My mother-in-law, Leslie, was enjoying a perfectly normal Saturday in May. I remember the date: May 11, 2024 – the day before Mother’s Day. Leslie and Fred Rock Large, my late father-in-law, moved to Port Charlotte permanently in 2016; they sold their Reisterstown, Maryland, home (which my father-in-law built), put Layla Mae, their little doggy, and Doodles the Cat into the van, headed down 95, and the rest is history.
That Saturday in May, Leslie and her wonderful neighbor, Theresa, were planning a beach day at Boca Grande Beach – our favorite beach in Florida. Leslie never made it to Boca Grande.
At 78 years old, Leslie suffered a massive heart attack in Port Charlotte that Saturday afternoon.
Leslie knew something was wrong. She texted our wonderful Florida friend, Theresa, Leslie’s neighbor, that she wasn’t feeling well and needed help. Theresa raced over to Leslie’s house and drove her to the local ER care center in North Port, Florida.
Emergency services airlifted Leslie to the ICU at Sarasota Memorial Hospital that Saturday.
The Saturday Before Mother’s Day, 2024
Theresa explained to Kim that a medical team was airlifting Leslie from the North Port hospital to Sarasota Memorial. It was Leslie’s heart. We were driving on 270 South in Gaithersburg when Kimberly answered the phone. I’ll never forget Kim’s facial expression.
The next day, Mother’s Day, I drove Kim to Dulles Airport in the afternoon. Kim landed in southwest Florida sometime late on Mother’s Day; she took an Uber from the airport to the Sarasota hospital. When Kim arrived at the hospital that night to visit Leslie, little did Kim know that it would be her last Mother’s Day with her mother.
Kim stayed with her mom at the hospital every single day for about six weeks – until it was time. It was Friday, June 7, when Kim called me on my cell. I was walking around the exterior of the White Oak Hospital complex at the time. Kim told me what was happening and that her mother wasn’t getting any better. I knew we had to get down there quickly.
The White Oak Hospital outpatient case management team on the fifth floor – they knew I was clearly upset. The outpatient case management held my hand and prayed for Leslie, for our family, for me. The case management team at the time didn’t know me that well, but they understood that I needed a hug. I’ll never forget that moment for as long as I live.
I traveled to Florida twice while Leslie remained in the hospital.
During my second visit, when our son Josh and I drove to Florida together in one day, no less, we later met Nick, a Tidewell Hospice liaison who helped enroll Leslie into Tidewell Hospice’s inpatient program.
I remember that Nick, Kim, and I sat in a small family room, just down the hall from Leslie; I think we were on the hospital’s 11th or 12th floor.
That conversation. Oh, God. My God.
The heart attack was just too much for Leslie’s body to endure; her hospital care team recommended palliative care and then hospice. Leslie’s body wasn’t recovering. Our son and I had driven from Gaithersburg to Florida in one day, on Sunday, June 9. Josh brought his guitar and played for his grandmother most days.
The Tidewell Hospice Staff in Port Charlotte, Florida
Leslie was transported from Sarasota to the Port Charlotte Tidewell Hospice home on Wednesday, June 12, room two. We first met Megan, Leslie’s hospice nurse. Then the hospice social worker. Then, later Wednesday evening, Kim, Josh, and I met Lori, Leslie’s nighttime CNA. Lori and Megan hugged our family many times over. We needed it.
Lori is the closest human being on earth to a real-life angel. She has a remarkable ability to connect with people and offer comfort in the most challenging circumstances. Her presence radiates warmth and peace, and I don’t know how we could have gotten through Leslie’s passing without her.
The three of us lived in Leslie’s Tidewell Hospice room for three full days.
Father’s Day came – Sunday, June 16, 2024. Kim was asleep in a chair next to Leslie’s bed. We had woken up briefly when Leslie’s hospice nurse and CNA, Tim, checked on her at about 6:00 a.m. Leslie was still with us.
