The Hospice

by Heidi Lewis

  Looking around his bedroom, he thought of all his possessions: books, cds, souvenirs from holidays, photos and he wondered what would happen to them when he was gone. Sure, his parents would probably keep them for a while, maybe even a few years but then they would eventually be thrown out.

  Grabbing a notepad and pen from his desk, he sat by the window and scribbled down list after list, until all the items of importance to him, were written on one side of the page and space was left on the opposite side to the write in the name of the potential recipient. It felt good to get things organised. It kept him focused and, for the first time since his diagnosis, he felt like he was back in control.

  Returning to his bed, a feeling of exhaustion came over him. The lack of sleep and his list-making had taken its toll. A knock on his door awoke him from his dozing.

  “Come in,” he called sleepily.

  He was surprised to see his mother and his father walking into his room so early in the morning. He had to admit they looked awful, exhausted both physically and emotionally. He could handle what was happening to him, to a certain degree, but he could not handle how cancer was not only wreaking havoc with his body but it was also wreaking havoc with his family. They sat on opposite sides of Jack’s bed.

  “Do you want some breakfast, Big Man?” his father asked.

  “I’m okay a while dad, but can I talk to you guys about something?”

  “Of course. Anything!”

  “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, all night, and I know this is so hard on everyone. This house was never a place of sadness for me. It has always been filled with happiness and positivity. I can see you guys are doing your best to look after me but, and please don’t take this the wrong way, you both look like shit!”

  Surprisingly, they all laughed as the statement was undeniably true.

  “So here’s the thing, I’m in a lot of pain. The home help nurse can only do so much and if I want to make the most of my final few weeks, then the best place for me is the hospice.”

  “No way, Jack! We want you at home, where we can care for you. It’s not up for discussion,” his father said.

  “Just hear me out. It will be easier on you guys and I will get the best pain control possible, which will allow all of us all to enjoy the next few weeks. I mean what’s the point of being in pain and sleeping all day for the little time I have left?”

  His parents looked at each other, partially numb from the reality of the conversation and partially relieved that, for the first time in days ,they were having a frank and open discussion about his prognosis.

  “My mind’s made up. I want to go to the hospice, and I believe it’s for the best.”

  Chapter Seven

  It had been a little over a week since Maria had received the dreadful news. The appropriate arrangements had been made, and today she would enter the hospice and leave home for the final time.

  Sitting in the living room, she stared at the suitcase in front of her. It was same suitcase she had taken with her on that weekend trip to New York. The suitcase that had accompanied her to her two-week holiday partying in Ibiza, and everywhere she had travelled in the past few years. She thought about how she should be going on holidays and not to a hospice. She imagined how she should be taking a winter break, skiing or perhaps a weekend city break with her friends. Life had dealt her a cruel hand.

  “Okay Honey, have you got everything?” her Mom asked through teary eyes.

  “I think so.”

  She watched her father pick up the suitcase and for a second she wanted to scream at him to put it down, but that would be futile. No matter how much she wanted to, she could not delay the inevitable. She was hospice bound and her home would soon be just memory. She had cried more in the past week than she had ever thought possible, and she suspected it had been the same for her parents.

  Standing in the hallway, she turned around and took one final look. The pictures on the wall, the ornaments, even the paint - she wanted to capture it all and somehow remember it forever. Feeling that all too familiar lump rising in her throat, she turned her back on the home that she had grown up in and walked out the front door, knowing she would never return.

  The journey to the hospice was awful, just as she had anticipated. Her mother sobbed silently in the passenger seat, while her father stared ahead at the road, engrossed in his inner turmoil.

  In the backseat, Maria sat and stared out as they drove into Charlestown. It was the countdown to Christmas and the town seemed alive with shoppers. People hurried to and fro, going about their day to day business, and as she watched from the backseat, she realized that somehow she had already separated herself from the living.

  Her life had stopped the minute the terminal diagnoses had been delivered, and what she was experiencing now was nothing but a shell of her former life; her job, her college degree, her dreams of a family were now meaningless to her. There was nothing to look forward to. No holidays, no special celebrations, no landmark birthdays. Everything had ceased to be a possibility by her illness. Death would soon come and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.

  “I am alone in all of this. Nobody can understand it, or share the experience with me. I wish I could have all the yesterday’s back and have a bank full of tomorrows. There is no peace in this, I am alone. I am desolate.”

  Silence ensued as they drove through the town to the outskirts where the hospice was located. Maria had passed the hospice many times while driving or walking, but had never given the place much thought. She did, however, remember that anytime she would pass the hospice with her grandmother, her grandmother would always bless herself and whisper a short prayer under her breath. Maria could remember every word of the prayer her grandmother had whispered:

  Stay with us Lord, when our loved ones’ journey of life is over,

  When you have taken them to their heavenly home,

  To stay with you, in peace forever.”

  “Almost there ,Honey. You feeling okay?” her father inquired.

