I met Richard and Carol on a chilly, rainy day in late Fall. I was signed up to provide Carol with respite on a trial basis. She had some errands, and Richard reluctantly agreed to some company. It sounded like this would most likely be a one-off visit. A revelation about outward focus, duty, graciousness, and poise resulted. I also got to spend precious time with two of the most hospitable, family-oriented people I've met thus far. Throughout my experience with Richard, Carol has been an eager entertainer, always in motion, cook, worrier, motherer, and caring spouse. 

 My introduction to these wonderful people starts on a wet, windy Fall day with me huddled under the roof's eave, trying not to get drenched in the deluge as I waited for my knock to be answered. After a minute of shivering, the front door swung wide to reveal a woman small in stature but huge in personality. Carol greeted me effusively, as though I was a much loved, long lost relative. She ushered me into the welcome warmth and smells of home cooking and led me to the family room adjacent to a small kitchen. Along the way, she apologized profusely for the "mess." I did not see a mess as much as a cozy home filled with mementos of life together. What stood out most were the pictures. There were countless pictures in this house, on the walls, in frames on tables, in piles, and covering every square inch of the refrigerator doors. I have never seen a home so dedicated to the memory of family and friends, present and past. It was richly decorated with the history of this family.

A frail, neatly dressed man sat in the family room in a comfortably overstuffed lounge chair. He greeted me with a warm, broad smile and strained to offer his hand. I felt his eyes on me the whole time, taking the measure of me. 

"Thank you for visiting. Tell me about yourself," Richard asked with genuine interest. This would play out many times when I visited; Richard always wanted to hear about my life, my happenings, and my family. In this, he was consistent. He always expressed a gracious interest in me. Richard was an outwardly focused person. We spoke quietly about what I do as a hospice volunteer and how we could spend time together. After a few minutes, Carol stepped over from the kitchen to make sure we were prepared for her to leave.  

"Boys, can I interrupt you for a minute to tell you about lunch?" Carol asked, indicating a table spread with enough food for a regiment. She made English muffins with fried egg and sausage, a fruit salad as a side, and butter pecan cookies for dessert. She fretted that it might not be enough and then grilled me on what beverage I would like, rattling off a list of options that would make any five-star restaurant proud. This was to be repeated visit after visit. I've never eaten so well as a volunteer, before or since. 

After a litany of questions and instructions to ensure all needs and eventualities were covered, Carol headed out for errands, and Richard and I shared a delicious lunch. Richard's interest in hearing about me continued through lunch. He was endlessly curious and had a long list of questions for me. Not to say it was an interrogation. It was an earnest conversation about me with someone genuinely interested. It is not unusual for patients to use curiosity about their volunteer to avoid talking about themselves or because they are nervous and don't know what to expect. But Richard did not seem anxious or in a rush to fill every empty void with words. So, I let things play out for a while as we ate. 

After eating our fill and settling in for the next few hours, I asked Richard about his life and interests. He was soft-spoken, and throughout our time together, he was humble. For every question I had for him, in my attempt to get to know him better, he had a question for me about my family and life. Richard was somewhat baffled that I would be interested in his life. It was as if, with his gentle nature, he could not imagine that his journey would be nearly as fascinating as someone else's. 

And so it went, Richard telling me things about himself in his modest and self-effacing way, all the while listening to my answers with rapt attention, as if I were a celebrity or person of great worldly importance. The word "gentleman" kept popping into my head as I drove home after that first visit.

Little by little, I came to know this quiet and unassuming man. He loved his family and his country. As a young man, he served in the US Navy for a few years. He described his military service as a duty he was proud to have performed but also as something he considered commonplace, a fundamental and essential part of being an American. He spoke of his children and grandchildren with admiration and a sense that he understood himself to be blessed. And woven throughout his oral history was Carol, the love of his life. In this, he was unequivocal; Carol was his everything. Marrying Carol was, in his eyes, his greatest accomplishment. 

Richard was one of the most grateful people I've met. He was constantly thanking me for every little thing that I did for him. I think he was almost baffled that someone who never met him would want to keep him company. I think he felt this mainly because he was so sick and unable to interact that much. He would often start to dose off and then startle himself awake feeling the need to apologize to me for drifting off. No matter how frequently I told him I was there for him and there was no need to feel any responsibility towards me, he continued treating me as an honored guest.

I learned that this sense of service was part of Richard's household. Service was woven through their lives. And acceptance and welcoming of others was the color in their life’s tapestry. To Carol, I was much more than a service worker come to provide some respite for her and company for her husband. I soon realized that Carol saw me as nothing less than a close and dear friend to her and her husband. 

Richard and Carol had a profound sense of gratitude. It was always there in the meals that Carol fixed, and many times, Richard would exclaim, "You are so good to me!" It was most profoundly present on my last visit with Richard. 

Toward the end of his life, Richard was bedridden and terribly weak. He lacked the energy to even speak much. I spent my last visit with him playing music and reading him Antione de Saint-Exupéry's quotes aloud. 

When it finally came time for me to leave, Richard, though terribly uncomfortable and weak, looked purposefully in my eyes and mouthed, "Thank You!" That thank you had weight to it. I don't know how he managed to do it, but it felt like he reached into my soul with his eyes. I thought about it all the way home, and I did not understand the import of it till, just a few hours later, Carol called me to tell me that Richard had passed on. Then I realized he was also saying goodbye.

Again, as I spoke with Carol about Richard's last day with us, I kept thinking about the word, gentleman. So, I told her I strongly associated with Richard with that word and gracious state. Carol immediately and brightly said, "That's so true and so interesting; you know, when I met Richard, I had other suiters, but my mother told me Richard was the only one who was a 'True Gentleman.'"

As I look back on my time with Richard, I always come back to the same notion, the same takeaway. He was the perfect gentleman. He was the instantiation of something that has gone away in much of our society. That is, the notion that each of us provides service to our nation, society, and the people we come to be with, that we should graciously defer to others, and when this is not possible, express gratitude for what we receive from others. 

Richard was a true gentleman from a bygone era. I miss his gentle kindness and the way that he made me feel like I was just what he needed. I won't forget his graciousness and gratitude. As a result of my interactions with him, I try to listen a little more, inquire after others more, and express my appreciation for common courtesy and kindness.