Hospice Story: A Father-Son Talk

A father and son could not find words to communicate their love for each other. The father, Bob, was dying. I had known him when his wife died eighteen months earlier. I remembered how reserved he was. It had been very hard to engage him in conversation. This had been the experience of other team members as well. He was stoic and a bit of a silent sufferer.

I gave him the gift of space and nonjudgment and let him face his wife’s death on his own terms. When I met him again, he was now the one dying and ended up in the same place where his wife died. I thought he must have felt safe here at this hospice house. On my first visit, he was still reluctant to talk, and I had no greater insight into his inner thoughts than the first time I met him.

I then met Bob’s adult son, Gary. He was able to share his feelings easily. Gary told a colleague and me that he never experienced his dad talk about his feelings. Gary went on to say there was so much he wanted to know about his father. I knew from what others had told me that even though Bob was quiet, he cared deeply about his wife and son.

Bob was getting closer to the end. My colleague, Craig, and I were getting concerned that Bob’s coherent state was tenuous. We agreed that an intervention might be needed. We discussed this possibility with Gary. He was all for it.

We approached Bob, saying that Gary was struggling with the fear that he, Bob, might die without ever sharing some important thoughts and feelings with his son. We asked Bob if he would be willing to allow us to facilitate a conversation. Bob was resistant, but we gently reminded him that there might not be another chance to share what was laying heavy on their hearts. With this little push, Bob reluctantly agreed. He was then surprised to learn that we meant now.

Gary entered the room and we all sat down. Bob held his head down trying not to look at any of us. We started by talking about how hard it is for many people to share their feelings because they don’t know how to start. So we thought we’d begin with a question. This relieved Gary. “Yes, that would be good,” he said. Bob seemed to relax a little bit too, and we detected a slight nod, and he muttered in a very low voice, “Okay.”

We started by asking the son what he most wanted to know from his father. Gary looked toward Craig and me seeming to want some affirmation. We motioned Gary to go ahead. He said, “I want to know if you are proud of me.” It took Bob some seconds to answer, then he spoke softly and confidently that he definitely was proud of Gary. We could tell how pleased Gary felt.

That question got things going and kicked off a wonderful exchange. After that, Craig and I didn’t have to say much more. Gary and Bob were obviously connecting. Bob was cautious, but his eye contact improved and he stayed engaged. Then Bob got tired and we ended. The son left the room and we asked Bob how that went. He said it was hard but good. We told him that he gave his son a great gift, and a slight smile came across his lips. When we saw Gary again, he was thrilled to have heard his father’s thought and feelings. It was their last conversation.

Craig and I felt incredibly privileged to have witnessed the preciousness of a father and son sharing their real feelings in their own way. Our hearts cracked open. I remembered back to how hard it had been for me to garner the gumption to ask my mother a question before she died. Her answer gave me insight into our relationship and was so helpful to me in moving my life forward. It was a powerful healing that I have often looked back upon.