On December 15, 2004, my Mom and best friend died from lung cancer.  Two months later we had to put our dog down.  And after a long two-year struggle with a brain tumor, on April 17, 2005, just four short months after Mom died, my sister died.  I knew about Camp Knock Knock through work and so, my husband and I decided to take our two children there to try and deal with our grief as a family.

As we drove up the dirt road toward camp we were all wondering if this was such a good idea.  But as soon as we reached the registration table, we found the volunteers waiting for us with open arms.  Our family host greeted us with a warm smile and gave us a brief tour of the camp.  After dinner on Friday night, we all gathered in a circle on the lawn.  One by one, we introduced ourselves and said who they were there to remember.  It was then that I realized we weren’t alone!

The staff was amazing.  They made us feel at home from the start.  Whatever we needed, whether it was time alone or someone to laugh with, every volunteer was ready and willing to help.  They are truly caring people who dedicate an entire weekend to helping families cope with the loss of a loved one.  After two long, sad years they helped me to see it was okay to smile again.

The following June, I returned to Camp Knock Knock, not as a camper, but as a volunteer.  I wanted to give the families the same love, support and understanding my family and I received.  Small acts of kindness are all it takes to make a huge difference in someone’s day, whether it’s sitting on the floor playing dolls with a three-year-old girl so that her mom could take a break if she needed, helping kids make the much coveted beaded gecko in the craft area, or having the honor of sharing the precious memories of their loved ones at the candle lighting ceremony.

I think my husband summed it up best when he said, “The setting combined with the amazing staff allows you to deal with seemingly insurmountable grief honestly, safely and often times with a bit of humor.  I had never been to a place where every single person wanted to help until I went to Camp Knock Knock.

Every year, the VNA offers Camp Knock Knock, a grief and bereavement camp for families with children who have experienced the death of a loved one. This weekend of open support and guidance provides opportunities for growth and healing for families who are experiencing the grieving process. This year’s Camp Knock Knock will take place on May 31, June 1 and 2 at the YMCA’s Camp Abnaki in North Hero, VT.

For more information about the VNA’s grief and bereavement programs, please contact Ally Parker, VNA Grief and Bereavement Coordinator, at 658-1900 x3405 or parker@vnacares.org.

I always tell people that one magical aspect of working with people with dementia is that you can still communicate, even if the affected person has lost the ability to speak coherently. I think that people with dementia develop a gift, which is the ability to communicate in a nontraditional way. This forces “us,” the unaffected persons, to learn their language. It is a language with pure emotions, spelled out by facial expressions and body language.

In my work with those with dementia here in Vermont, I began to learn that new language, and watch those with dementia learn it, too. I will never forget a time when I was working as an activities assistant at a nursing home, and saw two of the patients laughing and appearing to tell stories to one another. Curious about what was so funny, I drew myself closer to them. To my astonished ears, I discovered they were not using sentences that made any sense. I could not follow their conversation as “Marion” was discussing the children she used to work with and “Lorraine” was pointing to a man across the room and commenting on his clothing. I could sense by their bodies leaning in toward one another, and by their smiling eyes and mouths, that they felt they were having a perfectly legitimate conversation. I soon learned to communicate with them in a similar fashion. Before long, I shared laughter with “Lorraine,” although I was unsure if we were laughing about the same thing. The content of our conversations was not as important as the emotion behind it.

As I became fluent in their language, I developed intimate relationships with my patients. Though once perhaps labeled “the Alzheimer’s patients who misbehave and get angry,” these were people with true feelings, upset over the idea of not understanding why they could not go to work, or why their children were not coming home from school. I began to realize that addressing their feelings in the moment is the most important thing of all. It didn’t matter if they mourned for their deceased husband as if he had just died yesterday, what mattered is that you connected with them in their reality.

Always liking to travel, I took a two-month volunteer position in Helsinki, Finland, at a residential care home for people with dementia. I was curious to learn about how their universal health care affected elders, where older people resided, and if the philosophy of dementia care differed from what I knew in the United States. Prior to leaving, I learned that the majority of persons over 60 did not speak English. I began to have doubts about whether the volunteer work would be satisfying if I could not talk with the elders. How I loved to hear stories from the older population. Without this, would the experience be gratifying?

