Living here in the U.S. for 36 years, this week I had my first experience visiting a hospice. Do you know what a hospice is here in the U.S.? It’s a facility that cares for terminally ill patients. When there is no longer any hope for a cure, patients go to this place, where specialized nurses provide end-of-life care. The person I went to visit worked with me for ten years, and when I left the company in 2004, I never saw him again. Recently, I found out that he was battling an aggressive cancer and had decided to stop treatment. He had been undergoing treatment for many years, but now the disease had spread to both lungs. What a heartbreaking situation!
I parked my car in front of the hospice and took a moment to prepare myself before going in. All I wanted was to bring a little joy, a little energy, to my friend. I took a deep breath. I said a prayer. Dennis had always been a cheerful, funny, strong, and determined person, working with so much energy! I entered that place with my heart in my hands, knowing it would be a difficult task. But there are moments in life when we must be strong and focus on giving that “something extra” to those who need it.
I walked into the dimly lit room, and there he was, sitting on the bed, bald from countless chemotherapy sessions, yet wearing the same smile. In the silence of that room, I realized that presence speaks louder than words. There are moments when a simple touch of the hand means more than a thousand words.
I held his hand, and we reminisced about old times, laughing at memories from the past. As he spoke, I looked at him, unable to believe that the man before me was the same Dennis I had known. What illness does to people! But time can change everything, but it does not erase the essence of who we are.
Between laughter and memories, we tried to trick time, but it follows its relentless course. Life is fragile, and every moment we live is a gift that should not be wasted.
I kept holding his hand, listening to his stories, laughing with him, while at the same time looking at his face and thinking, “Soon, he won’t be here.” What a painful thought! Before I left, I kissed his face, fixing his last expression in my memory. He seemed peaceful, as if he knew his time here was coming to an end. Sixty-two years old, full of life, with a wife, children, and grandchildren. And now, saying goodbye to life.
Life is a road filled with many farewells—some expected, others that take us by surprise.In the coming days, his passing is expected. I left feeling so small in relation to the world and everything in it. I kept thinking about how insignificant we are. I sat in my car and reflected on my own life—but at the same time, I felt grateful for having gone and for giving him a few moments of joy and remembrance.
I left that place carrying a mix of sadness and gratitude in my heart—sadness for the farewell, gratitude for the reunion.Goodbyes remind us of the value of simple moments, the ones that often go unnoticed. Like when I held his hand in silence, and his gaze said it all.Perhaps it is in that silence that the true music of life hides—the one that, because it cannot be heard, can only be felt in the heart of those who know how to listen.May our journey be filled with gestures that make a difference in someone’s life. I know that encounters like this make us reflect deeply on our own path. And I did reflect.
May God welcome him with love and kindness, in gratitude for all he did here.
See you someday, Dennis!
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