WAYNE TOWNSHIP, Ohio — The first time I spoke to Tracy Paul Downs, she’d just left a funeral. That’s normal for her. She’s a chaplain for people in hospice care.
“It’s the greatest job in the world,” Paul Downs told me.
But she quickly clarifies. Because the funeral she left was for someone she’d visited for more than a year. Someone she got to know very well. Someone who’s gone now.
“It’s hard, but so many good things in life are hard,” Paul Downs said. “Some days I cry, and that’s OK.”
She tells families she helps with the same thing.
And that’s why the next time I talk to her, the chaplain is looking for flowers at a farmer’s market. The woman she visits every Friday is turning 82 soon.
“We become almost like family,” Paul Downs said. “You’ll see. She’s got a beautiful story.”
This woman thought she had six months to live. See her emotional story in the video below:
Paul Downs remembers the first time she met Kathy Bowling. Like a lot of people, Bowling was terrified. She’d lost her husband and son around the same time. Now, Bowling struggles with lung disease and cancer.
“I was scared,” Bowling told me. “Very scared.”
When the chaplain walks into her home, she pulls up a chair. This week, Paul Downs does most of the talking.
“I’m tired,” Bowling said. “Very tired.”
Her oxygen machine can be heard from the living room, where it takes multiple people to get her from the reclining chair to the kitchen for lunch. Even with regular hospice care, Bowling’s younger brother moved in with her so she could stay in her home.
Above the stove, Kenny Farris opens a cupboard and pulls down a box of medicine. That’s the evening medication, he says. Then, he grabs another box. That’s the “as-needed” medicine.
Finally, he shows me a pill box.
“This gets loaded up in the morning,” Farris said. “It’s like having a pill breakfast — literally.”
In their backyard, Farris takes me on a golf cart ride around the property. It’s what he does when he gets too stressed. Something he's able to do when hospice is here. Otherwise, he worries about leaving his sister alone.
“I know Kathy is terminal. She knows it. But I don’t mention it,” Farris said. “I know there's going to be a day where I wake up and she's not going to be with me, and I don't know what I'm going to do.”
Back inside, I ask Bowling if I can put a microphone on her. She grabs my hand and tells me not to be nervous. Paul Downs and the rest of the hospice team can barely stop laughing. Soon, they can barely stop crying.
“I thought I had six months to live,” Bowling said. “And I passed two years now.”
The chaplain gives Bowling a hug.
“See you next week.”