Upon my arrival, the volunteer coordinator, Riikka provided translation for my introduction to the patients. Many were excited to meet a “young lady” from the United States. They were eager to share their culture, tell me stories about growing up in the Finnish countryside, what they did for work, what their families were like, and how they celebrate holidays. One lady had been to New York City and this was the basis for her view on the United States. She said she could never live in a country with so many people and tall buildings. I tried to tell her Vermont was different, but this notion was incomprehensible to her.

I began to develop relationships with the residents despite our language barrier. Mostly, I noticed this development through nonverbal cues such as smiling, hand holding, and acceptance of me participating in their activities, including dining. Some of them would recognize me as I came each day, and would say “hi” in English. One resident, Mia, spoke several languages. She could recall that I wasn’t Finnish, but could not recall that I was American. Consequently, she would greet me each day in a different language, sometimes French, sometimes German and sometimes English.

One moment stands out in my memory. As we got ready for a walk the staff began pairing up with some of the patients. I was hoping to walk with Mia or another resident who at least could say a few English phrases. Instead, the staff paired me with Eiya, a resident with warm eyes who didn’t know a single word of English. We began walking outdoors, down the road, toward the wooded trail. It was a pleasant autumn day with the leaves changing and wind slightly blowing. Eiya began speaking to me in Finnish. In my limited Finnish, I muttered back one of the few phrases I knew—“I do not speak Finnish.” She would nod, then not even a minute later start speaking in Finnish again, as she had forgotten what I had just said. As she spoke she would smile, point at a bird, glance at me and smile some more. Soon, I began doing the same thing in return. I would point to a pretty tree, make a comment on the number of bunnies, and simply smile with her. I began uttering back to her as she spoke, “Kylla, kylla” which translates to “Yeah, yeah.” Our conversation went along just fine.

This experience walking with Eiya confirmed my belief that nonverbal communication and connecting with emotions is the basis of the language of dementia. I now feel more strongly than ever that you can always, regardless of language or of verbal ability, communicate with someone with dementia. You just have to be patient and learn the language.

This is an abridged version of the story that appears in the March issue of Vermont Maturity. If you’d like to read the full story online, please click here.

During this busy time of year, many of your VNA staff members are visiting homes across the community, caring for our clients and watching families gear up for holiday celebrations.

They are on the road seeing people in their homes, offering wellness services in senior housing facilities, providing around the clock end-of-life care at the Vermont Respite House, leading activities for elders and others at our Adult Day Centers, doing personal care at the Anderson Parkway residence, and caring for our friends and neighbors throughout Chittenden and Grand Isle counties in many other ways. Meanwhile our office staff is hard at work in the background providing supervisory and administrative support to those in the field.

During the past months, I have seen a large group of very dedicated people focused on providing high-quality services to our clients. The past year has brought change to our organization in the way of leadership, health care reform, regulatory changes and new projects, pilots and collaborations.

I am very pleased to share with you that VNA managers have embraced this change and are working in teams to promote evidence-based best practices, develop innovative strategies to enhance our patient care and capture efficiencies in our internal processes.

Likewise, field staff is implementing new practice patterns and clinical programs that have been introduced at our organization while maintaining the high quality day-to-day patient care that is the backbone of VNA services.

Through this change process, some constants remain – an unshakeable commitment to our mission to provide high-quality home health and hospice services to the Chittenden and Grand Isle community, a commitment to innovation and best practice in health care, and a commitment to develop and honor the caregivers that make it possible for the VNA to serve our community well into our next century of caring.

On behalf of all of the VNA clinical and administrative staff, our Board of Directors and our dedicated volunteers, I wish you and your family a healthy and peaceful holiday and New Year.

My best regards to all,

Judy

Last week, we offered up part one of a two-part story from VNA Hospice Volunteer Paula Fives-Taylor. We continue Paula’s story this week as she shares her experience as one of 41 celebrity volunteers recognized by Cabot Creamery Cooperative chosen for their annual Community Celebrity Cruise.

In 2010, Cabot Co-op partnered with AARP Create the Good, Points of Light, media and highly-conscientious companies to establish a fund for an all-expense paid cruise as a way to say thank you to volunteers around the country. This year, celebrities were found from Vermont to Houston, from Orlando to San Francisco.

I was one of the 41 who were selected and given a 7-night, round-trip Alaskan cruise package on board the Celebrity Cruises® INFINITY.

