I had a hospice patient in a facility who answered my greeting the same way every visit. I’d walk in, set my bag down, and ask, “How are you, George?” His name wasn’t George, but that’s what I’ll call him.
He’d look at me with a calm expression and say, “I’m dying.”
He wasn’t being dramatic or confused. He was just stating the truth as plainly as he could. It was his way of keeping the conversation honest.
I’d nod and say, “Not today, George.”
He’d give a small shrug, the kind people use when they’re willing to let you win the point for now. Then we’d move on to whatever he needed. He liked his blanket straightened and his water cup placed on the right side of the tray. His pillows had their own particular way of being fluffed. None of it was demanding. It was just the way he felt comfortable, and I learned his routine because it mattered to him.
Every visit began the same. “How are you, George?” “I’m dying.” “Not today, George.”
It became our little ritual. A strange greeting, maybe, but it held more comfort than either of us expected. He wasn’t afraid, and he wasn’t trying to unsettle me. He was naming his reality, and I was reminding him he still had this day.
One afternoon, after our usual exchange, he paused. He looked at me a little longer and said, “Maybe not today.”
Hope didn’t come in any big, sweeping way. It settled quieter than that, more like acceptance with a small corner of light in it. I sat with him for a while, and he drifted off to sleep with that same steady breathing that always made the room feel peaceful.
He didn’t have many days left, but he had that one. And he knew it.
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52 comments
I hope George’s passing was peaceful.
Thank you, Lynette. His passing was peaceful, and I’m grateful for the quiet grace of those last moments.
This is so lovely and comforting, Kymber. Beautifully told. ❤️
Thank you so much, Eugi. Your words mean a lot to me. 🩷
You’re welcome, Kymber. 💛
Such a beautiful story Kymber.
Thank you so much, my friend.
A beautiful and comforting story, Kymber. There is something very relieving about that moment for family, especially if someone had been there to help ease their loved one’s burden to that last day. I plan to have the kids drop me off at the gate to the VA. Once inside, I’ll be with my people again. We’ll tell embellished war stories, drink beer from the vending machine in the hallway, and go into the night happy the mission is finally over.
Thank you, Hyperion. Your words mean a lot. Being with George reminded me how much those quiet moments matter. I hope you find that same sense of peace when the time comes, surrounded by people who understand your stories and your life.
I hope to be wildly entertaining during my last days. If I leave my small audience amused, I’ve accomplished something. If I’m not up to much conversation, there is always the whoopie cushion to fall back on. 🛌💨😳
You made me laugh, and it’s why I enjoy you. If you ever resort to a whoopie cushion, at least make it a dramatic one. I’m sure you’ll keep your audience entertained right to the end.
LOL! 😂. I can see their faces now. My entire extended family are genetically inclined to have a great sense of humor. It will become the family tradition to tell the story every Thanksgiving at the table. A good laugh and then pass the cranberry sauce.
That is a great story. We are all dying but maybe not today.
The story made me think about the movie Dr. Sleep. It was a soft-horror movie based on Stephen King book. The main character played by Ewan McGregor was a guy with psychic powers who comforted patients who were dying and they called him Dr. Sleep. The patients were able to die peacefully and without fear thanks to him. However, then he encountered psychic vampires who were killing children and he had a huge fight in front of him.
Thank you, Thomas. I remember Dr. Sleep. The quiet parts of that story stayed with me more than the horror. Being with George had that same calm weight to it.
Beautifully told. Sometimes God gives us grace not by changing tomorrow, but by reminding us to cherish the day He has given us today. 🙏❤️
Thank you, Willie. I appreciate your words. Being with George reminded me of the same thing. Today is the day we have, and it’s worth noticing.🩷🙏
This is beautiful, Kymber. Thank you for sharing with us.
Thank you, Nancy. That’s lovely of you to say.
Love this story. It is a reminder for me that we are all dying and as long as we are here, it’s not today. It’s a reminder to appreciate today while we still have today. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, SanVercell. I’m glad the story meant something to you. Being with George reminded me of the same thing. We still have today, and that matters.
I liked this
Thank you so much. I’m so glad.
This post and content really helps to put my troubles in perspective. Thank you, Kymber.
Thank you, Robbie. I’m glad it helped a little. Being with George reminded me how much the small things matter, even on the hard days.
Yes, you are right
As Di said, “Angels, all of you.” ♥️
Thank you, Liz. That’s very kind of you. I’m grateful I could be there for him.🩷
You will have been of great comfort. ♥️
That means so much to me. Thank you. 🩷
I sat with our dying friend often when she was at home so that her family could run errands. I took in flowers from the garden and we chatted until she drifted off to sleep. She was taken into a hospice where the staff were wonderful and I visited three times, the last being the day before she died. She wasn’t conscious, but she was peaceful and I always told her when I arrived and when I was leaving. We miss her so very much.
Angels, all of you.
Thank you, Di. What you did for your friend was beautiful. Being there like that matters more than people realize. I’m glad she had you, and I’m glad she had a peaceful place at the end. Losing someone you love is never easy.
<3
🩷🩷
So good, Kymber. Thank you. ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you, Vicki. I appreciate your kind words. 🩷🩷🩷
Xo 😘
xo 😘🩷
Aw, God bless this man! 🙏🏻✝️❤️ You are a good person, Kymber. 🥰
Thank you, John. That means a lot. He was a good man, and I was glad to be there for him.🌺🩷
I love the little slice of hope you brought to George each day. Even though he knew the end was soon, you gave him a way to appreciate the time he had left 💛
Thank you, Paula. I’m glad it came across that way. He always met me right where he was, and I tried to do the same for him. Those little moments mattered.🩷
How touching! 🥲 It takes a special person to care for the dying with such empathy and sensitivity. 💖
Thank you, Debbie. I always tried to show up with as much care as I could. It meant a lot to be there for people in those moments. 🌺🩷
What a beautiful story.
Thank you so much, Sadje. 🌺
You’re very welcome
Kudos to you for doing that job, it would be so hard to stay happy and positive in those situations. My cousin has a cousin from her birth family that is a hospice nurse in Michigan.
Thank you. It wasn’t always easy, but it mattered, and I was glad I could do it. Michigan has a lot of good hospice nurses, so I’m not surprised your cousin’s family has one too.
Such a precious story and a wonderful memory of dear george’s last weeks on earth!
Thank you, Carol Anne. I’m glad the story gave you a sense of those weeks. He was easy to love, and I’m grateful for the time I had with him.
It will come when it is time, till then it is one more day. The truth doesn’t change even if it’s repeated, so looking forward to a new day is a much better option. I guess easier said than done.
#NotTodayGeorge
Thank you. I think you’re right. Some days really do feel like that. George had his own way of handling things, and I always appreciated that about him. 🌺