Tears of joy

I am on my way by car to the hospice where Jan, a rather special member of our water sports club lies. I find myself finding it a bit exciting after all. What on earth do you say to such a person and is he even waiting for me?
Never before have I set foot in a hospice. As I stand at the traffic light, I see myself in my mind’s eye walking down a chilly fluorescent-lit hallway. Small rooms to the left and right. Through the open doors, I am constantly confronted with images of gasping old people looking desperately at me from hospital beds with large casters. The lockers with red buttons for some extra oxygen just out of their reach.
I am startled by the honking of a car behind me. The traffic light is already jumping back to orange and I quickly pull up while raising my hand backwards with an apologetic gesture.

Rose visited Jan for the first time last week. I made off with an in itself plausible excuse and didn’t go. Anyway, I don’t have much use for Jan. At the association, he was always quite a jerk and unpredictable. But Rose came back with a story that did grab me. Jan had known for a year that treatment for the cancer was no longer useful. He told Rose how he had gotten through that year on his own and that medication had sometimes left him quite confused and also aware of his own strange social behavior. Jan had isolated himself considerably and now lay lonely in our village hospice. For days I tried to imagine what it must have been like for Jan that entire sailing season that he had kept his illness to himself. On Sunday, there had been a speaker at the church we occasionally attend. You know one of those gnawing sermons where you think; is he talking to me all the time? Is he consciously looking at me a few times now? I gathered all my courage and after checking with Rose three times that I really didn’t need to make an appointment then, I now drove to the hospice.

It is beautiful spring weather, as I get out of the car in front of the hospice I scan the windows with my eyes fleetingly to see if my specter is already more or less confirmed. Instead, the sound of chirping birds is drowned out by a roar of laughter that I think I recognize. Others I hear laughing loudly along with me. The sound comes from the hospice garden. I just ring the bell neatly at the front door and a friendly woman, without a white nurse’s outfit, opens. ‘Good afternoon ma’am, I have come for Jan,’, ‘Ah how he will like that’ she says kindly as she beckons me to walk behind her. We walk indoors to the garden while I take in the hospice. It is cozily decorated with warm colors. There are beautiful works of art on the wall and the bookshelves are richly stocked. We walk through a kind of living room that reminds me of the one Grandpa and Grandma used to have.

Arriving in the garden, I see Jan already sitting, in a wheelchair, as he loudly tells a story to his fellow residents who look on amused. Looking to the side for a moment, he sees me approaching. In the middle of a sentence, he stops his story and turns his wheelchair a quarter turn toward me. The tears of laughter in his eyes immediately gave way to new tears. The grimace on his face betrays a desire to control his emotions. Tears of joy because I am there, a vague acquaintance coming especially for him. ‘Ralph!!!, how nice that you’re here!’ ‘Ha Jan, I thought I’d come and see you, but if you don’t-‘, ‘Ralph, sit down! What do you want to drink?” asks Jan as he pulls out a chair and gestures to the friendly volunteer to stay a while longer to take the order. ‘I do like a coffee’ I say somewhat overwhelmed by a completely different scene than I had imagined. ‘Would you like a piece of apple pie with it too? We just baked those and Jan helped peel apples’ I nod and take a seat at the round table. Jan introduces me to his fellow residents. It amazes me how alive they still are and not immediately apparent that they will be breathing their last here in the foreseeable future.

After coffee, I join Jan in his cozy room. Notable are the huge pillar speakers next to his bed that lead with thick cables to a high-end stereo system. Jan sees my interest “Yes nice stuff huh Ralph, these were the best speakers on the market at the time! I look around and conclude that Jan has taken many of his treasured items and made the room his own. We talk for hours. The conversations are profound, vulnerable and beautiful. Jan is clearly trying to impart some of his life wisdom and I must admit that I am quite entertained.

‘Jan, I’m about to go. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ ‘I want so much to go to my Swan Lake one more time, to stand by the waterfront one more time or to sail one last time’ he says dreamily from the painkillers that make him sleepy. I nod to indicate that I heard him, that I understand him but I also don’t know how or what my role is in this right now. We say goodbye for now and relieved, I walk past the rooms toward the exit. Through the open doors I see heartwarming scenes. Volunteers endlessly bringing cups of tea and listening with interest to the stories of the people they call their guests.

Back in the car, I am moved. Do I feel shame and relief at the same time. Here in my village is a home, a hospice where stories play out, where there is warmth and love. A place where you can really make a difference and be anything but scary.

-to be continued-

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