Divided by an imaginary river representing life and death, participants list words that come to mind for each side. Photo: STEFAN RAMPFEL/dpa
Admission to a palliative care ward usually signals nearing death – a prospect that often stirs sombre or uneasy emotions.
Iris Ranke-Greve offers a refreshing and compassionate perspective.
“It’s a nice place, it smells good,” she says. Ranke-Greve, who is training as a volunteer assistant for palliative and hospice work in Gottingen, a city in the central German state of Lower Saxony, has a deep understanding of these wards’ significance.
Alongside around 100 other volunteers, she dedicates her time to support people in their final stages of life and their families. But what motivates people like her to engage in this deeply personal and often challenging work?
For Ranke-Greve, a 66-year-old former dermatologist, the journey began with her parents’ deaths.
Witnessing the work of volunteers during that time left a lasting impression. After retiring, she sought meaningful ways to connect with others – without the responsibilities tied to her medical profession.
The decision to pursue volunteer training felt natural to her.
Currently, Ranke-Greve is part of a cohort completing a 100-hour training programme. After completing their training, volunteers work with individuals facing serious illnesses, as well as their families and friends.
Their roles vary widely, from offering companionship and assisting with household tasks to playing games. The frequency and location of these interactions – whether at home or on a palliative care ward – depend on each individual case.
Since its inception in 2008, the University Medical Centre Gottingen has offered this free volunteer service. Similar initiatives are widespread across Lower Saxony, where there are 124 palliative care facilities and 40 inpatient hospices.
According to the Lower Saxony Hospice and Palliative Care Association, over 4,500 volunteers actively support patients and families.
“This commitment is an expression of societal solidarity,” says Ulrich Kreutzberg, the association’s head. As demographic shifts increase the need for such care, this work remains essential. Fortunately, motivated individuals continue to step forward.
Participants during a training course to become palliative care volunteers. Photo: STEFAN RAMPFEL/dpa
Diverse volunteers
In Gottingen, the volunteers are as diverse as the patients they assist.“Some people can’t talk about their illness with their family. Others want someone they don’t have to discuss their illness with at all – that’s the range,” explains Gregor Dreizehnter, who oversees the training programme alongside social educator Kathrin Heiss.
Volunteers include students, professionals and retirees from varied backgrounds, united by their shared commitment. However, Dreizehnter is quick to clarify, “They are not substitutes for medical staff.”
Many volunteers come to this work through personal loss.
Jessica Pohl and Oliver Ohanecian, for example, both joined after the sudden deaths of their best friends. “It’s also a way to process our own grief,” says Pohl.
Others, like 22-year-old Jesse Mehnert, are driven by an interest in the topic of death, despite limited personal experience with it. “I think it’s worthwhile for everyone to engage with this topic,” he says.
The training encourages participants to reflect on their own perspectives about life and death.
“It’s a lot of work in your own head,” Dreizehnter notes. For Pohl, the process has been transformative: “The course has made me more sensitive. I feel better prepared for the next death. I’m not afraid anymore.”
Volunteers are as diverse as the patients they assist but are united by their shared desire to seek meaningful ways to connect with others. Photi: FRANK HAMMERSCHMIDT/dpa
Practical and symbolic
The training includes practical and symbolic exercises. In one exercise, participants stand in a car park, divided by an imaginary river representing life and death. They list words that come to mind for each side: love, peace, loneliness, pain.
Some words, like “light” and “grief,” appear on both sides. The group later discusses the exercise, sharing insights and emotions.
Participants also value the sense of community the programme fosters.
“I’m not good at talking about death with my friends,” says Pohl. In the course, however, participants feel free to express their emotions. “Here, we can dare to be vulnerable,” adds Ranke-Greve.
For 56-year-old theologian and Buddhist Ohanecian, the course is part of his ongoing exploration of death. He and his fellow participants hope that society will become more open about death and dying.
“It’s important not to keep pushing this topic aside,” he says, particularly as ageing populations worldwide create a growing need for compassionate care.
Looking to other cultures, Ohanecian highlights Mexico’s Day of the Dead as a model for embracing mortality with openness and even celebration.
By normalising conversations about death, societies can foster deeper connections and understanding – ensuring that even life’s final chapter is met with dignity and care. – dpa
