Last weekend when I visited Margaret, my hospice patient who’s in her late 80s and dying of COPD, she was having a challenging day—she was confused about whether it was day or night, how to use a fork, whether coffee is a drink or a food. I told her a bit about what I had been up to, and then she said she was tired and wanted to nap, so I helped her get settled into her lounge chair. As she was drifting off, a visiting relative who probably meant well said to me, “Poor thing.”
Margaret snapped out of dozing, straightening herself up in her chair. “Did she say ‘poor thing’?!” Her voice was strong and clear, her jaw set. All the sleepiness that had been creeping in for the past 20 minutes evaporated.
“She did,” I confirmed.
“I am not a poor thing!” Margaret proclaimed.
Her relative looked surprised. “I didn’t mean anything,” she stammered.
“Well, I am not a poor thing!” Margaret said again.
The relative slunk into the kitchen to busy herself and Margaret and I sat in silence for a moment. “You didn’t like that, did you?” I said, and put my hand over Margaret’s. “Poor thing,” she muttered again angrily, before settling into her chair to nap.
I think the “poor thing” comment bothered Margaret because it tried to reduce her to something pitiful, something less than the complex, three-dimensional person she still is. It attempted to put her in a box labeled “dying person,” as if that were the only relevant fact about her. Even worse, the comment was made about Margaret to me but in front of Margaret.
Dying doesn’t strip us of our dignity, our personality, or our right to be treated as full human beings. When people respond to the dying with pity—saying things like “poor thing,” “what a shame,” “how awful,” and the like—they’re not seeing the whole person. They’re seeing only the illness, only the ending.
But Margaret is still Margaret. Yes, she’s dying. Yes, some days are harder than others. But she’s also the same woman who raised two children by herself, who read voraciously until her vision made it impossible, who loves animals and lights up when her grandson talks about his dog. She’s not a tragedy. She’s a person living the final chapter of her life with grace and authenticity.
So two practical lessons here if you’re spending time with someone who is dying:
- Talk to them not about them. Whether you think they can hear you or not, show respect for them by talking to them. I think Margaret was a little extra pissed about the “poor thing” comment because it was directed to me about her.
- See them for who they are: a person with a rich life behind them who is entering the final chapter. We all die—it’s normal. It may be sad, but it is not a tragedy.