by Ellen Stillman
Colorado Springs, Colorado

I am a hospice volunteer. My first hospice family consisted of the father, the patient, his wife, and a teenaged boy and girl. The couple had provided a foster home to many children in addition to raising their own family. They had adopted these two children who were still living at home. The boy, Ike, was nineteen years old.

During the year I worked with them, Ike would say, “Hello” to me and “Yes, Ma’am” and “No, Ma’am.” He was very helpful and kind to his family but he just did not converse very much with anyone.

When his father died, Ike became even more withdrawn. He did not want to go to the funeral home and the family was concerned both about this and about him.

I was present the evening the family gathered together at their home. Ike still stood off from everyone else. It was then that I learned how deeply concerned the family was about him.

When it was time to leave, I offered to drive a daughter and her family home. It was dark and I didn’t want to go by myself so I asked Ike if he would go with me. He seemed happy to get away from the house.

After dropping off his sister and her family, I said to Ike, “I’d like to get away from all that confusion at your house, Ike. Would you mind going with me and we’ll just go for a ride.”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am,” Ike said, “I’ll go.”

As we were passing the high school from which he had just graduated, he looked over at me and said longingly, “I wish I were still in high school.”

“Well, Ike, we all have feelings like that,” I said. During all your life you’ll finish something, and then you’ll move on, but always have fond memories. That is just a part of growing up and getting older. I was with Head Start for many, many years and I loved it, and when I quit I missed it. And I was glad to move on to something else but I still have a kind of longing for it. It’s the same kind of feeling you have for being in high school.”

And he looked at me and said with pride, “I used to be in Head Start.” The thought went through my mind that at his age, now nineteen, he must have been in the very first class.

“I didn’t know you were in Head Start, Ike,” I continued, grateful for a mutual topic of conversation. “Where were you? What school?”

And Ike named the school he had attended. I said that I knew the place but that I had been at another center. He seemed very thoughtful and then quietly said, “Oh.”

“Yes.” I was still deep in thought. “I guess I didn’t know you. In fact, the only Ike I ever had in all my years with Head Start was during my first year. He was the cutest little boy. Ike must be a good name because he was just a special little boy. I don’t remember very many out of all the children I had, but I’ve always wondered what happened to that little boy because he was just darling,”

And this boy turned his head toward me and I could feel his eyes looking eagerly at me as he asked, “Was his name Ike French?”

And I said, “Well, yes, how did you know that?”

And he said, “Because I’m Ike French.”

I pulled over and stopped the car for I just had goose pimples all over me. He grabbed me and hugged me and I hugged him as if I were his mother. It was one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. He just couldn’t believe that I had known him when he was four years old.

Then Ike started to talk. He talked about all the things that had happened to him. He talked about the contrast in his foster homes and how nice his family, my hospice family, who had adopted him had been; what good parents they had been. He just said all the things that I felt he had wanted to talk about for many years. It was a wonderful experience.

We talked and talked and I knew there was a reason that God wanted me to be there, at that time in that place, so that Ike could release all these thoughts he had stored up in his mind.

Looking solemnly at me he confessed, “I prayed that my Dad would die.” “Well, Ike, I prayed the same thing.”

He said unbelievingly, “You did?”

And I answered, “Why, of course. No one wants to live and be so ill and in pain with cancer. Now he’s with God and everything’s all right with your father, Ike.”

Later I asked him if he would like to go to the mortuary. I knew his family wanted him to. “You can go by yourself, Ike, or I’ll go with you.” And he said, “Do you mean I could really go all by myself?”

I told him his dad looked so peaceful and that I thought it would be a much better memory than when he last saw him in Intensive Care. So he did go to the mortuary. We went there together.

Since then, Ike calls me and we talk to each other. I know there was a reason that we found each other again. I hope I can continue to be a positive influence in his life.

Anyone wanting to do God’s work on this earth certainly will find hospice a rewarding service.