My First Farewell

Yesterday when I worked, one of my favorite residents was having a tough time.  Major anxiety attacks to the point where he felt short of breath.  They put him on oxygen and I stopped in a bit more frequently to check on him.  Usually he needed very little from me other than showers and a nudge if he was asleep so he didn’t miss meal time.  He was so sweet, always smiling and for some reason thought my name was Tonya and that was okay.  Even after I told him, he still called me that and I just let it ride.  He told me one day that I was a great aide, always smiling myself and he could see how compassionate I am toward everyone.

He was 90 years old, a WWII vet, and recently got to experience Honor Flight.  We all celebrated that with great joy for him.

When I arrived at work this morning I went right to the nurse’s station to check on how he was doing, and was told he had just passed away a short time before I arrived.  I was so sad, it broke my heart to know he’d never walk the hallway again to go down and have a meal with group of old guys I call The Boys Club.

Report is usually right at 6am, but the nurses were scrambling to get the funeral home alerted and the family.  6:45 we finally got report.  We also learned we’d be short 2 aides out of the 5 needed to run our unit.  UGH.  That issue was resolved until 2pm today, when we went from 5 to 4, but that was doable.

On my way to get my first resident up, one of the nurses stopped me and asked me to go make the body of our resident presentable before the funeral home arrived, put him in a clean gown and brief, and wash him.  I’ve never done this before so really wasn’t comfortable with it but it is part of the job.

When I entered his room, the lights were on, something that was immediately out of place.  He always had the lights off and the only light was the television if he happened to be watching it.  There was his body, laying still, mouth open and eyes closed.  Just like he always slept, only this time there was something very different in how he looked.  No real color, it was obvious he was no longer there.  It felt disrespectful to be in his room when he was no longer really there, like I was intruding or something.

For a few moments I just stood there, looking at the sweet man who called me Tonya, then got a gown and clean brief, a wash tub of soapy water and cleaned him up then put his dentures in his mouth.  I’ve moved sleeping people, but never a dead body.  I got a real education on what dead weight is, and it was weird.  With no life, the limbs are like a rag doll’s, a heavy one at that.  You roll the body, and limbs lag behind.  This doesn’t happen with people who are alive.  It was just so strange.  But I knew it was an honor to make him presentable so I did it, then left to get my resident rounds started.  During 10 minutes that I was in one of the rooms, the funeral home had slipped in, wrapped the body in the sheets from the bed, and slipped out.  It made me really sad to walk by and see the empty, stripped down bed.

I’ve teared up more than a few times today, as did so many of my coworkers.  Many have experienced this time and time again, but we are all so attached to the people we care for that it hit many of them hard.  Especially when it is a resident like this one, a man everyone just loved and enjoyed chatting with each day.

RIP sweet old soldier.  Thank you for serving our country, and sharing your last days with all of us.  It was a sincere pleasure to care for you!