Some call it a Coincidence.
Some call it Happenstance.
Some call it Spooky.
Some call it on Purpose.
Some call it Compassionate Kindness.
Some call it an Accident.
Some call it Grace.
Some call it a Hospice Moment.
It was the day of his funeral.
I only met him once. The second time I went to visit him on a pure whim, (I had talked to his daughter earlier in the day and we decided I would come the next day) he had died just about ten minutes before I arrived.
The relationship here, was mostly with the family that I spent time providing supportive presence and active listening/validation of feelings/comments; facilitating life/faith/family review. There were lots of stories, ‘once-upon-a-time’s,’ and ‘remember-when’s.’
He was born in 1925 and lived life in all capital letters; lied to get into the Navy to fight in WWII and never minded doing for another what needed to be done even before they knew it needed done.
All stories I had gladly heard from family members. All to help me gather information as we planned a memorial service to, Remember, Honor and Celebrate his life.
It was the day of his funeral.
On my way to his funeral, some 45 miles a way, I noticed that I had about 75 miles to go before I ran out of gas.
The Dashboard FLASHED it on/off at me.
No problem, I thought, I’ll be arriving early to the service, I’ll just fill up at the exit where the funeral home was located. Everything was fine. I got off the exit. There was a gas station about a mile and a half from the Funeral Home and then I remembered….
…oh my, my, my MY WALLET was, well, it wasn’t with me. I left it at home in the glove box.
No time. I will just call Erin, my wife, tell her what a dumb jerk she married and beg her to meet me half way with a credit card so I can get gas.
I called her with the plan as I pulled in to the Funeral Home parking lot…and she agreed, NOT that I was a dumb jerk, but to meet me after the funeral.
I literally just got out of the car, heard it BEEPED locked and was walking toward the Entrance when the son-in-law, daughter and wife of the patient pulled into the lot. I greeted the Funeral Director and asked if it was alright to with him travel to the Cemetery and back, to which he agreed.
About this time, the son-in-law opened the door the his wife and mother-in-law and came over directly to me to shake my hand and greet me. Without even a half breath later, he asked, “Would it be okay if I borrowed your car to go the grocery store on the corner?”
“Absolutely,” I said and handed him the keys I had yet to pocket.
I went into the funeral home, met with family and talked with some friends who were going to speak at the service and about five minutes before the service, the son-in-law came back and asked me, “Do you keep track of your mileage?”
I thought he was going to tell me that I had about 24 miles to go before running out of gas.
Before I could say anything, he handed me the receipt he had gotten from filling up my tank.
A Coincidence? A Happenstance? Spooky? On Purpose? Compassionate Kindness? An Accident? Grace? A Pure Hospice Moment.
People often ask me, “After twenty years, how can you still do this work that’s surrounding with all this dying and death?”
Psssssst: It’s because of WHAT I GET!
Often…so very, very often my tank gets filled up from a Gas Station which accepts no credit card and disposes no petro.
Who would think that one who attempts to provide multiple acts of kindness and compassion would ever become a Victim of one?
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