In the days before Stephen Swiatkowski died, family members sat by his bed day and night holding his hand.

They know firsthand how the task wears on a family, not knowing when a loved one will die and not wanting to leave, just in case.

A new program through Skagit Hospice will allow family members to take a break from their bedside vigil.

They’re called Vigil Volunteers. They step into the picture just as Hospice patients are stepping out. The volunteers are on-call community members organized through the Skagit Hospice Foundation, ready to drop everything and come and sit with someone in the last two days of their life.

Skagit Hospice is an organization of doctors, nurses, social workers, chaplains and volunteers who work with terminally ill patients in their homes. The services can range from medical assistance and pain relief medication to grief counseling and one-on-one time with a volunteer.

Through the Vigil Volunteer program, established earlier this year, patients who have no family, or those whose families need a break from the 24-hour waiting process, can have a community member perform the simple but important task of sitting next to them and holding their hand.

“Vigil volunteers are kind of like doulas for the end of life,” said Thaïs Armstrong, volunteer coordinator for Skagit Hospice.

Doulas offer nonmedical assistance before, during and after childbirth. Armstrong said her vigil volunteers offer the same kind of support to people at the end of their life.

From Armstrong’s pool of volunteers who support anyone in Hospice, she encourages some to receive training on vigil support. Those volunteers then wait for a phone call to respond quickly to someone who is in the last 48 hours of life. The volunteers usually sit with the patient and sometimes talk with them. The break allows family members to go home, take a shower or take care of anything needing attention while waiting with their loved one.

Jan Hemme, a vigil volunteer from Anacortes, said it’s a gift to be with someone in their last hours. She described it as a person taking a journey from this world to the next.

But it’s not an easy job.

“It’s more like a fireman,” Hemme said. “Something’s burning, you go now and you stay until the fire is out.”

But it’s also spiritual. Pat Edwards, 62, a volunteer from Burlington, said there’s a vibe or spiritual connection that can occur between the volunteer and the patient.

“It’s not necessarily something you’re talking about,” Edwards said. “It’s feelings more than talking, more than communication. You’re sending good vibes to the other person and making a connection.”

The volunteers don’t have a specific set of instructions or a clear protocol to follow, and each one has a different style.

Edwards brings her harp, and if it seems appropriate, she’ll play some music. When she arrives, she introduces herself to the patient, who often is not even awake, and explains that she’s there to sit with them.

Hemme watches the patient’s eyebrows to tell her what to do. If they’re scrunched up, the patient may be uncomfortable, or perhaps they don’t like having their hand held.

Hemme said the process is all about meeting patients on their terms as much as possible.

“It’s up to them,” Hemme said. “They lived their own life, they’re going to die their own death. And you’re there to support that.

“You leave your stuff in the car. When you walk in the room, it’s about them and you meet them where they are.”

For the Swiatkowski family, the volunteers and Hospice made a huge difference.

Lynn Swiatkowski said her father was in a great deal of pain in the year leading up to his death. She watched his body language and noticed that he spoke Polish quite a bit more. The nurses at his retirement home worked hard to help keep him alive.

When the family took him to the emergency room around Christmas of 2007, the doctor suggested that it was time to consider Hospice.

Hospice cares for individuals choosing to see their illness out at their home or nursing facility. Often the patients have a fatal diagnosis, but Armstrong said some leave Hospice after recovering.

Soon after joining Hospice, Swiatkowski’s family realized he would die soon. Edwards and Hemme came out at different times to sit with him while the family took breaks.

Hemme connected with Swiatkowski and was sad to leave his side, assuming he would die before she returned.

“I said, ‘OK. Have a good trip. Save room for me,’” Hemme said.

That weekend, Hemme woke up in the middle of the night.

“Something hit my hair,” she said. “There was no window open. He was the first thing that jumped to my mind.”

During the weekend, he had died. She said her sense that he was gone speaks to the spirituality of vigiling.

“I feel there’s something there that I can’t explain,” Hemme said. “It’s taught me what to and what not to take seriously. It’s the only thing we all have common.”

• Aaron Burkhalter can be reached at 360-416-2141 or