Helping individuals and families deal with loss

I was first a hospice volunteer prior to the COVID pandemic, and resumed volunteering in 2024. Something about the hospice drew me back there. I have played many roles – friendly visitor, cook, receptionist. I recently returned to my post at reception, where I welcome visitors, answer the phone, receive deliveries, chat with the friends and family of residents, and light a candle when someone passes away. This provides needed support both to families and to medical staff at a time when individuals are receiving end-of-life care. 

Sometimes people say, “I’m not sure I could do that. Why do you volunteer at a hospice?”

I know that the reasons have to do with my experiences of loss. The first time I did the training, I was not as emotionally ready as I thought I was. I needed more time to process my grief and to heal. But once I did, I could better appreciate the importance of helping individuals and families experiencing their own losses. I didn’t simply decide one day to be a hospice volunteer. I believe that life experiences influenced me and guided me along the path leading to this place. This article is about that journey.

When I was young, I was preoccupied with death. Summers on the boat came with a supply of large-format comic books filled with horror stories and creepy, pull-out monster posters that made falling asleep virtually impossible. And yet, I kept reading them. Death revealed itself in many ways during those summers, whether it was the fish that we caught, filleted and ate, the water snake that I watched, riveted, while it devoured a frog, or the little swallow that died when it flew, full force, into the side of our boat. It landed on its back in the water, its fragile neck broken. 

“Little creatures die, my love. It’s okay. Hold the swallow,” dad said, comforting me as we lifted her from the water. Moments ago, she had been breathing, flying, alive. But these things happened and became part of my understanding that death and life are intertwined. I was just too young then to metabolize the idea that life is precarious, and that mine would eventually end, just as the swallow’s had.  

Still, death was not something that we discussed as a family. When my grandparents passed away, this was veiled in mystery. I was told that I could cry if I felt the need to do so, but when my parents attended the funerals, I was not invited to participate. 

Did my parents think this was something I would be unable to handle? Were they simply too uncomfortable to talk about it? 

I was left with no sense of how families grieve or the ways in which a person’s life is honoured. It was only when death touched my immediate family, when my mother died suddenly of a heart attack, followed by my father, who I lost to cancer, that I really understood what happens when someone dies.  

It was then that I learned about funeral parlours, gathering friends, delivering eulogies, cremation, estate management, the emotional aftermath of death and the process of learning to carry on. I learned about the health care system – what works and how things could be better. I often felt that it was not easy to get answers to my questions. I had never seen a person die, and was frightened to think that it was my father who would show me what death looked like. 

Little creatures die, my love. It’s okay.  

I watched Alan King’s documentary Dying at Grace, which aired on TVO late one night. This helped to prepare me for keeping vigil at my father’s bedside during his last days, hours and precious minutes. Knowing what to expect made me feel somewhat less afraid and more ready for what would happen.  Still, I felt alone, and no one should have to feel that way.

After my father died, I promised myself that I would find some way to be of help to other families going through this. After doing some research, I felt that the hospice philosophy was the best fit for my own personal beliefs around end-of-life care, both for individuals who are dying and their families.

As a hospice volunteer, I wanted to share what I had learned from caring for my father. I hoped others who were coping with loss would know that I was someone who might understand how this feels. This kind of work has brought me into the centre of the sadness of family members and friends, sometimes in ways that activate my own memories. But it has also made me part of a community devoted to enhancing the quality of a dying person’s remaining time.

I have attended one person’s final piano performance. I have helped set a table for a family gathering for one last holiday meal together. I have heard a family playing guitars and singing Leaving on a Jet Plane by an imaginary campfire. I have had many conversations – sometimes serious, sometimes funny, sometimes poignant – now imprinted on my memory. For me, these things are proof that when someone makes an impression on you, they never truly leave. 

I have never regretted walking this path. It has helped me to try to be the best and kindest version of myself. It has reminded me of what a gift life is. Becoming a hospice volunteer is a rigorous and rewarding process. If you have experienced a loss, you are asked to wait for at least one year and take the needed time to care for yourself.

Once you express interest in volunteering, there is an interview, a vulnerable sector check and training that builds your knowledge of various topics including: ethics, professional boundaries, self-care, cultural competence, grief and bereavement, spirituality, and more. There are organizational policies that must be reviewed. Self-reflection is a critical and ongoing part of whatever role you play as a volunteer: friendly visitor, kitchen staff or receptionist.  

A hospice may not be the place for everyone, but if anyone reading this is considering volunteering, know that it will impact your life, and that your kindness and presence there will make a difference for a dying person and for their family.

by Angelique Davies, Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Angelique is a retired educator from Toronto. She enjoys doing volunteer work, which gives her great fulfillment.