Mauricio Franco, MS4
Michigan State University College of Human Medicine
Before I was pulled from clerkships in the hospital, I was on a palliative care elective. I chose this elective because I deeply believe in participating in all stages of illness, including death. As physicians, we are privileged in bearing witness to the many stages of a person’s life journey.
I shared heart wrenching moments with dying patients and their families. Life changing decisions were being made every day. I witnessed fear, pain, and loss enter the room as treatment goals focused on comfort care. As the chaos and stress of restrictions and visitor limits were encroaching on the hospital, I still had the honor of sitting down with patients and their loved ones.
A particular moment stands out- the prognosis was clear, and our patient’s husband wanted her room to feel a little more familiar. He knew that all that we could do was make her comfortable and create a peaceful space for her transition. His gesture to his wife was simple, but deeply profound. His eyes lit up and revealed a sense of joy and peace that were breaking through the pain he was feeling. He shared that when he went back to his house, he thought hard on what he could bring with him to help remind her of home. As he was searching through their home, he came across a box of yellow Peeps- the classic marshmallow treats. He decided that was what he would bring her. He proceeded to share that he had opened the box of Peeps right before I made my way into her room. She was non communicating at this point. but once he placed the Peep in her hand, she squished it around, turned to him, and smiled.
I do not know the story behind this treat or why it was so special to them. What I know is that this gesture and our patient’s response brought her husband a moment of joy, such that he wanted to share this story with me.
Simple moments, like the Peeps, remind me of the small gifts families bring to their loved ones.
It reminded me of the little ways we expressed our love to my mother as she died from pancreatic cancer: coffee, pan dulce (sweet bread), drawings, flowers, tamales, yerbas (herbs) for healing, prayers, and videos of Guatemala.
These gifts were tokens of love, respect, and gratitude. I walk with the memory of my mother every day. Her wisdom brings me peace, and her death unveiled lessons I never expected. Bearing witness to her journey unlocked something in me. This new self-awareness of my own grieving and connection to loved ones allows me to hold space for patients and their loved ones. Losing my mother deepened my connection to humanity.