A Breaking Heart

In my first few weeks at Joseph's House, I have noticed that the current residents are not quite I expected. Though some are dying, they are still mobile and independent. For the most part, they do not need much assistance, other than providing them with their daily medications. Some are in a lot of pain, that we control with needed doses of morphine or methadone. But otherwise, I haven't really felt like I work at a hospice home...that is, until Monday.


One of our residents is an African-American man in his 50s who is dying from liver cancer. I still remember the day I met him - his smiling face, his ability to talk about practically anything, his humor, this instant sense of love he exudes. He has become a dear friend of mine. He always watches the Jets just so he can talk to me about them on Monday. He loves reggae - which I love so much. He has had adventures I can only dream of. He is like a father to me in some ways. He always checks to make sure I am ok. He endearingly calls me "Shorty" and loves the egg sandwiches I make for him. He tells me all the cool places to go in DC, but always cautions me not to get sucked into the tourist traps because I should never spend $4 on a hot dog. One night, when I worked 1-9pm, he made sure that my administrator let me take the van home so I wouldn't have to walk home by myself. I tell him I love him, and he always says he loves me back...and I know he means it.


Two weeks ago during staff meeting, we were talking about this dear friend of mine and updating each other on experiences we have had with him. I'm not sure what happened or what triggered my emotions, but I found myself with tears in my eyes, unable to speak, as I became aware of just how scared I am to see my friend die. It is not out of fear of not having him here with me; it is more a fear of having to watch him suffer. I wish that he wouldn't have to be in pain, that he wouldn't have to lose his continence, that he wouldn't have to become so weak that he couldn't walk. I witnessed over the past few weeks, his skin and the whites of his eyes becoming more yellow as jaundice took over. I listened as he began to forget simple things. I experienced his confusion when he asked if it was 3pm, when it was only 10am and we had just eaten breakfast. I watched as his appetite decreased and he nearly stopped eating. At the staff meeting that day, I was overcome with emotion as I became aware of my fear.


Right after the meeting, and a few days following, I found myself backing away from my friend. My fear was winning. It was taking over and pulling me away from a man who I have grown to love in such an amazing way. I had to convince myself that withdrawing from this friendship would help no one - neither him nor me. It would only hurt us both. I challenged myself to face my fear head on. I pushed myself to take those extra moments each day to just sit with him on the porch or to listen to some reggae upstairs in his room. I made him breakfast and lunch a number of times and always checked in to see how his pain level was.


Monday when I walked up the stairs to the front door, I felt an uneasiness within me. I walked inside and into the living room where my friend was sitting, asleep on the couch. I walked away, did a few things, and then went back to see him. I tried to wake him up, simply by saying his name. Usually, when he is asleep on the couch, it is easy to awaken him. This time, though, it took me touching his knee to bring him back. He looked at me with confusion in his eyes. Throughout the day, I witnessed as my friend began to decline. And now, I know, he is really dying.


My heart hurts. I cry often. Not because I cannot imagine being at Joseph's House without him....but because seeing him suffer breaks my heart in a way I have never experienced. Watching his body shake uncontrollably as he moves into sleep. Walking him to the bathroom, with my hands under his arms so that I can break his fall if need be. Standing in the bathroom with him as he barely makes it to the toilet. Having to change his pants, boxers, and give him his first pull-up diaper. Holding and tilting a cup of water to his mouth so he can swallow his pain medication. Seeing his brother's heart break, too. My heart is breaking while I watch the toll that alcoholism has on the body. My heart is breaking as I witness my friend dying from liver cancer. My heart is breaking....in a way that I cannot explain.


And this is why I am at Joseph's House.