a spoonful of soccer helps the medicine go down.
“What do you love then?”
“Football.”
“Would you like to watch it?”
“That’s not possible.”
“It’s about to be.”
We’re on our first lap. Me, my sister and her dog. It’s spitting, even though it’s spring. At our favourite park. The one with the rogue kids on scooters, parakeets in gum trees. Pink and Greys.
Having both worked across WA’s human services sectors, we often find ourselves seeking solutions, for an overburdened system with persistent problems. Facing the aged and dying.
Always careful to maintain confidentiality, trading personal details for professional anecdotes and anonymity, we share observations about humans.
And. Life.
She’s a palliative care social worker. A specialist in her field and the human you 100% want by your side when seeking support. And dignity. As you prepare to die.
She met a man in an aged care facility where he will die. His needs are focused on the basics. His wants, even less so. He has capacity and wants to use it whilst he still can. But that’s not as easy as it sounds in the realm of residential care. In the ‘lucky country.’ In 2025.
My sister has many gifts. And a number of superpowers. Two of her standouts are her ability to make people laugh. And. To make people cry. The latter an unintentional consequence of helping people reframe regrets, turn wrongs into something more right.
And.
Final wishes from dreams, into reality.
IRL. With very limited time.
She often talks about how incredibly simple it is to positively impact a person's life. How easy it is to miss it. And how sadly this happens most of the time.
Studies show 87% of aged care residents report feeling invisible. That their individuality and identity end when their independence does. Workplaces aren’t much different with 73% of employees feeling unseen. Yet one meaningful conversation weekly improves quality of life by 64% in aged care. And engagement by 58% at work.
This man proves the point.
Her first gift was to ask him the one curious question no one ever seems to:
What do you love?
His answer changed not only his life, but the game he loves more:
Football. I love football. And Burnley. My childhood team.
Her second gift was supporting the care team to access his Stan account where the EPL is streamed. Along with laminated instructions for them to use to better support him.
When she visited him later whilst watching his beloved team he stopped, beaming from ear-to-ear. Offering profound self-wisdom as a parting gift:
This is the only medicine I need. Thank you.
Without even knowing it, his greatest gift was the timeliest of reminders.
Life is short.
Less is more.
And.
It’s the small things that make the biggest difference.
Most people at the end of their lives aren't scared of dying. They're scared of disappearing before they're actually gone.
My sister gave him the gift of visibility. For $12 a month.
With one simple question.
Because.
Sometimes the best medicine isn't prescribed.
It's asked.
H2BH 048/365