What an exciting opportunity this cruise was for all of us. One of the highlights for me was getting to see and explore the southern part of Alaska. We said goodbye to the Seattle skyline and headed out to explore such areas as Ketchikan, Juneau and Skagway. While this area of Alaska is noted for extensive rain, we were blessed with sun at all three ports.

During our tours in port, we spent time viewing eagles, kayaking with whales, and learning the significance of totem poles. The scenery was breathtaking no matter what direction you looked. I particularly enjoyed the day we cruised through Tracy Arms Fjords. It was the only cloudy day of our trip, but it felt so right as our captain navigated the large cruise through the narrow fjords.

We met some friendly people living in this area who told us some amazing stories. You got the impression that life was hard, but no one wanted to live anywhere else but here. One 16-year-old daughter said her father had bought an island when he married and that her parents built their house with their own hands. They were the only family who lived on the island, but this girl never felt lonely. There was always so much to do. When she was school age, her father took her by boat to the main land where they kept a car so he could drive her to school.

Alaska was beautiful and I’m glad I had the chance to see it. But, the best highlight of the trip for me was getting to meet the other celebrities and hearing their stories. We even had a reception on board one afternoon, complete with a Cabot cheese sculpture of an eagle, where some of the celebrities shared their stories.  These people were so inspirational and their stories motivated me to want to do more.

One of the stories that stood out for me was of a woman who was raped 12 years ago. After a year of feeling like she couldn’t do anything, she decided she wasn’t going to let the rapist destroy her life. She formed a company called SOAR (Speak Out Against Rape) and began leading conferences on coping with rape trauma. She co-authored the Florida Sexual Predator Act of 2000 and developed a national protocol for forensic exams for sexual crimes. She turned her own trauma into triumph.

Another story that stood out for me was about a woman from Staten Island who had actively volunteered all her life. But in 2008 she decided she wanted to do something more formal.  She invited friends from her book club and church to form a charitable opportunity that they would run themselves called Staten Island Giving Circle. At their monthly meeting, this group of 125 will purchase tickets for a raffle. When the winners are chosen, the money is given to their choice of charities. Over the past four years, the group has raised more than $55,000 for local food pantries and homeless shelters. Their latest initiative is to assist seniors on Staten Island. Her group is out there now helping the people who were affected by Hurricane Sandy.

This woman recently sent an email to other celebrities from the cruise to update them on the needs of the people on Staten Island. As a result, another Cabot celebrity from Alabama raised money and purchased food, blankets, etc. and drove a truck to Staten Island with these items. This is what is so special about these celebrities. They each have a story and are continuing to make a difference in this world.

This cruise had an impact on all of us, motivating us to go home and do more. One celebrity commented that the cruise “has strengthened my dedication to give back by reinforcing how small things can make a big difference.” Another commented, “To meet all the other winners and learn what they do for their communities was wonderful. I now have a few more ideas of how I can help the people in my community.”

The trip was a wonderful recognition of everyone’s contributions. It was an opportunity to see a beautiful part of our country and to hear inspirational stories. It also has motivated me to continue to volunteer so I can do something meaningful for someone else and make a difference.

In honor of National Hospice and Palliative Care Month, we offer part one of a two-party story from VNA Hospice Volunteer Paula Fives-Taylor. Paula was one of 41 celebrity volunteers recognized by Cabot Creamery Cooperative for their annual Community Celebrity Cruise.

“What? Do you really mean it? An all-expense paid cruise to Alaska?”

That’s how it all began for me when Roberta MacDonald, Senior Director of Marketing for Cabot Creamery Cooperative, gave me the great news. She had just completed the eleven-week training class for hospice volunteers at the VNA that I facilitated. She was impressed with all that our hospice program does and with the volunteer work I had been doing. She told me I had been chosen for a Cabot Community Celebrity Award which honors the achievements and contributions of volunteers. The award spotlights people “who serve others with little thought of personal recognition, i.e. people who see their reward in the good work they do, not in the applause they may receive.”

So, what about me? Why was I chosen?

Volunteering has been a major part of my life. During my adolescence, my dream was to become somebody who could change the world. I had read a poem that said what an awful thing it would be to be born and it didn’t matter. I was determined that my life would matter.

