The decision didn’t come easy, but in the end, Bill Ulevich and his daughter, Jayne, chose hospice. It offered peace, comfort and compassionate care for their family.
But this story doesn’t begin in hospice. It begins long before - in a childhood shaped by perseverance, a lifetime shaped by work and a family shaped by love.
When Bill finished high school, he sat down at the kitchen table and asked his mother, “What am I going to do now?” He planned to apply at the mill the next morning, but instead decided to go the college route.
He chose the cheapest school he could find. His mother insisted he aim higher - “you’re going to be an engineer” she said. That led him to Carnegie Tech, one of the best engineering schools in the country. He worked day and night - two jobs in the summer, one during the school year, classes from 8 to 4, military service, marriage and a full life with purpose.
A life he thought he’d remain in control of. But on September 6th, everything changed.
Bill was living at an assisted living facility, and on September 6th, he had a pretty nasty fall. He’d always been the independent one - the resident who needed no help, managed his own medication, took care of his own wife and mother while they were on hospice. But the fall fractured his hip. Surgery wasn’t an option because of his congestive heart failure. They said it could heal with rehab and time.
He tried. He really did. But he wasn’t happy at the facility, the rehab was rough, and then came the UTI - a severe infection that nearly sent him into sepsis. Through changed medication and recovery, exhausted, he made up his mind. “I’m done,” he told everyone. “I want to go home to my daughter’s house.” Not to fight anymore. Not to suffer through another hospital. Not to spend his final months in a hospital bed. Just to go home. And home is where he went.
Bill had volunteered for hospice for 10 years. He lost his wife and mother to hospice care, so he knew the compassion and care hospice can offer a patient and their loved one. Home is where he went. Hospice care is what he receives.
Now he moves from the bed to the recliner and back again. Some days he could once take fifteen steps; now he can barely manage a few. Food no longer tastes like food. “Everything tastes like shit,” he says; half joking; half defeated. His daughter cooks everything she can think of. Sometimes he tries. Mostly, he doesn’t.
Still, they play rummy together. And he still cracks jokes, even with people he’s just met, like me.
His daughter is with him every day. Bill feels like he’s a burden - coming from a life of taking care of everyone around him - but Jayne says it’s an honor. He cared for her once in diapers; through childhood and scraped knees; and now it’s her turn to take care of him.
He doesn’t always see it that way. “I hate being dependent,” he admits. “I hate being a burden.” But she reminds him, “I’m going to be here when you take your last breath. You’re dying in this room, Dad. Not alone. Not anywhere else.”
Despite Bill’s initial feelings about his situation, he says that his daughter is the best you’ll ever find, and being home with her is the best part of the whole thing.
Hospice care has brought more than medical care - it brought Dani, his nurse. He loves Dani; really loves her. She is the one who understands him, speaks to him in a way that reaches somewhere deep. “I only want Dani,” he states. “She understands where I’m at on my journey.” His daughter Jayne is thankful too, saying Dani just really understands her dad and what he’s going through.
Hospice has supported her too. Michelle, the social worker, was the first person to ask how she was doing. For the first time, she finally let herself cry, vent, and spill everything she’d been holding inside. “I just needed someone to understand, and Michelle just let me talk about how I was feeling.”
And so this chapter becomes about both of them - the father nearing the end of his life, and the daughter carrying him through it with dignity, faith and love.
He has taken up an act of drawing - beautiful drawings that he started at an art class at his assisted living facility. This helps pass the time and is something his daughter cherishes. He has also written a memoir - one called “My Life Stories” by William G. Ulevich.
Bill is frustrated - tired of being stuck in bed, tired of waiting. But he is home. He is safe. He is cared for. But most importantly, he is not alone. Hospice has not taken anything from him. It has given him peace. It has given his daughter support. It has given them both time - not measured in days or weeks, but in moments.
When asked what hospice means to him, he said simply “it gave me a chance to meet Dani” and then quietly, “and it gives me comfort.”
In the end, that’s all any of us want - comfort, compassion, understanding, and someone who won’t leave our side. And he has that. At home, with his daughter, with Compass Hospice.
With love, we remember Bill Ulevich, who entered Heaven on January 3rd at 11:39 a.m.“His Christmas wish was to go to Heaven,” Jayne shared. “He received that wish on January 3rd at 11:39 a.m. hospice time and 9:37 a.m. my time , while we were bathing him.” Bill’s journey was filled with faith, strength, and quiet courage. In his final moments, he was surrounded with care, dignity, and love, a reflection of the gentle spirit he carried throughout his life.
