When I first met Henry I never dreamed I'd feel so close to him when he died. He smelled of stale liquor, had a three-day stubble of gray whiskers, and had not bathed in some time. Henry was in his mid-sixties, had cancer of the lung, and lived alone in a low income apartment. He initially came to the outpatient clinic for weekly chemotherapy. I gave him many of his chemo treatments and we had lots of time to talk because each treatment took at least an hour. He told me about his life, that he was an alcoholic and hadn't been very proud of how he had lived his life. He talked about how he had basically deserted his wife and children and usually spent whatever money he made on booze. As he reviewed his life, he said he felt bad about the way he had lived it and that he had made lots of mistakes. He voiced regrets about never seeing any of his family again since he had turned his back on them because of his alcoholism.
Henry came to his oncology appointment one day having had too much to drink. That day the chest x-ray showed that the tumor in his lung was larger, which meant there was no use in continuing with chemotherapy. He was quite short of breath, very weak and frail, and was having a great deal of pain, so the doctor admitted him to the hospital. After being there a couple of days, it was obvious that Henry would never be able to go back to his apartment again. I said to the doctor one day, "We all know that Henry is getting close to dying. What if we brought some liquor to the hospital? Quality of life is important and it wouldn't be good for him to go through D.T.'s (delirium tremors) as sick and pain-filled as he is now."
The doctor agreed, and so I brought a bottle of whiskey to the hospital after work that day. I took it in to Henry and I showed him what I had. He broke into a big smile, but looked a little shocked. I said, "I brought this present to you and we will keep it at the nurses' station and you can have a drink occasionally if you want."
Henry started to open the drawer to his bedside table and was fumbling around in it, as if he were looking for something. I said, "Could I help you find something?" He said, "I want to pay you. I really appreciate this." I knew he didn't have any money, but I had also learned from all the times he shared his story with me that it was important to him that he pay his way. So I replied, "Henry, I would rather you pay me with a favor." He said, "What's that?"
I explained: "Well, you've told me that even though you've made mistakes in your life, you believe in a loving God. You believe that your God has forgiven you for your past and you feel very peaceful about where you are going when you die. Is that right?" He answered, "Oh yes, I know my God forgives me and I know I will join him when I die." So I said, "Well, I have a twin brother in heaven and I want you to tell him 'Hi' for me when you get there." Henry said, very enthusiastically, "Well, I will!"
A few days later as I was spending time with Henry, very aware of how fast he was failing, he said to me: "How do you make out a will here? I would like to make out a will." I asked the social worker to come and talk with him. After the social worker helped him make out his will, Henry shared it with me. He wanted his overcoat to go to the man down the hail in the rooming house. He wanted his shaving kit to go to another man down the hall. He wanted the canned goods in his kitchen to go to the lady who lived across the hail from him. (She used to bring him home-cooked food sometimes.) He had $15.00. He split that and wanted $5.00 to go to three friends, myself being one of them. That was Henry's will.
A few days later, the utilization review person in the hospital said Henry had to go to a nursing home because he did not require acute nursing care in a hospital anymore. Henry was very sad because the staff at the hospital had become his family. I promised him I would try to come each day to visit him if I could.
Henry was transferred to a nursing home and was there only three days before he died. I went each of those three days after work and sat with him. He could hardly speak anymore, only in a whisper, if at all. The last evening I was with him, I was just sitting quietly holding his hand, and he appeared to be unaware that I was there. He had labored breathing and was nearing death. After a while, Henry opened his eyes and looked at me for a while. His eyes were glassy and he seemed to be looking far away. Then he acted as if he wanted to say something. I got closer to him and he moved his lips. There was no sound but he mouthed: "What's his name?"
I told him his name was Joe.
Henry died that night at 1:30 a.m. I have no doubt that my twin brother got the message from me. Thank you, Henry, for allowing me to travel with you on your journey home. What a privilege to be with you.
Meditation
Prayer
For Today
Excerpted from May I Walk You Home by Joyce Hutchison & Joyce Rupp, OSM. Copyright 1999 by Ave Maria Press, PO Box 248, Notre Dame IN 46556. Used with permission of the publisher.
Joyce Hutchison, RN, CRNH, serves a Patient Advocate at mercy Hospital
Medical Center, Des Moines IA.
Joyce Rupp, OSM, is well-known for her work as a writer, spiritual "mid-wife,"
and retreat & conference speaker.