Column 7

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” Emily Dickinson wrote in 1861, as the nation perched on the edge of a catastrophic Civil War.  Hope, the poet tells us, never stops.  It keeps us warm and asks nothing of us in return.  But we ask a great deal of hope, especially in times of stress, trauma, and tragedy.

Psychological research shows that hope is closely related to optimism, feelings of control, and motivation toward achieving one's goals.  Establishing obtainable goals seems to be an important part of maintaining hope.  The goals we choose have a critical effect on our ability to be hopeful. 

We often hear at Hospice that folks don’t want to think about Hospice or recommend it to their family members, friends or patients because “Hospice means giving up hope.”  It is certainly true that choosing Hospice means acknowledging that one’s remaining time is measured in months or weeks rather than years.  But does this recognition that death will come sooner rather than later also mean that we must give up hope? 

I can almost hear you saying, “Yes, of course.  When we’re sick, we hope to get better and live longer, nothing else.  When we’re sick hope is believing in a miracle.  Hope means our condition will improve and we won’t die!  That’s hope!”

I admit that’s one kind of goal, one kind of hope.  But what happens if, in the face of a terminal illness, we choose a different goal?   What happens if we accept that we can no longer hope for the goal of a cure?  What if our goal is not to avoid death, but to achieve something else?

Rabbi Pesach Krauss has written, "Too many people make the mistake of judging life by its length rather than by its depth, by its problems rather than its promises.  One is never too old or too ill to grow.  Life is a series of peak moments.  Such cherished moments--when we bring dignity upon ourselves, when we take a stand, when we experience love, when we open ourselves to others and to the world--give meaning to our lives."

What if, in the face of death, we re-define our goal as having the opportunity to achieve one more “peak moment?”  Perhaps we can hope for peace of heart, for acceptance, for the opportunity to banish fear.  Perhaps we can hope that we would be able to offer our loved ones the comfort of our love.  Perhaps we can hope to learn one more thing.  As a grief counselor friend of mine said, as she was dying, “I hope I can do this without being afraid.” 

In an old Twilight Zone episode, a very young Robert Redford comes to the door of a fearful old woman.  All her life she has seen Mr. Death in various guises almost everywhere she’s ever been.  So, for the last several decades, she has stayed in her small, dark room, believing that if she never went out and never let anyone in, Mr. Death would never find her. “I’m afraid,” she says.  “I don’t want to die.”  Robert Redford’s Mr. Death beguiles her into letting him into the ramshackle tenement.  “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he tells her.  “Take my hand.”  In the end, she acquiesces and they walk out the door together, arm-in-arm, into the sunlight.

Finally, the old woman gives up her fear.  Like my friend, we believe at Hospice that that may be the best we can hope for.