My Wish

When I was pregnant with Natalie, I became a bit of a country music fan. As a result I listened to a lot of Rascal Flatts music before she was born. After I had Natalie we learned she could cry and scream loud. We also discovered that anytime we played the Rascal Flatt's song, My Wish, she would instantly quiet down. I mean immediately. We had a copy of the CD in each car and in the house. She fell asleep to it every night. It was like magic. Recently, Natalie heard me singing Jesus Loves Me to Micah as I was putting him to bed. She asked me what her "good night" song was. And I started singing, My Wish. It's easily been years since I sang it to her, but without missing a beat, she started singing the words with me. Even she looked surprised that she knew it.

My wish for you
Is that this life becomes all that you want it to
Your dreams stay big
Your worries stay small
You never need to carry more then you can hold.
And while your out there gettin where your gettin to
I hope you know somebody loves you
And wants the same things to
Yeah, this is my wish.

Recently I've had a lot of hospice patients who are very much alone. To a certain extent, I believe most of my patients have a sense of loneliness even when they are surrounded by dozens of loved ones. But in a room full of people, they still have to walk this journey alone. No one is going with them. It's something patients talk about, something they discuss in quiet, still moments.

The last few weeks, thanks to a much lower caseload, I've sat at bedsides longer and absorbed more of their stories. I've listened a lot and felt more like a social worker. I've ached as those who don't have a room full of people talk about their loneliness. How must if feel to only be taken care of by someone you are paying to do so?

One patient who has lost the use of his arms asked me to just bend his arm for a minute. He described how good it felt to bend it at the elbow after being still for a few hours. I asked him why he didn't ask his caregiver to bend his arm more often. He didn't want to bother her. How must it feel to ask someone to bend your arms?

I've assessed for all the natural supports, the family, the friends, spiritual support. Family is always a story. She told me her son comes when she calls, but his wife hates her, so she only calls when she has to. I reframe that this situation she was describing would qualify as a "has to." She says no. How must it feel to not call your only son when you are dying because it is not important enough to communicate to him?

I ask another patient about his friends. They used to be everywhere helping him. Now they are scared. They don't understand and they don't want to be responsible for his care. How must it feel to pay a stranger to be present when your best friend runs?

I just listen and listen and listen. I reframe, I encourage, I hug, I bend an elbow, I sit, I am present. More then anything, just simply, present.

Tonight, tucking Natalie in, she says I'll sing to you tonight.
"My wish for you"
I am struck by the brightness of her blue eyes and the slight way she has her head turned

"Is that this life becomes all that you want it to"
I want to not ever be that alone. I want the room full of family and friends. I want to always have a relationship with her and never know the pain of being estranged from my children.

...."and that you know somebody loves you."
Her eyes are a little sleepier and she lays her head on her pillow. I kiss her with tears in my eyes. I tell her I love her and that I'll see her at breakfast.

And as I walk out, I sing a line the to second verse,
"may you find God's grace in every mistake and give more then you take."

May she never know the deafness of an empty room. Ever.

How must it feel to be loved in the final moments of this life?

To love and be loved, that, is my wish.