We fell back asleep briefly. I woke up an hour later. I walked over to Leslie’s bedside – and she had passed, on her own terms.
And the hardest thing I had to do in moments after Leslie’s passing was to answer the hospice home’s front door when he arrived – because the front door of a hospice home is usually locked. Josh arrived. I opened the front door of the hospice home to let him in.
The only thing I could do was look at Josh in a way that he understood my eyes. Josh understood what had happened. We only had a short walk to Leslie’s room, but our eyes understood each other because both our hearts were broken.
Josh slowly walked into his grandmother’s hospice room; I walked behind him. Josh hugged his mother first, and then he walked over to Leslie and held her hand. Our son – what strength. I’m so proud of him.
A year and one day later, like Josh, I walked into my grandmother Maureen’s small memory care room, gave my mother a long hug, sat down next to my Memaw, held her hand, and cried, only moments after she died on a summer night, just outside of Boonsboro.
But Josh was strong. He was so strong. Much stronger than I was when my grandmother passed away last year.
The day Leslie passed away – Father’s Day, 2024 – Kim, Josh, and I drove to Boca Grande beach in the evening. We sat on the beach that evening and watched the sun go down. It’s our family’s place to go for tranquility.
Kim’s late father, Fred, loved Boca Grande beach. Fred passed away at a Florida Tidewell Hospice home in January 2019. Boca Grande became our family’s special place to go. It will always be our special place to go.
A 39-Year-Old Hospice Companion Volunteer – What’s That All About?
I started this piece with a long preamble, as I tend to do, because I am a lengthy person; these things deserve the full telling.
But what I didn’t mention yet is that one of the Tidewell Hospice volunteers responsible for greeting guests and opening the front door sat down next to me on a bench in the front hallway near the entrance that Friday before Leslie passed away.
I believe that anybody who has ever experienced the impending passing of someone at a hospice home understands that the place becomes your home, too. You bond with people there. You get to know them. You grieve with them; you cry with them, and you laugh with them, and you sit on the front porch of the hospice home, and you tell stories with them.
A kind older woman who lost her husband a few years ago sat down with me at Tidewell and said that I ought to consider becoming a hospice volunteer myself – that it might help me get through it, help me with my grief.
I didn’t think much about that at the time. But months later, in September of 2024, I finally told Kim that I thought I was ready to volunteer with a hospice in Maryland. I wanted to volunteer in my hometown of Washington County with Hospice of Washington County.
A 39-year-old guy becoming a hospice companion volunteer? Signing up to sit with folks who are in their final life chapters? I guess you have to ask what that’s all about, right? You have to sort it out loud.
Ryan, what’s with that? That’s not a volunteer obligation that most people my age might consider.
I believe that anybody who knows me well knows that I have what’s called an “old soul.” I grew up around older adults, and those experiences helped me appreciate their generation beyond words. Those experiences made me want to experience their generation. I bonded with older adults as a kid because I was around my grandparents so frequently. My grandparents shaped me into who I am today.
In September 2024, I applied to become a volunteer through Hospice of Washington County’s website. I eventually heard from a wonderful human being named Stephanie, the new volunteer coordinator at Hospice of Washington County. Stephanie radiates warmth, kindness, and sincerity. She’s wonderful – the perfect person for this role.
I told Stephanie that I wanted to become a hospice companion volunteer and shared my story about why. Stephanie and I met in person and talked. Hospice organizations must ensure that their volunteers are volunteering for the right reasons and can be trusted.
And I hope I proved that, because Hospice of Washington County gave me a shot as a hospice companion volunteer.
Volunteering for Hospice of Washington County
HIPAA regulations protect the privacy of the people I meet. You’ll understand that I cannot speak about specifics. I do my absolute best to uphold these standards faithfully, reflecting the thorough training I received from Hospice of Washington County.
But what I can share with you is that I have sat with dying military veterans, dying grandfathers, grandmothers, human beings. Last fall, I was the second-to-last person to spend time with someone before they took their last breath shortly after I left their room for the day. Recently, I arrived at Doey’s House just a little too late to make it in time for a veteran’s pinning ceremony. The veteran had passed away.
