: “I hope I don’t ever get to a place in life where I can’t get back to this.”

Larry’s medical studies, through service in the U.S. Army, led him from St. Louis to an internship and residency through William Beaumont Army Medical Center in El Paso, Texas (1983-86), and then on to one year of internal medicine at Ft. Ord,  Calif. Having completed a PhD in pathology prior to medical school, he was interested in a fellowship where he could apply that background. In 1987, he began a sub-specialty Allergy-Immunology Fellowship at Fitzsimons Army Hospital in Denver and then served as staff in the Fitzsimons allergy training program. He worked for two years in private practice in Denver and then moved to Salt Lake City in 1995 to pursue an opportunity in clinical research.

In 2004, at 54 years of age, Larry was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  This diagnosis, and the treatment and course which followed, has had a profound influence on his point of view and course in life. Initial treatment included a robotic prostatectomy, new at the time. PSA (prostate-specific antigen) levels showed recurrence of the tumor in 2006.

In 2007, Larry left Salt Lake City and the field of medicine (he doesn’t like titles or the word “retire”), and he and Jeanne returned to Denver to be near family. 

“Something was bothering me,” he says. ” I wanted to be able to close my eyes and feel good about my life in my last days.”

THROUGH HIS CAREER, he explains, he had lost sight of his original ideal: living a simple, non-presumptuous life. He decided to take a CNA class. (He found it one of the most enjoyable times of his life.) He also decided to volunteer for hospice.

“We happened to live by Broomfield Hospice, so I went in, looked around and applied for the volunteer program.” Larry wanted to continue volunteering when he and his wife moved to south Denver.  He had heard good things about Agape Hospice and resumed his role with Agape.

Larry says he doesn’t let his professional background “interfere” with his role as volunteer.

“I'VE LEARNED WHAT'S IMPORTANT for patients are the everyday little necessities. Their days are made better through small intentions: making sure they have a nice bed, combing or brushing their hair, sitting and talking with them.” When patients aren’t feeling their best, he notes, a foot rub or basic care provided by CNAs makes a significant impact.

“I’ve realized how hard the CNA job is, and undervalued,” he says. “When I started in hospice, I thought, ‘I’d really like to help the nurses and CNAs, make their days easier.’”

Larry has been surprised and challenged by volunteering. He tells the story of a patient, just 20 years old, who had bone cancer. She was reliant on others to take care of her needs.

“I was bringing a lunch tray into her room when I first saw her. I walked in the door, and I almost had to take a step back,” he says. “She looked like a 12 year old. Her clothes were pink, and there were shawls and hats with pink feathers. It didn’t look like the typical 20-year-old’s room. This was a person who was denied a lot.”

He knew she had started treatment young, missing out on her young adult days. She had coordination problems and found it difficult to handle utensils. Larry tried to help her, and the young woman began to cry, saying, “Let me do this.”

“That was a deep experience. I hadn’t listened to her wish for independence,” he says. “That is one I’ll never forget.”

Larry explains that one of the most important things he has learned from volunteer classes about hospice, or practicing any kind of medicine, is, “It’s not about me.”

“When you enter someone’s door, you leave all your personal baggage and judgments outside. You take them for who they are. This is easy to say, but not always easy to do,” he says.

HE ALSO HAS A KEEN AWARENESS of the need for psychological help when people are facing serious illness or the end of life—and the stigma still associated with seeking mental health services.

“People have to be made aware that there is nothing wrong with it. If you’re willing to take care of your diabetes, it’s no less important to take care of your psychological health. Patients and family may need counseling or medication (even temporary). Because being close to death, things may open up in your life that have been suppressed.”

Larry recalls a woman in her 70’s, “very kind,” who was in her last days of life. She had been married to an abusive husband who, by her account, had made her life miserable. She hadn’t spoken about this with anyone. Sitting with “Dr. Larsen,” hospice volunteer, gave her the opportunity to tell an important part of her story, “to get it out into the open.”

