How We Knew It Was Time for Hospice

People often ask me, “How did you know it was the right time for hospice?”

The truth is, we didn’t know all at once. We didn’t wake up one morning with clarity and certainty. We arrived at that decision slowly, through experience, through heartbreak, and through the quiet realization that continuing to push for recovery no longer served the person we loved.

Caregiver support groups often encourage families to reach out to hospice early, even before they think they need it, simply to understand what hospice offers and what to expect. That advice makes sense. Information brings steadiness. It helps families make decisions from a place of understanding rather than fear. In our case, I had experienced hospice before, and I thought I understood it. I still learned that every story unfolds differently.

My grandfather suffered a massive heart attack just one week after my grandmother died. Doctors told us that less than ten percent of his heart still functioned. They sent him home to live with my parents so he could die at home on hospice. Instead, he lived five more years, sometimes on hospice and sometimes off.

Hospice didn’t shorten his life. It supported his life. It gave him comfort, dignity, and the ability to stay in a home filled with family. His story challenged the idea that hospice means the very end. For him, hospice meant support during a fragile chapter.

My mother in law’s experience looked very different. She had stage four cancer. She, her husband, and her sons fought the disease with everything they had. They pursued treatment after treatment. They held tightly to hope. Over time, the cancer left no remaining medical options. Hospice became the next step.

Then came my father’s journey.

At eighty three, he lived actively with Parkinson’s disease. He attended boxing classes designed for people with Parkinson’s. He took walks. He practiced his voice exercises. He lived fully despite a difficult diagnosis. A few days after his eighty third birthday, he fell and broke his hip.

Hip fractures often mark a turning point for older adults. Many people never return to their previous level of independence. My father endured a difficult rehabilitation stay and returned home unable to walk, but still determined.

Within weeks, he developed pneumonia. Another fall led to a broken femur. All of this happened in a short span of time. One of his early Parkinson’s symptoms, orthostatic hypotension, worsened. His blood pressure wouldn’t stabilize in the hospital. We watched his body struggle to recover from one setback before the next one arrived.

We had to ask ourselves a hard question. What would more rehabilitation accomplish now? What were we really working toward?

A doctor invited my husband, brother, and sister in law into a family room to discuss what we had already been wrestling with privately. Hearing it from her changed everything. I sat sobbing while my husband and brother held me. Then I gathered myself so I could talk with my dad.

That conversation felt unbearable. It also felt honest.

He couldn’t return to his assisted living community, so we decided to bring him into our home. We felt nervous. We also knew this choice would give him the best chance at quality of life. The hospital gave us a few days to prepare, and we moved quickly. It took weeks for my dad to adjust, and some days still feel hard. This decision never meant giving up on him. It meant choosing comfort, stability, and presence over another exhausting cycle of hospital and rehab.

He now lives surrounded by love. Professional caregivers support us. Family and friends visit often. Hospice of the Piedmont has been extraordinary. The nurse, bath aide, social worker, musicians, and massage therapist care for him and for us. They answer questions. They anticipate needs. They steady us on the days that feel overwhelming.

My dad has lived with us for almost three months. I don’t know how much longer he’ll be with us. I do know that this time has become one of the greatest gifts of my life. We talk about the important things in life, about sports, gossip, and memories. Sometimes we sit quietly while I hold his hand. Even the silence feels meaningful.

Some days challenge him more than others. He now has more difficult days than good ones. Even on the hardest days, love fills our home.

So how did we know it was the right time for hospice?

The word hospice sounds frightening. It doesn’t need to be. Hospice focuses on dignity. It creates space for calm. It surrounds families with support. It allows love to take center stage.

For our family, choosing hospice didn’t mean we stopped caring. It meant we cared differently. And for that, I feel deeply grateful.