On April 22nd, 2006, one of our most treasured volunteers died suddenly . . . His name was Mike Fry and he was 63 years old: his death was a great loss for all of us at TrinityCare, as his compassion and humanity were boundless.

Over the 13 years that Mike volunteered for TrinityCare Hospice, he visited countless patients; people with cancer and AIDS, Lou Gehrig’s and Huntington’s Disease, and senile dementia and other frailties of advanced age. Each patient was approaching the end of his or her life. They were young and old, abandoned by family or surrounded by support. And although some were talkative while others were unable to verbally communicate, they revealed their deepest humanity to Mike because they trusted him. Some were not ready to leave; others were looking forward to the transition. They lived in comfortable homes or in poverty. Mike was at ease in every situation because his soul was deep and transparent and respectful of each of his patients as an equal traveler on this planet. And in every case, they loved Mike, because he loved them.

Mike was so good at what he did that a few years ago I asked him to co-teach the TrinityCare Hospice volunteer trainings with me. He graciously accepted and went on to share his vast and treasured experience with volunteers who would follow in his footsteps.

We talked a lot about his time with patients and the amazing insight he gained from them. When he asked me for advice about what to do in a particular case, I would share my feelings about the matter and he would always thank me and credit me with the answer, when in truth, he had the answer in his heart all along.

I was fortunate enough to receive exceedingly eloquent narratives that revealed how he felt about his hospice work. These are Mike’s words:

About one patient he says, “Not always, but the people whose hands I’ve held and whose foreheads I’ve stroked had mostly lost interest in their audiences. Images and appearances no longer mattered. Unlike the rest of us, these people had put down their scripts and props and were walking off the stage. The creation and direction were coming from within that fading shell somewhere, whether that unknown place is heart, mind or soul, it seems to be focused toward somewhere within. There is an extraordinarily rare and precious process unfolding in front of me from which my soul might profit when I, inevitably, take this man’s place.

And of another, “He did not often speak, and when he did it was mostly disjointed, until one day he smiled and then looked at me. He asked, “When?” His gaze went back inside his mysterious reverie and he sat for several minutes. I watched and waited. And, in a calm voice he said, “Will I be stepping out of this universe.” He and I meditated in our individual worlds every Sunday for the rest of his life.”

And of a young man whose disease had made him unable to communicate verbally, Mike wrote, “ Watching him fade has re-energized an excruciating review of my feelings because he was so young and filled with such promise. His path and pattern were clear. From all accounts, there were wondrous bright sparks falling from him in every direction to light and warm the lives of everybody around him. The fire was rising and his dying comes too quickly. While I am struck by the depth of his beautiful brown eyes where there is an openness and trust, I agonize about his inability to say what he is thinking. Lord, I hurt for this boy and I want to fix it.”

And lastly, about another patient he wrote, “Three days before he died, I asked him, “Are you afraid?” He responded, “No, but I am a little nervous.” Then I sat at his bedside, this man who had spent his life working in the tough environs of the harbor, reached out, took my hand and kissed it. I told him it would be all right. How do you explain something you cannot explain? At a time like that all either of us needed to understand was that we both understood. As he lay dying a few weeks later he kept saying, “Mike, let’s go, let’s go.” And on that last afternoon he was alert though he stared fixed on something only he saw. He lifted his hand and waved and said, “Good-bye.”

As he reflected on his hospice work and his own mortality, Mike wrote, “Death changes you and your dying changes me. I have learned from dying men that dying is not primarily about death; above all, it is about infusing into and exacting most out of life at the end of life. The dying teach me through their example that courage, acceptance, hope, faith, and love are the measures of value at any stage of life. I have learned that sharing these values, giving and receiving them, is living, no matter how distant or near death sits. As my days dwindle, I realize they are bigger and fuller from sharing the courage, acceptance, hope, faith and love of dying friends.”

Thank you, Mike. We are all better for having had you in our midst. And I know that you are somewhere in this endless and exquisite universe meeting all of the dear patients who loved you so much. And there is no doubt in my mind that you are, in some ways, helping them.

Over my nearly twenty-five years of service to TrinityCare Hospice, I have been continuously amazed by what our volunteers do for their patients and families as well as for our program in general. It is with a most grateful heart that I thank each and every volunteer who give so much of themselves to their work. For those volunteers who sit at the bedside of our patients and patiently listen, support and fulfill last wishes, to those who provide precious relief to caregivers, for those who loyally organize and file reams of paper in our office, and assist so willingly with volunteer assignments, computer support and personnel file management, and to those who stand by to provide on-call last minute services to patients and families, for those Heart Touch volunteers who provide and compassionate touch to patients in need of relaxation and relief, to Legacy Art Program volunteers who offer the art experience to patients and families for expression, relaxation, and to leave a legacy, and to volunteers who have the special gift it takes to provide heartfelt care and love to our pediatric patients and families, I thank you. None of us could do the work we do without you. Blessings and peace to each of you, today and always.

“I learned how to live through Ratko’s dying experience,” shares Val Deverman, a TrinityCare Hospice volunteer speaking about hospice patient Ratko Babarovic.