Getting to what's most important starts with a pause. Larry began anti-androgen therapy in 2013 and continues with this treatment today.

“Because I value quality over quantity of life, I have not pursued any additional therapy, such as chemotherapy or radiation, as I don’t favor the risk-benefit value there—though radiation has come a long way since I was what I consider a reasonable candidate for it,” he explains. He is quick to say this is a personal decision for each individual to make.

“Anti-androgen therapy is not a cure and gradually the cancer cells out-smart it, which is becoming so in my case. And that’s okay,” he says. “My work with hospice staff and volunteers keeps reminding me that it’s not about me.”  

He's My Friend...He's My Brother

Last weekend, Agape volunteer Gary G. attended the celebration of life for one of the patients he supported for eight months.  His patient Frank* actually passed away in May. Not long before his death, Frank’s hospice nurse, Mary, asked him how his volunteer visits were going with Gary.  Frank was quick to respond, “Gary is not my volunteer any longer—he’s my friend.” I love that sentiment. Every weekend, Gary would drive from Centennial to Longmont to visit, not his patient, but his friend.  

When Frank died, his son communicated to us that the service was for immediate family...and Gary. The family held a celebration of life last weekend, and Gary was included. 

This happens with Gary time after time, as with Ed*, another of his patients. Ed had a son, and sometimes he wasn’t quite sure who was visiting – his biological son or “brother Gary.” Gary and the family rolled with it. Ed knew he had special people who came to visit on a regular basis. When Ed died, Gary was invited to this service, too.  He was at the funeral home and the graveside where Ed was interred with full military honors. 

Gary pays tribute to others. Yet what a tribute to Gary that he has been invited into one of the most intimate times of peoples' lives. Thank you Gary and all of our magnificent Agape volunteers. 

Grateful for you ~ Beth

*Not actual names

Time to Live

The news that treatment is no longer effective (or that an older person is in decline), can seem like the end of hope--or a big, fat fail. Thought of cure or extended time turn to questions like, "Why" "What if?" and "What now?"

Yet knowing time is limited also presents an opportunity: to step back, take a breather and take control. But how? 

Agape Hospice care starts with a question: "What's meaningful to you?" For starters, people want to feel better. Less anxious. Less nauseated. Less sick. They want to be thought of as individuals and not defined by their condition, treatment or symptoms.

They tell us they'd like to go fishing or camping, enjoy a Twinkie, or get their hands dirty in the garden. Patients say they'd like to write letters or memoirs. To paint. To tie up loose ends with relationships. They want to accomplish things. Most want meaningful time with friends and family.

Our physicians, nurses, CNAs, social workers, chaplains and volunteers form a team expressly dedicated to helping people feel well enough to accomplish what's important. Our team is really good at relieving a person's symptoms while helping him or her to be as alert as possible. Sometimes, when people's bodies aren't having to work so hard to compensate for pain, discomfort, sleeplessness or anxiety, their condition actually improves. With Agape, people also get practical, emotional and spiritual support according to what they want and need.

If possible, why wouldn't anyone make the last weeks or months of life as rich as any other time? People fear death, suffering and the unknown. That's natural. They should not fear hospice care.

Crying Over Strawberries at the Checkout

So you're in the grocery store on a picturesque Colorado day: warm, bright and filled with summer promise. You're loading your quart of ripe summer strawberries at the checkout and thinking about the possibilities. Sliced strawberries, spongy cake and freshly whipped cream. Smoothies. Icy cold strawberry margaritas. You catch the scent of the berries as they pass into the sales clerk's hands through the scanner and into your canvas bag (cheers to yourself for saving the planet one bag at a time!).

But before you can swipe your card, you're hit with a pang of something you can't place, like a loaf of day-old baguette leveled to the gut.

By the time you home in on your car and place your heavy eco-friendly bag into the back of your car, you're in tears. That is to say, you're beginning to convulse with sobs. One minute you're thinking about strawberry shortcake and drinks on the patio, the next you're bemoaning your lack of a scrap of anything resembling a tissue.

