So, I’m lying in my lovely hospital bed, getting all kinds of great care. The floor got busy this evening, so a nurse from another wing came to help me. She did her work, then started asking questions about me, which led to her stating how much she appreciated hospice. She then went on to say that her dad was on Memorial Hospice two years ago, and something the volunteer did has made a lasting impact on the family.
The patient lived in what might be considered not the safest neighborhood. When John Moore drove up in his Corvette, the family tried to coax him to pull the sharp-looking car onto the lawn or into the driveway—they were afraid it would get hit, vandalized, or damaged in some other way. John Moore got out of the car, and he said to them, “It’s okay. After all, it’s just a car.”
That phrase made a world of difference to that family. The patient died several weeks later, but not before John Moore and the patient had time to share stories about the military and their lives. The family was astounded that John Moore even attended the patient’s funeral.
Soon after, one of the daughters was pulling out of the driveway and didn’t pay attention to the fact that her sister had parked behind her. The first daughter rammed into the front of her sister’s car. She got out, picked up all the broken pieces that were lying on the ground and took them inside. She slid the pieces along the floor and said, “After all, it’s just a car.” The other sister howled with laughter.
All the daughters and their families now use this phrase when they spill something, break something, or do something klutzy. “After all, it’s just a car.”
It has helped them retain perspective in an ever-changing world.