Mother language matters when people die – reflections of a hospice nurse
Agata Czerwińska, Dorothy House Specialist Nurse, has been practising palliative care for 25 years — initially in her home country of Poland, and later in the UK.
Over the years, as a foreign healthcare professional delivering direct palliative care in the UK, she has observed how important it is for dying people to communicate in their mother tongue at the end of their lives. Here are her reflections.
Living abroad often exposes people to various barriers and challenges, such as cultural differences, language difficulties, and a limited understanding of hospice care and the support available. If you are fortunate enough to be able to communicate your needs, that is helpful.
However, if, for any reason, you are unable to do so, having someone by your side from your own culture or country can boost your confidence, improve your understanding of available support, and empower you to ask for it. Moreover, there is often an unspoken connection between a dying person and a nurse or carer who speaks the same language—one that fosters trust and a feeling of truly being heard.
Caring for someone from your own country and speaking in your shared mother tongue elevates end-of-life care to a different, unspoken level. Language becomes a source of comfort—the comfort of being loved, of belonging, and of being understood in a deeply personal and meaningful way.
While translators and interpreters are valuable for communicating factual information, they can sometimes take away the human touch, create barriers, and deprive patients of direct, uninterrupted communication. Direct communication allows individuals to express their feelings, worries, and emotions in ways that a machine or even an interpreter may not fully capture or understand.
I remember caring for a dying patient in a Polish hospice who chose to communicate only in English during her final days. She wanted to hear the accent, feel a connection, and experience a sense of “home” simply by listening to someone speak in that way.
I also cared for an English lady in a day hospice whose first true love spoke Polish—he was a rear gunner pilot during the Second World War.
When she discovered that I was Polish, she asked if we could meet in the hospice garden one morning and if I could read to her his last love letter, written in Polish, before he was shot down. She had never learned Polish, but she knew what was written in the letter. Still, she wanted to hear the Polish language and expression again and again.
She said it felt as though he was speaking to her once more after all those 70 years—she felt young and loved again.
As you can see, language is not only a tool for communicating needs; it is also a way to show love, care, belonging, and human connection to vulnerable patients who may be far from their family, friends, and homeland. Speaking to dying people in their mother tongue brings all of these elements together, helping them feel at home in the final stage or hours of life.
Therefore, I believe that everyone should have the opportunity to express themselves in their own language, wherever they are and whoever they are. This, to me, is a true reflection of holistic palliative care.
