“I sense a change in my symptoms that suggests a corresponding change in my hospice care,” I hear my raspy voice say, the words, though clearly my own, feel like they’re describing someone else. My lung disease’s exhaustion and weakness feel kin to physical pain, one of the last phases of my disease. Denial has no place here as I make my way home.

Across from the wing-back chair in my study sits Eunice who continues companioning me toward the demise of my old body. Her eager nod immediately reaches into my depths and confirms this new truth in vigorous tones, unlike she’s expressed with me in the past. In the realm of chaplain, she is master; she knows when and how to respond to her hospice patients, when they’re near to striking gold.

Again, it has happened: Precious God speaking to me through others: this time, through Eunice.

I step back from these foreign words, yet strangely intimate and ruminate on their implications.  

Gladness fills me.