“Great, great. I see here that you have experience working with hospice patients in a hospital setting. As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s a special skill set to work with these families. Since our focus is on palliative care—pain relief and comfort—we help families and patients prepare for the end-of-life decision-making and support them. We help family members cope with the death of a loved one, to put it simply,” he said.

“Yes, I am clear on that point.” I tightened my jaw and reminded myself to remain professional, even though thoughts of June began to cloud my mind.

There was no coping with her death. How could anyone explain that the little sister who’d run through the sprinkler on the front lawn with me, who’d made up silly dances to cassettes on my pink portable radio, whom I’d taught to do a back walkover in our basement, had died? She would never have a promotion, wedding, children, grandchildren. She’d barely had a moment of true happiness in her last years. She was filled with self-loathing and shame from all the chaos she caused, and that was the one comforting thought that her death had given me: that she didn’t have to hate herself anymore.

He continued. “Many times, families have a difficult time accepting that it is the end. We find that patients themselves are more amenable to the concept, really. So much of the job of the social worker here is to provide that emotional support, and it can be somewhat taxing. But we need to help.”

Help me.

My throat constricted as I thought of Liz’s message. I’d tried to help June and failed and was on the path to fail with Liz, too. Fear and panic flooded me, making me nearly forget the phone in my hand.

“Ms. Foster?” Dale said. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I apologize again. My phone connection seems to be a little wonky. I absolutely understand what the patients and their families require and would look forward to providing that.”

But as I said the words, doubt ran through my blood.

My voice cracked as I added, “I have a strong desire to help others.”

The interview ended with Dale saying he would be in touch, and I sat in my car for several minutes with my eyes closed, air-conditioning on full blast, willing myself not to break down. I had gotten so skilled at shoving away the difficult feelings of my sister’s death. I had been able to compartmentalize my grief and trauma over her death in almost every situation. Deflect any questions or concerns. I hadn’t been prepared for them to surface at such an inopportune moment.

Especially at a time when I seemed to be losing someone else I loved.

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