The Kindness of Strangers
Although many dying patients have family or friends available, a significant number do not – from “elderly orphans” (Clarke’s name for those who have outlived their families), to people whose geographically or emotionally distant relatives are not be able to be present, to the occasional traveling businessperson felled by a heart attack. One 40-year-old man did not want to die in the presence of his wife and young children – but did not want to die alone.
NODA’s “compassionate companions,” as the volunteers are called, sit quietly by the bedside of a dying person, holding a hand or stroking an arm. Some talk or read aloud – everything from essays in Chicken Soup for the Soul to articles in Field and Stream. Others play music CDs. This shared time at the end of life is intense and meaningful but not always somber. During one NODA vigil, a volunteer found herself singing along, at 3 a.m., to Gilbert and Sullivan operettas. Another volunteer traded fishing stories with a 96-year-old man during the last hours of his life.
There is even a non-human NODA companion, a toy poodle named Pepper who Clarke believes is one of her most intuitive volunteers. Pepper, she says, knows when to nuzzle, when to lick a hand and when to curl up and snooze quietly on the bed. Whatever the volunteers do in these hours, they offer the most valuable of gifts: a dignified death. In return, the experiences the volunteers have can sometimes be profound. No one dies alone, and no one is untouched.