John

John Cornhoff, an 87-year-old World War II Veteran dying of end-stage dementia and pneumonia, is surrounded by several gen­erations of his family, from children to a great-grandchild. Those not present in per­son have been brought in by speakerphone. Hospice staff members join them for a qual­ity-of-life meeting. “We gather like this to be with you and hear what’s on your hearts and minds. We don’t have an agenda,” Deborah Grassman (VA hospice nurse practitioner) begins.
 
In accordance with his expressed wishes, John’s boisterous, obviously loving family recently made the decision not to have a tube inserted through his nose into his stomach for artificial nutrition and hydration. Grassman suggests that their decision may be helping him to die more peacefully. She points out that he now seems to be turning inward, a sign of ap­proaching death. “The body has its own wisdom,” she says. “We’re just honoring what’s happening to John, a very holy process to which we want to bring dignity.”
 
Each of John’s assembled loved ones speaks in turn to reminisce and say good­bye with a mixture of laughter and tears.
 
“Dad has always lived life to the fullest,” says older daughter Peggy, who sits on her father’s bed to be near him. “He taught us to enjoy life and each other. He accepts people the way they are. We go forward, we don’t go backward.”
 
Over the speakerphone, son-in-law Tom asks, “Are you listening to this, Dad?” Eyes closed, mouth open, laboring over eachbreath, head bent on the pillow, John nods perceptibly. Someone describes this to Tom, who jokes, “Can I have the ten bucks you owe me?”
 
This story is featured in VA Transforms End-of-Life Care for Veterans.