Zen Hospice

 If you stand in front of the Buddhist temple on Page Street in San Francisco, and look catty-corner across the street to your left, you will see a pretty little two-story grey-blue Victorian house that used to be the Zen Hospice House.  That building, plus one ward of the Laguna Honda Hospital constituted Zen Hospice Center, which was funded by the Buddhist temple and private donors, until it was closed for lack of funding in 2018.

My acquaintance with the Hospice House began in the 1980s, at the height of the HIV pandemic.  Frank Ostaseski, a well-known Buddhist teacher had studied with Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, who humanized hospital care for the dying.  Frank was caring for homeless sick and dying people on the streets of SF.  He and Martha de Barros created the Zen Hospice House to provide a comfortable place for such people to live, during the last months of their lives. 

All of the rooms in Zen Hospice House had high ceilings.  A colorful, flowery fringe separated the walls from the ceilings, as in many Victorian houses.  Downstairs there was a spacious living-room, a dining room and kitchen where lots of good meals were cooked.  Upstairs there were five small bedrooms and three bathrooms.  Overall, there was a climate of tranquility and loving kindness.  Just the way in which people spoke to each other.  The way in which the caregivers spoke to the patients.  Sang with them, bathed them, etc.  

Behind the house there was a charming little garden dominated by a near life-sized sculpture of Kwan Yin, the Chinese Buddhist Goddess of compassion and kindness.  I loved to sit in that garden with Kwan Yin. 

In the 1980s, after I had met Frank and heard about his work., I decided to do volunteer work at Hospice House every Saturday.  At first, I hoped to do dream work and artwork with the patients but I felt they were much too weak for that.  Frank had said, “You can bake cookies.”  So I did that.  Every Friday night I baked a big batch of cookies which I brought to the House in a big, covered box, with a map of the world on it.  I started with simple oatmeal cookies which my grandma loved.  I used many different recipes, ending with a very complicated one:  delicious Swedish biscuits.  When I entered Hospice House people said, “I smell cookies!”  Everybody loved those cookies, the caregivers, the nurse, the patients.  Apart from the cookies, I was an observer.

I had two friends in that house, whose names I have forgotten.  One was a middle-aged man who had been a school teacher.  The other, a young, good-looking man from LA, a former actor.  I spent a lot of time chatting with them. 

I remember one patient in particular, Lois.  She was of medium height and thin, dark haired.  She had been a Realtor, and showed an interest in my Mother, who had been a lawyer.  I lent her a cassette which contained an interview with my mother, which Lois found interesting.  One day I arrived at the Hospice House with my box of cookies and found out that Lois had died during the night.  That was the only death I encountered during my work at Hospice House.  I missed her and ordered a beautiful flower arrangement for her Memorial Service. 

I knew that HIV was sexually transmitted and therefore not contagious.  Nevertheless,  I never ventured into the men’s rooms.  I didn’t know how to make small talk about local politics and sports, so I didn’t even try. 

I applied for the caregiver program but was not accepted.  I don’t know why.  Frank had moved on to create a new institute.  

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A few years ago Frank Ostaseski published a book containing stories and recollections based on his many years of accompanying dying people. The Five Invitations would become a worldwide best seller.  It is full of amusing and heart-breaking examples of people who were helped by his passionate wisdom and kindness.