There was a definite sadness in his eyes when he spoke of her, of the life she had known and the life that had slowly been taken from her. The depth of that sadness grew when he talked about her lonely days, days that repeated themselves like a broken record, over and over with only the home health nurses and his presence to break the monotony.  Not that she knew or understood.  But then again, perhaps she did.  There really wasn’t any way to know.

At first the visitors had come with regularity; almost like clockwork they would sit beside her bed and share tales of days long since passed, memories that bound them together, or discuss the latest gossip or current events. But one by one, they simply stopped coming.  The day would arrive that marked their usual visit, but there would be no visitor that day . . . or the next . . . or on any of the days that followed.  He didn’t understand how they could seem to forget her so easily.

I had seen the same thing happen with my father. As his mental and physical health declined the visitors grew fewer in number.  But I did understand.  It is hard to carry on a conversation with someone who can no longer converse.  It is hard to sit and visit when you have no idea if you are still a friend or if you have become a stranger.  And it is especially difficult when you look into the eyes of someone who is approaching death and find your own mortality reflected there.  It is a strong friend indeed who can stare into that future and not turn away.

There were those faithful few who still came without fail. One would reminisce about adventures from years gone by, memories that would often bring a smile to my father’s face, even if there was no recognition in his eyes.  Another would come and read to him, always from the Bible.  God had been an important part of his life; there was no reason to believe that had changed.

For those who choose not to turn from a life as it slowly slips away, these are things you can do that require little effort on your part but which will make a world of difference to the families of those you visit. Did you grow up together?  Then you have memories to share that may bring a long forgotten smile.  Did that friendship begin later in life?  The stories are still there, and they are still worth retelling.  Was there a particular book or author they enjoyed?  Did they prefer poetry or God’s word?  How simple is it to come with book in hand, to sit beside their bed and spend a few minutes just reading aloud?  And when all else fails, just take their hand and sit in silence; often your touch will say far more than your words ever could.  Whether or not the ailing are aware of your presence I can assure you, those who care for them are, and they will be eternally grateful for your devotion.

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