Last May, I was offered the honor and privilege of a lifetime to speak at the memorial service of one of the hospice enrollees with whom I had spent time and gotten to know before they passed. I received an email from the late patient’s spouse on a Friday afternoon. They asked if I would consider speaking at their late spouse’s funeral service. I didn’t know what to say, or if I was even worthy enough to be granted such a distinct honor. I was almost hesitant to say yes, because I didn’t think I could match up or honor the legacy of their loved one who had just passed.
But I thought it over and asked my wife, Kim, what she thought. She said I should. So I spent a weekend jotting down thoughts and memories, wrote a short speech, and delivered it at this wonderful individual’s memorial service on a Monday last May. After the memorial service, I stopped at the Burger King in Middletown, Maryland, and picked up a Whopper meal in honor of the late individual’s favorite type of burger.
I shared at the memorial service what a hospice journey looks like from the other side, what it means for the person who sits and listens, and what it means for someone who hears the stories and absorbs the legacy. Hospice volunteers hear about grandkids, where folks grew up, their parents, stories about their moms and dads, their fears, life’s challenges, and their wishes.
Over Memorial Day weekend last year, I visited with a patient who was well on their path to transitioning. This individual loved music, but there was no music playing in their room. I think I drove around to five or six Hagerstown stores to find one of those small, battery-powered nightstand radios. That was the least I could do to ensure that this individual’s journey was comforting and peaceful, and that they weren’t alone.
Hospice volunteers often hear about regrets, all the things folks may have never done but wanted to do. Sometimes we sit in silence. Words are available, but the silence is just fine.
Holding somebody’s hand, reflecting in a quiet solitude – that’s a hospice volunteer’s way to say: “I’m with you. We’re here with you. We’ll be here with you, and we’ll do everything we can to ensure that your family is comforted and supported. Your life mattered, and think about all the people whom you impacted.”
My Biggest Fear in Life
I think my biggest fear in life is dying alone. I’m really serious about that. I don’t want to die alone, and I am scared of it.
To me, that’s a big part of why hospice exists – to preserve a human being’s dignity in their last chapter, to provide comfort, support, and presence. So people don’t pass away without anybody around them.
And I have my regrets, too. Believe me, I have lots of regrets. I think about those regrets a lot more these days, now that I’m 40.
When my grandfather Dick Hann passed away on December 22, 2020, I wasn’t as present as I could have been, as I should have been. And I feel like maybe I let my mom down, and I should have spent more time and given more attention. I’m an only child. My mother is an only child; my wife is an only child. There’s an unwritten rule that the rest falls on us, and that’s just the way it is.
And when my grandfather experienced Hospice of Washington County at the age of 95, when his heart was failing, and it was his time, Hospice of Washington County quickly provided my Pap the comfort and care he needed in that very moment.
Hospice brought Pap an oxygen tank to his home and set him up with a hospital bed in my grandparents’ home living room. They took care of the whole experience for our family, and I didn’t even realize it at the time. Back then, I didn’t even realize all that hospice did and could do for families. And I worked in a home care agency. I should have known.
So maybe part of my hospice journey is forever trying to make up for the time I should have spent with my grandfather. Maybe it’s the disappointment and shame I feel for not being there for my grandfather’s hospice journey as much as I should have.
And I’m just being honest, because it’s real. And my mother knows it. I think my mom has felt for the last couple of years that I didn’t pull my weight when my grandfather was passing away.
And I want my mom to know that I was struggling at that time – a lot. I’m not making excuses, Mom. I was struggling with everything. I didn’t know how to deal with my grandfather leaving us; he’s been one of the two largest male figures in my life. I didn’t know how to deal with it because I knew it was coming, and I couldn’t face it. I was scared.
And that’s the truth, Mom; I couldn’t deal with losing Pap – because I didn’t know how to let someone go whom I loved so closely and for so long.
