Shared by Al, whose mother was served by Four Seasons hospice care.
Holding On Until Her Birthday
I’ve always said my mother was stubborn.
She was German first, with a little Irish and English mixed in, and once she made up her mind, that was it. Doctors could talk all they wanted about timelines, but she decided when she was done. That moment came in July of 2024 after what felt like her fourth or fifth trip back to Mission Hospital. She looked at me and said, “I’m done.”
I’d already heard it from her doctors—her primary care physician and her cardiologist. There wasn’t much more they could do. I wasn’t surprised. I’d watched the pattern long enough. The hospitalizations, the rehab stays, the slow climb back, followed by another relapse.
So, when hospice was mentioned, it didn’t feel like giving up. It felt like acknowleding reality.
That’s when Four Seasons came into our lives.
My mom was living at Harmony at Reynolds Mountain at the time, and one of the things I appreciated most was that they allowed hospice care right there in the facility. She didn’t have to move. She didn’t have to learn new surroundings or be uprooted again. She could stay where she was comfortable—and I could stay close.
I lived about ten minutes away, except during Helene when washed-out bridges turned that drive into an hour and a half each way. Even then, I went. After six years of caregiving, that’s just what you do.
Needing More Care
Hospice originally estimated six months. My mother made it almost a year. She held on until two weeks after her 93rd birthday. Again, I wasn’t surprised. That was her. By April, though, I could see the decline. Her eyesight worsened. Her hands weren’t as steady. Medications became harder to manage—four times a day, too many pills, too many chances to get it wrong.
Harmony and Four Seasons worked closely together; it all ran more smoothly than I expected. Medications were adjusted.
Her comfort was prioritized.
So many people went above and beyond. Her hospice case manager, Kierrah, stayed steady through everything and explained what to expect, especially toward the end. Sarah, her CNA, stepped up when staffing shortages meant my mom wasn’t getting regular showers. She made sure my mom was cared for with dignity. Elizabeth at the front desk always seemed to be there when problems arose, usually on weekends, because my mom had a habit of waiting until Friday nights to have emergencies. And then there was Yoshi, the clergyman. He wasn’t of my mom’s faith, but that never mattered. He met her where she was. He checked in. He talked with her. He talked with me, too—about Japan, about travel, about life. Even after my mom passed, he reached out just to see how I was doing. That meant more than he probably realized.
My mom passed on Sunday morning, June 15th.
I woke up that day with a feeling I couldn’t shake. I drove to Harmony, sat with her, and talked to her even though she wasn’t responding anymore. I believe she could still hear me. About half an hour after I arrived, she was gone. I was glad I was there. It felt right.
Looking Back
Looking back, I never second-guessed the decision to involve hospice. If anything, I’d encourage anyone on the fence to do it sooner.
If anything, I’d encourage anyone on the fence to do it sooner.
Hospice helps you understand that you’re making the right decision. They support your loved one, but they support you, too. Having someone acknowledge the choice—to stop fighting and focus on comfort—matters more than people realize.
My mom didn’t want to fight anymore. She wanted peace, familiar surroundings, and people she trusted. She got all of that.
And in the end, that made all the difference.
