As you can probably imagine, hope is a continual theme in our work in hospice. Often people say things like, “I could never do what you do. It must be such depressing work, so hard when there’s no hope.”

That’s a common misconception about hospice work, because it’s not true that hope is gone when we are facing the end of our lives. Actually, for many people, the last weeks or months of life are a very hopeful time. Granted what we’re hoping for changes—instead of hoping for many long good years ahead, we have a shortened timeframe, but if anything, our hopes get clearer and more real and more reachable. We hope to have good times with family. We hope to go places that matter, to see our grandchildren, to have a good dinner, to visit the Christmas lights on the circle, to be part of our favorite traditions. People in the last days of their lives hope to feel love all around them; they hope for calm and peace and to be pain-free. Many people say they simply hope to be themselves—to keep their sense of humor, to have their minds intact, to do what they do and say what they say in the final days of blessing in this realm.

People hope to see God, to be reunited with family members who have gone on before them, to dream of those loved ones, to have kind and gentle people surrounding them. They hope to feel a sense of completeness, to look back and feel good about their lives and the legacy that will remain after them, touching the lives of their families. They hope to feel a real sense of the promise and love and eternal peace they are part of. And they hope they will find that the world is a little bit better now because they’ve been in it. They’ve contributed, they’ve loved, they’ve enjoyed, they’ve forgiven. Their souls—to the best of their human abilities in this time on earth—have added their bit of light to the world.

That’s a lot of hope, isn’t it? When the ends of our lives come into view, our hopes stop being abstract, based on some far-away, vague idea of happiness. They become quite specific, and the happiness we hope for can be grasped, enjoyed, and savored in thousands of beautiful tiny ways. Some might say that is how life was meant to be lived, fully awake, as though each moment is a blessing—because it is.

This holiday—in this very strange but increasingly hopeful time (the first U.S. vaccines are being administered today!)—we wish you tender and meaningful moments with your dear ones, near and far. Full of hope, full of light, feeling a part of the blessing of care and connection we all share.