Sharing Project at Hospice Niagara helps people heal and find meaning and peace at the end of life
The Sharing Project at Hospice Niagara helps people heal and find meaning and peace at the end of life
The day his books arrived, two women from Hospice Niagara drove to his apartment building and carried the collection of paperbacks and hardcovers by the armloads up the elevator to the seventh floor.
A few trips to the parking lot and back were required.
The books, 75 in all, piled up like a lifetime of memories on his living room. Finally, one of the women, hospice volunteer Gail McAdam, stood by his hospital bed and handed Jack Murray his book of memoirs. “It was just such a moment,” she says. “Very moving.”
It was late in the afternoon and for a moment the overcast sky lit up and a low, warm western sun came in through the balcony doors. Gail had brought champagne flutes and ginger ale to mark the occasion of what they fittingly called his book launch. “We toasted Jack and we toasted the book,” she says.
At some point, Jack decided that the moment should be dignified with something more than a carbonated beverage so he asked a friend to bring him the bottle of Châteauneuf-duPap he’d been saving for a special occasion.
They laughed. Talked about his life. And Jack spoke about his plans to send family and friends copies.
Barb Nolan, community programs co-ordinator and the woman who initiated The Sharing Project at Hospice Niagara, met Jack that afternoon. “Everybody’s story matters,” she says.
The Sharing Project is part of a deeper understanding of dignity and death. “People want something to live on beyond them,” she says. “They want to leave a legacy for the future. And families are comforted by the stories.”
Nearing death, some people find peace and comfort by telling the story of their life.
A few years ago, hospice volunteers started recording bedside conversations with residents of the hospice who wanted to share the narrative of their life lived. The volunteers transcribed and edited the recordings and offered them as a keepsake for family. Other times, they helped residents write letters, even poems, to loved ones. In 2013, the program evolved into creating books.
The books are not meant to be a biography; the pages are filled with the person’s thoughts, memories, life lessons and photographs.
The person is part of the creation process and volunteers like Gail visit a few times to edit and design the pages.
Many times, people who are dying wrestle with making sense of their life, says Geoff Straw, a psychosocial bereavement counsellor at Hospice Niagara.
Telling their story to someone – and having their words made permanent in a book – helps them to find meaning and hopefully, peace, he says.
He sat with Jack several times, recording their conversation, but mostly listening. “It’s a safe place to talk about your adventures, your love, your heartaches, your joys and your challenges,” he says.
People who are struggling at the end of life with depression, pain and isolation often feel a sense of comfort as they tell their life narrative and are reminded of accomplishments and purpose, he says.
He often asks people to share advice on life. “They leave us with that unique perspective from their deathbed, what is really important in life,” he says.
Jack is dying. The cancer that started in his prostate has gone to his bones. He is virtually blind, and his legs don’t work. Diabetes has damaged the nerves in his feet and for the last six months he has been confined to a hospital bed positioned by patio doors with a panoramic view of a city he can no longer see. A television plays, but he can only listen.
He has lived 84 years of life. A Niagara Falls boy, he signed up with the
Queen’s Own Rifles and served in the Korean War as soon as he turned 19. He was there 14 months but doesn’t talk much about it. “I went there and I didn’t die,” he says. He served in the military, stationed in posts across Canada, for more than 28 years and retired as a drill sergeant major. One of the rooms in his apartment is filled with photos, medals, military memorabilia and awards, including a 1988 Nobel Peace Prize awarded to all military personnel who took part in United Nation’s peacekeeping operations. Jack served two tours in Cyprus, a small Mediterranean island.
He went on to work for the Niagara Regional Police where he was in charge of the supply room. He started calling it the quartermaster’s store because that’s what it was called in the army.
These days, a team of nurses and other medical professionals pop in daily to check his blood sugar levels, give him insulin and perform other tasks reserved for people who can’t get out of bed.
His second wife, Jean Murray, 80, “a wee Scottish lass” drifts in and out of the room. Jack was chairman of the building’s social club years ago when they met. She lived a floor below him.
They married six years ago at Coppola’s Restaurant.
“I’m not afraid of dying. I’ve seen my share of problems and I’m just not afraid,” he says, matter-of-factly.
He pauses. Asks where Jean is. She’s sitting in an armchair beside his bed.
“I want to take care of her, but that’s OK,” he says.
He was married to his first wife, Joan, for 35 years. She died of cancer in 2007. Her home-care worker still visits Jack as a friend and every Friday brings him two pieces of fish and sometimes onion rings for lunch. An indulgence he joyfully eats with his fingers.
At night, in the solitude and darkness of his world, in the company of his own thoughts, he slides on headphones and listens to sports games.
“I know that no matter what kind of life I’ve had, if you treat people right you will get treated the same in return,” he says. He devoted a half page in his book to explaining this life philosophy.
Eventually, medication brings the relief of sleep.
The mind is sharp but the body is broken, he says. And yet inside, lives the soldier, composed and stoic.
“I’ve resigned myself to the fact there’s going to be no change,” he says. “So why not look at the bright side and do as much good as I can.
“I can’t say it’s a fun place to be. That’s for sure.
“But there’s no sense in wishing it would just go away.”
Volunteering to be part of Jack’s journey has given Gail perspective on her own life. “He has the ability to swallow hard news in life and not be bitter,” she says.
“He has the ability to accept each of those steps down, each of those losses.
“In trying times in my life, I hope to find that ability to be gracious.”
‘‘ I’m not afraid of dying. I’ve seen my share of problems and I’m just not afraid.” JACK MURRAY