  Still lost in her daydream and preoccupied with images of the past, Maria simply nodded her head, no strength to waste on small talk. Grief gripped her and she realised that she had not thought about her grandmother in a long time. She wondered if she would see her again, perhaps on the other side. Although always a firm believer in the afterlife, lately she had become unsure if it was simply just a fantasy created so people would not fear death.

  As terrifying and upsetting as it was facing her mortality, there was strangely almost a sense of relief about it. Knowing that she had only weeks left to live, had inadvertently cleared any worry about her future, for there was no future to worry about.

  So much time had been spent worrying about her future; would she have a successful career? Would she meet a nice guy to marry? Would she have children? Would she be able to afford to buy a nice house? The list was endless. And now it was irrelevant. None of these things mattered anymore, and in the process, a sense of calm and clarity about what was important had established itself in her mind.

  “Okay, this is it,” her father said, in a quiet, flat tone.

  They drove in through the huge wrought-iron gates and up the long, winding path towards the old Georgian building. It had originally been a convent but had been turned into a hospice over one hundred years ago and it had long been an established landmark of Charlestown.

  As they drew closer, the old building appeared to loom over them.

  The grounds were immaculately kept with enormous flower beds and mature trees. Across the vast lawns, Maria noticed a lake with swans drifting idly across the still water. This simple, but beautiful site, filled her with comfort and peace, and she knew that she had made the right decision by choosing to spend her last days here.

  In the parking space, the occupants of the car sat and stared at the building. To make it as painless for her parents as possible, Maria was the first to exit the car. Feeling a little weak and unsteady on her feet, she lea
ned casually against the rear door. Soon she would not need to hide her discomfort for fear of attracting attention.

  It was strange that, although everything was now out in the open, she still felt a deep-rooted desire to shield her parents from the reality and symptoms of her illness. Any suggestion of possible pain or discomfort was quickly contested by Mariad

  “I’m fine” had become her automatic response.

  Maria closed her eyes for a moment. She drew in some deep breaths and the cold air reached the depths of her lungs. On the exhale, her breath turned to fog and she watched as it rose upwards towards the heavens. Feeling steady once again, she began the slow walk to the front door of the hospice. Her parents followed close behind, fussing over the suitcase and numerous other bags her Mom had insisted on packing.

  It was a strange feeling as if walking into the known yet unknown. Rationally, she knew what lay ahead of her in the weeks to come, but still, she felt unprepared. How does anyone prepare for their death?

  The entrance grew closer and closer. Maria pushed her mental limits with every step. She wanted to turn and run, just like at the hospital but there was no running away from this. She had made the choice. The knowledge that her parents were behind her, literally every step of the way, offered some cold comfort.

  Upon reaching the entrance, they stepped inside, her father breathing heavily from the weight of both the suitcase and the situation. A smiling middle-aged lady appeared out of nowhere, like an apparition.

  “Hello there, you must be the Keegan’s?”

  “We are,” Maria replied flatly, taking an instant dislike to the happy tone in the woman’s voice.

  “Stay right there and I’ll get everything sorted in no time.”

  The woman scurried off down the hallway leaving Maria and her parents alone. They took a seat on a long wooden bench in the reception area. The bench had been taken from a church and had all the hallmarks of being used as a pew for decades. It was one of those situations where nothing could be said, Maria looked around at the drab interior of the building. The place still looked like a convent with simple religious symbols decorating the walls. There were stained glass windows with images of Jesus and the Holy Mary in various biblical settings.

  The sound of footsteps snapped Maria from her thoughts.

  “Okay, if you would follow me, I’ll show you to the room,” announced the ever-cheerful woman.

  The chirpy manner which the lady used to relay information irritated Maria. She sounded like a hotel receptionist welcoming guests, and this was no hotel.

  They walked down a narrow corridor and the place seemed dingy and cramped. Before they knew it, they were standing outside a small room, about six foot by six foot in size. There was a single hospital-style bed pushed up against the wall.

  A dated leather armchair filled the opposite corner, and a small wardrobe and locker stood against the back wall. The saving grace was the enormous sash window, with an unrestricted view over the beautiful grounds.

  Upon entering the room, Maria felt claustrophobic. She spotted another door leading to a large bathroom. Breathing a sigh of relief, she walked over and sat down on the armchair. She looked towards her parents for some reassurance.

  “It’s not so bad, Honey!” her mother said, forgetting to change the look of horror on her face.

  “Oh please, Mom, it’s horrid! Let’s be honest.”

  “You’re right. It’s bloody awful!” her father said and with that, they all started laughing hysterically. The somewhat puzzled, sour face of the middle-aged receptionist only adding to their now uncontrollable laughter.

  “I’ll let you get settled!” the lady said sternly as she exited the room and shut the door purposefully.

  Chapter Eight

  It was two days since Jack had decided to go to the hospice to spend his few remaining weeks. The arrangements had been finalised and today was the day. A few of his belongings had been packed neatly into his suitcase. His favourite rucksack contained a few other items of importance such as photographs and books. Sitting on the end of his bed for the last time, he looked out of the attic window and took in the familiar view of the bay. The weather was particularly horrid with dark clouds swirling overhead and rain had been pelting down since early morning.

