The Hallway Family

On Sunday we traveled to Grand Forks to attend our niece, Taylor's, graduation party.

Whenever the Filipi's gather, I always try and soak up all of their stories.  And there are many to soak up.  One of my favorite story tellers is my wife's aunt, Gail.

She is dramatic, hilarious, passionate, and exuberant.  Just like my wife.

And, boy, does she have the stories.

Some of the most powerful are from the years she worked for hospice.

On Sunday she was regaling us with more of her times spent working there.  You would think someone who helps people die would be somber.  Not Gail!

She had the right attitude: death is not something to be feared.  It is something that should be celebrated as it concludes your life.  A life that, hopefully, was amazing.

She talked about a man who was dying from lung cancer.  He had been holed up in his house for months . . . alone and cut off until his daughter finally called in hospice.

As Gail sat and talked with him and helped him take his morphine and change his oxygen tanks, she realized that though he might be dying, he still had a lot of life left in him.  She listened to his stories as he talked about losing his wife years earlier and of the times he had with his friends . . . many of whom he met at one of the local bars.

"Boy, I wish I could go back there for a little while," he told Gail.

"Why can't you?" she asked, shocked.

"Well . . ." and Gail learned that for the past few months he had pretty much been shut up to die by his family.

With that Gail got his wheel chair grabbed all of his oxygen tanks and wheeled him down the street to his former hangout out.

"And guess what?" Gail said as she recounted the events to us.  "When we walked in and his pals saw him, they started clapping and came over and hugged him."

I ordered him a beer and placed him at a table where his friends pulled up and they played cards like they always used to.

When he needed some morphine, I wheeled him out and administered it to him.  Then we came right back in.  It was the best two hours he'd experienced in months!

The next day when I stopped over his daughter was there and she was livid.

"You can't take him to that bar!" She said.

"Why not?" I asked.

"He's sick," the daughter said.

Gail said, (And this is what is great about Gail: she knows exactly how to cut through the BS and get at the truth), "Listen. Your father is dying.  Otherwise, you wouldn't have called us in to help him.  He had a blast last night."

"Well, still . . . " the daughter said.

"Well, what?" Gail said. "What's the worst that can happen? He's dying from lung cancer.  Is a beer really going to do him in?"

With that the daughter shut up and let Gail work her magic.

She said that when this man became too ill, she placed a call over to the bar and his friends came right on over.  They brought a 12 pack and a card table.  Gail even held his cards for him since he was shaking so badly.

Within days he was gone.  But at least he had lived a little bit at the end like it was the old days.

Then Gail ended with this tale - one time she was in the hospital with a man who was about to die.  She was comforting him and talking with him.  Even though he couldn't talk, she knew that he wanted to know if his family was there.  She said they were there.

Gail then realized they weren't coming in the room for some reason.

She realized the entire family was huddled out there whispering.  And they had been doing that for some time.  As if they were afraid to come in.  Or as if they were just hoping it would just get over with.

Again, in typical Gail fashion, she got up from the man's side and marched out into the hallway.

She spotted them all standing around and said, "Hey, are you his family or his hallway family?  What are you doing? Get in here."

"Well . . ." we they began.

"Well, what? He can hear. He can't talk, but he can hear you.  He can smile.  He can cry.  He can look you in the eye  He knows what is going on.  Why are you all acting like you don't want to hurt him.  He's dying.  He doesn't have must time left.  Get in here!"

"Well," one brother began sheepishly, "we don't know what to say."

By now Gail was all fired up.  She marched over to him and grabbed his hand.  "He is what you all do.  Walk in there and circle his bed.  Each of you take 30 seconds to say something like 'Dad, I remember the time you got so mad at me for . . .' or 'Dad, I used to love it when you'd take me here . . .' or 'Dad, I'll never forget the time you did this for us . . .' Now get in there."

And that is exactly what they family did.

Gail told me that they were only able to get about half way through before the man passed away, but how many great things were shared.  They was laughter and tears.  They were a family.

Days later, Gail got a call from the brother who she led into the room.  He wanted her at his father's funeral.

Gail said that she didn't feel like it was her place to get that involved.

Still, he insisted.  He said that they were all so thankful that she had said what she did.  He said they wanted her there because she was responsible for bringing the family back together for one final time and they knew their dad would want her there too.

Well, how could she refuse?

When she walked into the church, that same brother was there to greet her.  He hugged her tight and walked her into the church.  Right to the family section!

"You're sitting with us," he said.

"I can't!" Gail said.

Then every member in the family turned to her and stood up.  They all clapped for her and made room for her.  They thanked her and hugged her.

Again, they repeated the same message - thank you for making us go in that room and thank you for helping us celebrated Dad's final moments.

We should all be so lucky to go out like that!