DURANGO, Colo.—Earl Caudill, the chaplain for Hospice of Mercy, says he gets along well with crusty old men.
In his line of work, he encounters quite a few, so he’s had some practice. But he has another explanation for the easy bond he forms with those long-in-the-tooth geezers.
“I’m becoming one.”
Caudill (pronounced CAW-dle) is giving himself short shrift. He is well-respected and easy to like. But it is true that he’s getting up there a bit. So at age 69, he’s set to retire. After eight years as hospice chaplain, his last day will be Feb. 29.
“It’s been an honor and pleasure to have him as long as we have,” says Michelle Appenzeller, Hospice of Mercy director. “People love him—I’ve gotta tell you.”
His work is serious. It’s sad, emotional, heart-breaking at times. And for the hospice team—nurses, nurses’ aides, social workers, bereavement staffers and the chaplain—it can take its toll. Team members are constantly working together and supporting each other.
“Without the team, this would not work,” Caudill says.
The obvious aspects of hospice care are physical and emotional. Caudill provides spiritual care, and this does not necessarily mean “religious.”
“The whole process of dying, somewhere along the line, is going to be a spiritual journey,” Caudill says. “There are many paths. Spirituality is a large-encompassing concept, and we all have different views.”
On a recent Friday, he’s visiting not a crusty old man but rather a sweet old lady. There’s no mistaking the bond between Caudill and hospice patient Mary Jo Shearer. At age 95, she hasn’t lost her spark.
Shearer’s daughter, Pat La May, says Caudill is a good conversationalist who draws things out.
“When he walks in, mom just lights up,” she says.
Caudill shows up with no agenda, no judgment and “love in his heart,” Appenzeller says. He has reached out to the community and transformed the hospice program.
“You don’t have to think like I do,” Caudill says. “I’m an agent. It’s not about me. It’s helping people connect or feel grounded.”
He makes sure people don’t feel alone, that “they are worthy, they are OK, they are loved.”
Caudill grew up in Galax, a small city in the Appalachians of southwestern Virginia.
He was studying theology at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, Tenn., in the late ’60s and early ’70s when Vietnam and the civil-rights movement were in the forefront of U.S. thought, and those events shaped Caudill’s outlook.
From 1983 to 2004 he was pastor at Springfield Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), an inclusive Protestant church in the Washington, D.C., area. He and his wife, Karlaine, decided in the early 2000s that it was time to leave the rat race. Durango, with its small-town atmosphere, mountains and ample fishing opportunities, appealed greatly.
When a part-time position opened here in June 2004, “We took a leap.”
“This is probably the most significant work I’ve ever done,” Caudill says in his deliberate and calm voice, “because at a moment in families’ lives where they’re most vulnerable, you might have an opportunity to help the death, and the acceptance of a death, be positive.”
Hospice each year sees 125 to 150 people die in its care. That’s the job. It’s certainly not a role that just anyone could embrace or enjoy. Caudill hears that, but he shoots back: “Well, I couldn’t work with elementary-age kids,” he says. “That would drive me nuts.
“I can do this. With the support of my team we can keep doing this. … And I can see a larger picture. I don’t think death is the enemy.”
Caudill is retiring because he has reached that age, and it’s time to move on and let someone else have a chance. “I don’t have all the answers,” he confesses.
Also, he’d like to travel and visit his far-flung family, garden, can, and, not last on the list, “I moved here to go fishing.”
In truth, he says, he can’t totally retire from being a preacher. That’s who he is, and he’ll find a way to use that. And in this small town, he’ll continue to see in coffee shops and grocery stores those families he’s helped through a vital time.
“It’s an honor to be in somebody’s presence when they die, and I never take that for granted. And it never becomes old.”