  Everything was ready. His dad had placed the suitcase and rucksack by the front door, breakfast had been eaten and everyone was dressed and ready to go. Looking around his room for the final time, Jack waited anxiously, knowing that at any moment his father would call out to inform him it was time to leave. He felt sick at the thought of his destination,

  “I wish I could stay in this room forever.”

  “Are you ready, Jack?” his father shouted from downstairs.

  “Yea, just give me a minute.”

  He stood up and took one final look in the mirror. His face had become so gaunt lately that he hardly recognised himself. Taking deep breaths, Jack took one final look at his beloved bedroom and closed the door softly. He turned his back on life as he knew it.

  At the bottom of the staircase stood his mother, father and brother. They had all insisted on going to the hospice with him.

  “Jeez guys, why the long faces?” Jack said, trying to break the intensity of the moment with some dark humour.

  Smiling sympathetically, they stood not knowing how to respond. His father grabbed the suitcase and headed for the car, Johnny followed with the rucksack.

  “Come here love,” his mom said gently as she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. She gave him the tightest hug he had ever felt before, but he started to pull away, remembering something important that he had to do.

  “I need to say goodbye to Bowser. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Jack’s mother headed out the front door to join her husband and Johnny in the car. In the kitchen Jack found Bowser lying in his comfy dog-bed. Raising a sleepy eyelid, Bowser checked to see if it was anyone worth waking up for. On seeing Jack, he immediately jumped up and sprinted over towards him. Jack bent down and rubbed the sides of his neck, just the way Bowser liked.

  “Hey boy, how you doing’?” Jack said, his cheeks now wet with tears.

  “Now you listen here. I have to go away for a while but you be good now and behave yourself. You’re the best dog anyone has ever had, you know that Bowser? You’ve been the best pal and I love you so much. I’m so sorry Bower, I’m sorry.” With that, Jack kissed Bowser on the head and started walking toward the front door. Bowser followed close behind, which caused Jack to break down even more.

  “Stay boy, stay…. Good dog!” Turning his back Jack, walked out the door. The sound of Bowser’s loud whimpers cut through him like a knife.

  Jack climbed into the backseat of the car and nobody made a sound. The tears and expression on Jack’s face said it all.

  There was nothing more to be said. This was the most horrendous scenario that any of them could imagine, and it was happening to them now.

  His father started the car and they made their way from the residential area out onto Hudson road. The stormy view of the bay seemed to mirror the feelings of Jack and his family. There was a strong, bitter wind making the water choppy, and rocked the boats to bob from side to side. The rain pelted off the car roof and the swirling, dark clouds overhead seemed ominous.

  They all stared straight ahead as they drove past Jack’s apartment. How he wished he could return there, to have his freedom and independence back for even one fleeting moment.

  As if knowing his son’s thoughts, Jack’s father sped up so that the view became a blur.

  As they entered Charlestown, the traffic was bumper to bumper. People filled the sidewalks, rushing here and there dressed in raincoats and clinging to their umbrellas. Gazing out the window, Jack envied them. He would have given anything to be able to walk, carefree in the rain, going about his daily business without the burden that comes with having to acknowledge your mortality.

  “Ignorance is bliss,” he thought to himse
lf.

  Eventually, the traffic cleared and they were soon on the southern side of Charlestown, moments away from the hospice.

  Johnny had spent the entire journey playing with his iPhone unwilling or unable to come to terms with the situation. Jack watched his mother, as she sat staring out of the passenger window, sad and red-eyed, her heartache clear for the world to see. His father seemed glad to be driving. For him, it was the distraction he so desperately needed. That was the thing about life, simple everyday tasks somehow helped people to cope in desperate times. Jack remembered reading a book about how to triumph in the face of adversity. The author had written about how simple tasks were the key to coping in bad times.

  “This is it,” Jack’s father pointed towards two huge decorative wrought iron gates. The car turned right, through the gates and drove slowly down the long, winding path towards, what was an old Georgian building.

  The sight of the place gave Jack’s shivers down his spine. He had never actually seen the building himself. He had secretly hoped the place would be a modern facility, but the building that now lay before him was far from modern.

  “It used to be a convent,” his father informed them.

  “I see they haven’t done much renovating,” Jack replied, causing Johnny to chuckle nervously.

  The car came to a halt and silence once again prevailed. Not wanting to make things harder than they already were, Jack exited the car knowing the others would follow.

  As he leaned up against the side of the car, his head began to spin and his stomach turned. The rain pelted against his skin, but he embraced the feeling. He took a few deep breaths and exhaled heavily. Then he looked up towards the heavens, secretly asking God for the strength and courage to take the final steps towards the hospice door.

  The sound of the car doors closing pulled him from his silent prayers and he began taking slow steps towards the hospice. His family followed close behind. The fact they were all getting wet seemed of little importance.