As I grew older, I volunteered in nursing homes and tutoring children. The aspiration of influencing the world was changed to a more limited, reachable space and time. After high school, I joined the convent of the Dominican Sisters of Our Lady of the Rosary in New York City.  I spent the next 16 years teaching elementary and high-school children in the poorer districts of the city. During the years after leaving the convent, I moved to Vermont, got my doctorate, became a faculty member in the College of Medicine and married, but I always continued to volunteer.

When my husband had a stroke, it affected his brain significantly and he was unable to be left alone. I became his primary caregiver. This experience taught me how much we need the help of others. Far too many people fear and experience dying as a time of pain, anxiety and loneliness.

After my husband died and I retired, I decided to make hospice my last career. I wanted to be with a group that focuses on the quality of life and turns the end of life into an important time of living, closure and growth. I wanted to be with a group that recognizes that death is a part of living. It also felt so right to return to a life of service.

I now volunteer with Hospice in many ways. To me, nothing is more meaningful than working with my clients in their homes. I love being in the home with family members and helping to relieve their feelings of isolation that I also experienced when my husband was dying. I try to help where it is needed in the VNA Hospice program, sitting vigils, recording data at the office, facilitating in the training classes for volunteers, being on the Hospice Advisory Committee and sending birthday acknowledgements to volunteers to let them know their importance to our program. I also volunteer with the Unitarian Universalist Church and serve on the Care Network Committee.

So, how did this cruise change me? I realized I could do more than I currently do. I believe that educating the public about entering hospice early is very important. I need to use my teaching skills to try to accomplish this goal. I am not sure, yet, how this will take place, but I know how I can start to spread the word – with a sash.

On the cruise, we were given red satin sashes to wear that were imprinted with the words Cabot Celebrity. I felt embarrassed to wear it initially. But, Roberta from Cabot explained that this isn’t about me, but rather what I do. It’s about hospice. She encouraged me to wear it all the time.

“People on the cruise will ask you what it is about and you will get the chance to tell them about hospice,” she said. How right she was. All during the cruise, I had heart-warming experiences talking about hospice to people I had never met before. Some even cried in my arms over a loved one they had lost. I saw the significance behind the sash and the conversations it started.

It gave me the idea that we could do something similar for hospice education and I’m now exploring the idea of wearing a button that would help start a conversation.

I came to hospice because I was in the right place at the right time. And I have stayed because I am still chasing my dream to become somebody who could change the world or at least do something that could be meaningful to everyone.

This ends Part one of Paula’s story. Stay tuned next week when Paula shares her experiences on the Alaskan cruise, the other volunteers she met and what this cruise meant to her.

I’m an avid reader of books – fiction and nonfiction – about Navy life in the late 1700’s and early 1800’s.  In them are many references to vessels’ changes in command.  It causes me to wonder about what goes through the mind of the exiting Captain, standing on the quarterdeck watching his replacement being rowed from across the harbor.

His ship has been scrubbed and painted – made to look as good as it can be – in so-called “Bristol Fashion.”  I believe the soon-to-be relieved commander recalls the events and the people of the voyages during his command.  He thinks of his crew and how the ship’s safe return home is ultimately more about their skills and commitment than the Captain’s.  He thinks of his junior officers – his leadership team, if you will – and how they truly make the difference between any success that comes his way and his propensity for stumbling.

He thinks about the support he receives from the Admiralty – sort of his board of directors – who provide him with general orders and leave it up to him to sort out the details, get the job done and bring everybody safely home.  He wonders what the new commander’s first impressions are of the crew members selected to wear their best outfits and do the rowing that will soon bring her along side.  He wonders how the ship looks to her as she sizes it up for the first time.  And, he thinks about what it will be like to see his personal footlocker lowered into the same little boat and how his ship will look and how his officers and crew will feel as he is rowed to shore.

The VNA is a fine vessel.  Her officers are experts – collegial and dedicated.  Her crew is a remarkable mix of skilled disciplines and includes wise senior members and some new to the sea.  Her “admiralty” clearly articulates her Mission and provides the guidance, intelligence, provisions, instruments and charts necessary for her purpose – to care for those in need; 700 staff and nearly as many volunteers caring for 1,200 patients, clients and families each day across Chittenden and Grand Isle counties.

Judy Peterson will be a wonderful new Captain.  Her epaulets are heavy with gold brocade and her sleeves carry rows of well-earned stripes.  Her prior crews and officers sing her praises.  Our good ship VNA is very fortunate to have her stepping over the side rail, with bosun’s pipes wailing.