In the words of Marge Gunderson in the movie "Fargo" after she apprehends her depraved suspect, you think, "And here ya are, and it's a beautiful day. Well. I just don't understand it."

Then, like the ends of a seat belt, it clicks. Picking strawberries on a summer's day. The scent wafting through the air. Father's Day. Your Dad.

Agape bereavement counselor Karrie Filios calls this a trigger, and as confounding as it can seem when it hits, it's a normal part of grief. It can happen weeks, months, or years after losing someone you love.

Life is full of triggers that may remind us of a people we've lost: the smell of fresh-cut grass, Old Spice or a trip to Ace Hardware. Such episodes can be painful and surprising. They can also be a gift, our body's way of remembering and bringing a memory to mind.

Slice those fresh strawberries. Make fruity margaritas and toss those red gems on shortcake with loads of whipped cream. Then toast the person who not only played a significant part in your life, but lives on in your heart and your remembering. And to remember is to honor.

Art Buchwald's Victory Lap: A Case Study in Hospice & Beyond

Alas, the people who come to visit me now look at me with great suspicion. They want to know if the whole thing was a scam. They can’t believe, after I said goodbye, I’m going to Martha’s Vineyard instead of Paradise.

Art Buchwald, The Washington Post, 3/23/2006

When celebrated columnist Art Buchwald checked himself into a residential hospice in February of 2006, he expected to live two or three weeks. His doctors told him he had no kidney function, and Buchwald—who was 80 years old and facing a number of health challenges— decided to forgo dialysis.

Apparently, one of Buchwald’s kidneys didn’t get the memo. It continued functioning, and Buchwald lived to “hold court” in the community room of The Washington Home and Hospice for almost five months.

At the end of this time, he didn’t die. He checked himself out of hospice and went back home to Martha’s Vineyard. He lived another six months, spending time with friends and family, before his kidneys failed and he passed away. (Buchwald said the lesson in this experience was “Don’t trust your kidneys.”)

In the time between being admitted to hospice and dying, Buchwald led a remarkable life. He visited with family and friends (and enemies), hand-picked his eulogizers and wrote a book about his end-of-life experience (“Too Soon to Say Goodbye”). He wrote columns twice a week for the Washington Post, was interviewed by a host of national media icons and, to use his words, “became a poster boy for death.”

In 2006, The National Hospice Foundation honored Buchwald with the Hospice Champion Award. In 2008, in recognition of the positive attention Buchwald brought to hospice care, the National Hospice Foundation created the Buchwald Spirit Award for Public Awareness.

Robin Morton Murray

Taken from the Agape Healthcare  "By Your Side" publication

Own Way, Own Time

I stopped by the care facility to see my female patient after having communicated with my Agape supervisor about updates for a couple of days.I had been out of town for a couple months. 

Her husband was there when I arrived and she was in bed, unresponsive, with an oxygen mask.

Once again, her husband seemed to have some anxiety about the process, worrying out loud about things like the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything in several days and that she was not responsive to people.

I did my best to chat with him about how in my experience, every death is different, each follows its own course, and that his wife and her body were doing what they needed to do. I assured him that she did look comfortable and also said the process will unfold on its own time and there was no way to say for sure when she would take her last breath.

Overall, her husband seemed grateful that I came to visit. He read me a couple of Bible passages that he found encouraging about death. I sat very briefly with the patient herself, held her hand lightly and said hello and I could see she was doing what she needed to do. I told her how much I had enjoyed spending time with her and said, again, that I would read about Merle, the freethinking Dog, and remember our journey—Merle, the patient, me—together.

I was surprised when I realized how long I’d been seeing this patient.  We started with Bible reading and that was great, but once we proceeded to “Merle’s Door, Lessons from a Freethinking Dog,” we had something that just the two of us shared.

Agape Volunteer, Clay Bonnyman Evans

www.claybonnymanevans.com