“We’re His Family”
I SAT BESIDE THE ELDERLY VETERAN’S bed in the hospice unit. Watching him struggle to draw breath, I felt an ache in my own chest. Lord, am I really helping? I’d been so sure I was on the right path, a path the Lord had set me on, but now I wondered.
Until he’d moved into hospice, this Vietnam veteran—I’ll call him Robert—had been living with my family as part of the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs medical foster home program. Taking care of these men—cooking for them, helping them with daily activities, providing a safe and stable home—was my job. Although we’d welcomed Robert into our house more than two years earlier, I’d always felt some friction between us. He and I had never really been able to see eye to eye.
Maybe I’d tried to get too involved. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough sugar?” I’d ask, watching him guzzle his third soda. He’d been homeless for