As Judy smartly strides to meet me, we exchange our salutes.  Then she says to me, “You are relieved of your command, Sir” and I say “Yes, I stand relieved.”  We shake hands, I wish her well and she thanks me for having everyone and everything looking so good.  Then she orders her personal locker taken down to my old quarters as I climb down to the gig and give the signal to shove off and row for the docks.  My heart races when I hear the huzzah’s from my old team.  My heart jumps with the sound of the cannon salute.  Then, a bit heavy hearted, I settle in to try and take it all in while wondering about my next command.

Bless the VNA and all who sail with her.  I wish you fair winds and gentle seas.

Everyone who comes to live at Vermont Respite House has a story. Maybe it’s a life review they share with a volunteer or staff person as they try to make sense of their lives. Maybe it’s the funny story about the bear in the yard that gets told at every family gathering. Some stories start – and end – here, and will become part of family lore for years to come.

Jake and Bonnie’s* story is one of those. Diagnosed with lung cancer, Jake managed to remain at their Westford family home for awhile with his wife caring for him. But, his needs increased to the point where Bonnie couldn’t care for him alone any more. Their daughter, Michelle, would make the 45-minute drive to her parents’ house to help, sometimes twice a day. But, Michelle had a job and a family of her own, and Dad’s illness was getting harder to manage, especially for Michelle’s frail mother. So, with the advice of Jake’s doctor and their VNA home visiting end-of-life-care team, the family moved Jake to Vermont Respite House.

Even during our fairly mild winter, there were a few times when the snow made for treacherous travel. One snowy evening, after visiting Jake at Respite House, Michelle was driving her mother home when the car slid off the road and flipped into a ditch. Michelle was wearing her seat belt and walked away unharmed, but Bonnie was riding in the back without a seat belt, and she was thrown from the car. She broke her back and was taken by ambulance to FAHC.

Not wanting to upset Jake with news of the accident, Michelle would tell her Dad when she came to visit that Bonnie was feeling under the weather. And Bonnie would call him from the hospital to chat. The staff was careful not to say anything to Jake about the accident, and the social workers and hospice chaplain worked with the family on a plan to let Jake know as Bonnie’s condition improved.

Jake further declined and slipped into a non-responsive state before he could be told of the accident. At the same time, Bonnie was declining, too. Her back was too damaged to repair with surgery, and her condition worsened. Michelle was now caring for two dying parents in separate locations. With the support of the VNA hospice team, Michelle decided to move her mother to Vermont Respite House.

Although resident rooms are designed to accommodate one patient, an exception was made for Michelle’s parents. A second hospital bed was moved in and staff let Jake know (even though he was not completely conscious) that Bonnie would be there soon. For four days, they lay in separate beds, but turned to face each other. Michelle and her family could now sit with both parents in one location, leaving the hands-on caregiving to the Vermont Respite House staff.

Jake died first, passing peacefully, still facing his wife. Bonnie gave a low moan upon hearing the news, and lingered another five days before following her husband. Michelle was present when both of her parents died. She was so grateful to staff for having both parents not only under one roof, but in the same room together.

At Respite House, we pride ourselves on being a special place where these stories can happen. We offer a home-away-from-home where families can be themselves and do what they need to do to care for loved ones in their final days. And, we offer our services to all who turn to us in need, regardless of their financial situation.

It’s because of generous donations from our VNA friends, that we’re able to continue providing this care. Special events, like our Vermont Respite House 5K Fun Run and Jiggety Jog on May 12, also give people the opportunity to support Respite House so we can be here for families like Michelle’s who face the often unexpected experience of losing family members.

Visit our Fun Run page for more information about this year’s family-friendly fundraiser.

To learn more about Vermont’s Medicare-certified hospice residence, please visit our Vermont Respite House page.

*Names have been changed.

As you explore our website, you’ll find thousands and thousands of beautiful words expressed about the work we do via powerful imagery displayed throughout our pages.

And when you read our print newsletters, our Annual Reports, our brochures and other print publications, those captured images you see in these pieces help us tell our complex story with profound simplicity.

Photographer Daria Bishop and friend

The reason these pictures so effectively capture the essence of VNA care is that our award-winning photographer, Daria Bishop, is passionate about the work we do at the VNA. Her pictures tell the stories of how we help people stay healthy, regain independence, keep connected and live life fully. For years, Daria has been invited into homes of VNA clients and welcomed into VNA programs and special events. She has seen first-hand the expertise of VNA staff as they provide care for our community and captures those experiences in her compelling images.