I’m sorry if I let you down. I didn’t know how to do it. And I’m truly, infinitely sorry.
I’ve been a Hospice of Washington County volunteer for a year now. For what it’s worth, my experiences so far have helped me manage my grief. You would think – more death = more grief. I don’t know how to explain it. But Hospice of Washington County – the friendships I’ve made, the families I’ve met, the stories shared with me – it’s helped so much.
Hospice & The Night My Grandmother Died
During my first year as a Hospice of Washington County companion volunteer, our family lost my grandmother, Maureen, my mother’s mother, my late Pap’s spouse of 69 years, on Wednesday, July 16, 2025.
The thing I remember most is that not long after my grandmother passed in her memory care room, the most wonderful, gentle, kind, and compassionate hospice nurse visited my grandmother’s room. That nurse performed her duties on the summer night my grandmother died.
Yet, to the countless families who watch and pace the hallways after a loved one passes, these nurses safeguard a person’s dignity.
That is the entire mission: Dignity.
The hospice nurse dressed my grandmother in her comfy pajamas for her final journey – to Rest Haven Funeral Home in Hagerstown. The hospice nurse fixed her up a bit. Not everyone could do that, and most people can’t, but this gracious human being came in at the worst moment and performed the most beautiful and decent act.
Volunteering and Bandwidth Management
I recently launched a business helping older adults – my office is located in Hagerstown, which is befitting.
Sometimes when you launch a new business, you want to get involved in a lot of things at once. You want people to understand that you’re part of the community. That you’re in it, you’re here to help, and you’re not just showing up for a handout.
But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that limited bandwidth is a thing. I am terribly bad at overextending myself. Then I tend to realize that I get involved with too much at once and cannot focus on what’s most important.
Bandwidth management – that’s all.
So I told Hospice of Washington County from the outset that volunteering for hospice is my one and only volunteer obligation – at least at this time in my life. Even now, I know my time is limited in what I can do, and I know that I want to do so much more for Hospice of Washington County as a volunteer – and I will do more this year. One step at a time.
And I promise Stephanie, our most wonderful volunteer coordinator, that I will consistently log my volunteer hours and keep my records accordingly!
But every time I spend time with someone in the final chapter of their life, I do my absolute best to remove myself in that moment from everything else happening in my world. I am privileged to learn from someone who is sharing their life with me. There is no greater honor. I mean that. There is no greater honor or privilege. I honor my volunteer service more than I could ever put into words.
Even though I am but only a presence at times, people know that that presence matters. And that they’re not going to be alone.
Have You Ever Considered Volunteering for Hospice?
If you have ever thought about volunteering for hospice in any form, whether as a companion volunteer, answering phones a few hours a week, stuffing envelopes, or anything at all, please think about it.
If you’re reading this and you live in Washington County, Maryland, and are interested in volunteering for Hospice of Washington, I encourage you to connect with Stephanie, our volunteer coordinator. Hospice organizations are all around the country.
To think that six or seven years ago, I really wasn’t even familiar with what hospice did. Not really. And today I’m a self-described hospice advocate.
Please consider joining the Hospice of Washington County volunteer team.
I believe in hospice’s mission. I believe in hospice because the people with whom I volunteer are the most honest, decent, and truly wonderful human beings I have met.
I believe in hospice because every experience I share with family members, to take away even one minor piece of friction in their lives, allows them to do whatever they need to do, or say whatever they need to say. To have that space. To know that they can. And some people can stand in the back as a presence, simply existing when you need us.
Because that is what hospice is.
Hospice of Washington County has served this community for 45 years, since 1980, and they are a truly wonderful organization that has supported thousands of families across generations. They have cared for my family members, and I am eternally grateful to play a small part in ensuring that nobody dies alone.
If you can volunteer your time, please consider it. And if you can donate financial resources, please consider that, too.
My name is Ryan Miner, and I am a volunteer with Hospice of Washington County.
