It was with the first patient I ever case managed from admission through death. I cared for him for nearly a year, and over that time he and his family became like my own. When he entered the active dying process, I had my first difficult conversation about having only hours to days left. The words came naturally, and I knew I was exactly where I was meant to be.

On the day he died, he waited for my visit. As soon as I walked through the door and he heard my voice, he took his final breath. Eighteen years later, I still keep in touch with his wife. He was the patient who showed me that hospice wasn’t simply my career — it was my calling.

One patient with terminal cancer taught me something I’ll never forget. He was determined to live long enough for his wife to receive one last Social Security check. Against everything I expected medically, he held on until the day after it arrived. That experience taught me that every dying journey is deeply personal, and that there is still so much about the human spirit we cannot fully explain.

A good death is one where the patient is comfortable, peaceful, and surrounded by love. Hospice is about far more than medication — it is about preparing families, answering their questions, and helping them feel confident. When fear is replaced with understanding, families can focus on simply loving their person. That is what I consider a good death.

I’ve seen patients wait for loved ones before taking their final breath, families reconcile after years apart, and patients with advanced dementia become alert one last time to speak with those they loved. I’ve also watched a lifelong jokester wait until everyone in the room was laughing before quietly passing away. Those moments remind me that hospice is about love, connection, and meaningful goodbyes.

The biggest misconception is that hospice hastens death. It doesn’t. Hospice focuses on comfort while allowing the disease to follow its natural course. I’ve never had a family tell me they regretted choosing hospice — only that they wished they had called sooner.

Healthy boundaries have allowed me to continue loving this work for nearly two decades. I sing between visits, laugh with families whenever the moment allows, and remind myself that caring for myself is what allows me to keep caring well for others.

Hospice has shown me that every death is unique. It has made death less frightening, because I’ve seen how peaceful it can be when patients and families are supported with compassion, education, and good symptom management.

One phrase every family hears me say is, “I’ve got you.” I want them to know they don’t have to do this alone. I encourage them to use me, ask every question, and trust me to educate and guide them through every step of the journey.

I also encourage families to tell their loved one it’s okay to let go, and to remind them not to carry guilt if they aren’t present at the exact moment of death. If a family leaves my care feeling supported, educated, and never alone, then I’ve done my job.

I realized the same questions came up with nearly every family. If someone is searching for answers at two o’clock in the morning while caring for a dying loved one, I hope they find reassurance, understanding, and practical guidance.

At the end of life, people don’t talk about money or possessions — they talk about the people they love. Life is short. Make the memories, take the trip, and spend time with the people who matter most.

I encourage families to prepare early. If your loved one qualifies for equipment such as a hospital bed or oxygen, have it in the home before it’s needed. Planning ahead isn’t giving up — it’s providing comfort and peace of mind.