Want to see more of her work? Check out our 2011 Annual Report or our newest VNACares newsletter online at http://www.vnacares.org/news-events/publications.

Daria doesn’t always work solo, though. Occasionally, we are fortunate to have her photographer husband Andy Bishop offer his talents, as well. Each year, Andy uses Family Room photos that Daria has taken to create for us a poignant slideshow, which is presented at our annual Spring Blooms! Fashion Show and Luncheon. To view the presentation that 330 guests enjoyed at our April 4 event this year, please visit: http://dariabishop.com/vna_spring_2012.html.

Thank you, Daria and Andy, for helping us tell our VNA stories so beautifully and effectively!

I was asked to share a few words prior to the Green Mountain Mahler Festival’s New Year’s Day performance of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony – recognizable to most of us as the “Ode to Joy” symphony.  The  second annual celebratory concert again benefited our VNA.  

I pondered…how to connect music and our agency? 

Well, beginning with our littlest, music plays a part in the programs of our Parent-Child Center, the VNA Family Room.  There you will hear frequent choruses of “The Wheels on the Bus”, “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and “Ring Around the Rosie.” 

While caring for grown-ups in their homes, our staff hears the world rhythms of our new refugee families, the pounding rhythms enjoyed by some of our younger clients as well as classics from the 40′s, 50′s and 60′s in other homes.

The sounds of drumming are heard weekly in our Adult Day Program—following established good practice integrating music into the care for frail elders, especially those with memory problems. 

Drumming also is a key element of Camp Knock Knock, our annual family bereavement camp,  with yearly participatory performances by the Taiko Drummers—encouraging bereaved youngsters to use their muscles to help pound away some of their hurt. 

Finally, there is our newest musical connection. Singing their “lullabies for the dying”, the 45 members of our Noyana Singers hospice choir share the well-documented benefits of music at the time of life’s great transitions.  As a hospice patient once shared with me, “I’ll recognize the angels when I meet them because I have already heard their voices.” 

In its own way, our VNA has been making music for seven generations of our communities.  A special thanks to the Green Mountain Mahler Festival for including the VNA in their splendid prequel to the New Year! 

Happy 2012!

It’s been 16 years since our family celebrated Thanksgiving during my father-in-law, Dick Lanou’s, stay at Vermont Respite House. That year, we gathered with other families—essentially strangers bound together by having a loved one at the House.

This started a tradition for our family, a way to give thanks for the wonderful care given at the House. Every year since that Thanksgiving, our family pulls together our annual “Respite House Blizzard Meal” (typically a ginormous homemade chicken pot pie, French apple pie and green bean casserole) all frozen and tightly wrapped. Soon after we tuck our turkey into the oven, our annual frozen repast is delivered to Respite House.

On arrival, the maestro of the House’s kitchen takes the food from us and stashes it away in the big freezer to wait for that very snowy day when the roads are closed—usually in January as we understand. Our meal will then be thawed out and served to all takers.

When we arrived this year with our donation, the kitchen was filled with delicious aromas and the chef of the day had everything in good order for the residents’ Thanksgiving dinner. One or two 30-pound birds are typically donated for this occasion. The chef had the turkeys already quartered and roasting directly on large pans of stuffing. (They cook faster that way without drying out, he says.) The wings and bits sat gurgling in a pot nearby, transforming water into stock. The gravy was thickening in its small caldron. Some vegetables—green beans and multi-colored diced peppers were neatly arrayed on the sheet pan to be cooked and served. Others—like the potatoes to be mashed—were still in the pot. Rolls, cranberries and all the usual accoutrements were in different stages of readiness. It all looked just like the scene at thousands of homes across our communities. Donated desserts covered nearly every free counter top.

When asked how many were planned for the Respite House Thanksgiving dinner, the chef replied that there would be eleven residents and 30 guests. This is about as big as it gets for Thanksgiving at the House. One resident had requested a table for twelve—they were set up in the conference room. The living room had been converted to seat other residents and guests as was the usual dining room.

So much to be thankful for, so much to reminisce, so many reasons for hearty laughter, and for hugs that are hard to let go. One of the most special times and places in our region is Thanksgiving at Respite House. A supper that families will remember always.