By: Gabrielle Jimenez

Providing care to someone who is dying is not easy, but it can be incredibly beautiful. With every person I meet, with every hand I hold and with every last breath I witness, I take something from each experience that makes me a better human being.

The other day I was with a patient and her friend of thirty years who had become her caregiver. She had a terminal diagnosis and only had a short time left, but there was nothing in that visit that indicated to me how much time she had or how soon she could die. Before I left, her friend asked me how much time I thought she had, a question I am asked often. I told her that it could be hours to days, which is my usual response. She asked me if they would be able to have lunch together next week, and I responded, “I can't be sure,” which I know was vague and probably not very helpful. I wish so badly that I could give someone a timeframe they could count on, but you can’t predict when someone is going to take their last breath, you can only be certain that they will.

After I left, her friend called me to say that her pain had suddenly became severe and wanted to know if she could give her some Morphine, which she was terribly afraid of. I went over the doctor’s order reminding her the times and doses she could give. I also took some time to help her understand what the Morphine would do for her, and that it could help reduce her pain and bring her comfort. She felt more comfortable after we talked, and gave the medication.

A few hours later she called to say that she had given more and was afraid she was going to kill her. I hear this often as well. Morphine can be scary, and death can be so uncertain that the combination leaves people feeling a sense of self-doubt. I told her that the amount she is giving will not hasten her death, the diagnosis is doing that. However, if she dies after taking medication, in my opinion, it is because she was on her way and the medication allowed her body to give in and succumb to what was already expected to happen.

She asked again about lunch next week, and while I was still unsure how much time she had, I responded differently. I told her my advice would be to live today as if it is her very last day and if you have tomorrow, that is a bonus day… and that next week can be talked about… next week. She said, "ok."

The next morning, I was sitting on the couch coloring with my granddaughter when I received a text message that she had died. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach and I felt ache and I felt sadness, which brought me to tears. My granddaughter asked me why I was crying, so I told her that someone I was caring for had died. She said, “did you love her?” which I thought was a beautiful question. I explained that she was a patient that I was not expecting to die so quickly, and I was sad for her and for her friend. She seemed to accept that answer, gave me a quick hug, and went back to coloring.

I called my patient’s friend to see how she was doing. She was sad, of course, but she said she was prepared. She also told me that what I said about the medication allowing her to find comfort and succumb to what she was already experiencing reminded her that she was dying and whether it was today or next week, that wasn’t going to change. So, when she gave that last dose of medication, she watched as her friend relaxed, and her breath calmed, and she slept peacefully for about two hours. She woke for a moment, looked around the room, caught eyes with her friend and then closed them forever. And while she found peace, so did her friend…

What is my take-away? That life does not come with a promise of another day, and that each next day is a bonus day. And whether or not you are diagnosed with something that shortens the time you have left, spend each day with the people you love, doing the things that bring you joy. And rather than waiting for next week to have the lunch… have it today because it is the only day that we are promised.

Gabrielle was introduced to end of life care when she was asked to sit at the bedside of a friend who was dying. The time she spent with him ignited a calling she realizes now, had been inside her since she was very young. It was caring for him that inspired her to go back to school to become a hospice nurse. In her first book, "Soft Landing" she talks about the struggles she had going back to school later in life. In her second book, "The Hospice Heart", she takes you back to her childhood, which clearly indicates she was meant to do this work since she was seven years old. Both books offer an insight into her compassionate and gentle heart and the lovely way she provides comfort and care to someone who is dying, as well as for those who have to say goodbye.

Her intention is to combine her hospice experience with being an end of life doula, continuing to provide beautiful care at the end of life. Gabrielle brings her whole heart and shares it generously.

Gabrielle's latest book At The Bedside has just been released, you can get it now: Purchase "At the Bedside"

Have you been called to become a sacred passage end-of-life doula?