Ratko came on service with TrinityCare Hospice on March 12, 2004 with end-stage ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease). At the time he was admitted, he was already unable to speak due to the disease progression and could only communicate with eye gestures and a letter board. This process involved a person holding the board in front of him, and selecting one letter at a time to help him spell out what he wanted to say. This obviously limited his communication to the most basic of needs. Although Ratko had strong familial support as well as hired caregivers, it was still perceived that he was lonely as people found it difficult to sit for long periods to "listen" to him. At the suggestion of hospice Chaplain Madeline Meagher, Ratko and his family agreed to accept a volunteer visitor for companionship in January, 2005.

Val, an RN in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Little Company of Mary Hospital in Torrance, was assigned to the case as a volunteer. She attended volunteer training in October 2004 and Ratko was one of her first hospice clients. Val visited him for three to four hours on Mondays and Thursdays. He was eager to share with her his life experiences, telling her about his family, friends and his work as a fisherman and longshoreman in the San Pedro Croatian community. Ratko also enjoyed reading. "Tuesdays with Morrie" and poetry by Mattie Stepanek, a 13- year-old with Muscular Dystrophy, were among his favorites that he liked Val to read to him. During other visits, Val would push Ratko around the neighborhood in his wheelchair, allowing him rare opportunities to get outdoors.

Early in 2005, Ratko learned that his son Richard and wife, Paula, were expecting a baby, and it was his wish to see the birth of his grandchild. The baby was not due until November 2005, but by the end of September, it was clear that he was not going to make it until then. Val thought of a beautiful idea to use some of her employment connections and was able to borrow a Fetal Dopplar unit from Little Company of Mary Home Health that helped Ratko to hear his unborn grandchild’s heartbeat. On September 29, 2005, Val's final visit to Ratko before he died, his family stopped her at the door and handed her a sealed envelope that indicated the sex of the unborn child. She was asked to go into the room and read the report to him while the family waited outside. Only Ratko, Val, and the technician who did the report knew the gender of the unborn child.

Ratko died peacefully at home on October 6, 2005. Several TrinityCare Hospice staff members who were touched by his journey attended the funeral. At his funeral, Peggy Pillon, RN, who was Ratko's primary nurse spoke with Val and whispered to her "So what's it going to be?" Val's reply was "It's going to be a BABY!" She honored that special secret. Giovanna Bella Babarovic was born on November 17, 2005 to Richard and Paula Babarovic.

On Thursday, May 18, 2006, Val had the opportunity to meet Baby Giovanna for the first time while reuniting with Richard and Paula. The sentiments of that day were of mutual gratitude and appreciation. Val was thankful to the Babarovic family for the opportunity to know, serve and bond with their father. In return, Ratko’s loved ones were thankful to Val for helping to fill their father’s final days with happiness and a sense of belonging.

Special thanks are due to some people. I speak of the extraordinary volunteers who volunteer out of the Van Nuys office of TrinityCare Hospice. Their selfless service goes well beyond what anyone has a right to expect. They are am integral part of the team that hopes to ensure the quality of life of our patients and their families. Underlying their unique talents and compassion, expressed in their individual styles, is a common trait of utter unselfishness in donating their time and energy with no expectation of reward or recognition. In these few words that follow, we hope to provide a little of just that – recognition unsought but well earned.

Frank D. Alegria has been with us the longest of any of our current volunteers. Frank, a Deacon of his church and a retired teacher, has been serving TrinityCare Hospice for over eight years. He recalls fondly the patients he has helped:

There was Al, small in stature but a heart of gold, so gentle and always smiling! I was blessed by his company for about five months. I would visit after my tutoring sessions with a young person about four or five times a week. At times, I would be with Al for so long that my wife would call to see if I was coming home! Al wanted to verify that my wife wasn’t angry with me. Al once asked me to deal with his contractor because he was having work done on his home. He wanted to leave the house in good condition. Once I had a few words with an insurance agent on his behalf. The agent would keep calling Al to sell him insurance and he wouldn’t stop calling! Al asked me to do these things because he said I was a big guy with a loud voice. I was with him the night he passed away, along with one of his sisters and a niece. He smiled at me and said not to worry because he knew his wife was waiting for him on the other side of the bridge. We had talked about his leaving and I suggested it was like crossing a bridge and his wife would be waiting.

Frank is known not only for expertly providing the services expected of a volunteer — but for the extra mile he goes to make his patients feel valued. He brings a smile to the faces of the ladies with flowers, and comes up with magazines or other incidentals that he intuits will provide cheer and comfort.

Destiny McCune is a newer volunteer, discovering the rewards of her service after her very first two patients. As she puts it, “we spend hours sharing our life experiences in home or out at a pleasant lunch. These hours have been as rewarding and special to me as I hope they have been to them. Our moments together have created a space filled with love and peace — exactly what I had hoped for when I began this journey.” Destiny said that at TrinityCare Hospice “she has found an organization that resonates with her beliefs about what hospice care should be – all about the patient’s quality of life until their death.”

The attitudes of these caring people illustrate those characteristics that make our volunteers so special. To Frank and Destiny, and to all our volunteers, we offer our sincerest appreciation.