Faces of our place: Mirjana Mladić and Danijela Sekolovnik Klemenčić volunteers with a big heart

Two women from Maribor, Mirjana Mladič and Danijela Sekolovnik Klemenčič, have dedicated themselves to providing comfort and support to individuals facing the end of their lives through their volunteer work with the Slovenian Hospice Society’s regional office. Their roles extend beyond mere volunteering, they represent a mission born from personal experiences of loss, grief, and the realization that human connection is vital during life's most difficult moments. Mladič recalls the time eleven years ago when her husband fell seriously ill. His doctor advised her to connect with the hospice, rather than waiting until the final days. This advice proved invaluable, offering her family support, understanding, and reassurance that they were not alone in their darkest hours. After her husband passed away, she made a promise to herself that one day she would become a hospice volunteer. She kept this commitment. Sekolovnik Klemenčič describes her decision to join the hospice volunteers as one that matured over the years. She has accompanied her mother through a terminal illness, lost her son, sister, father, and many other close relatives. Two years ago, after her uncle suffered another stroke, she realized it was time to step into the role of a hospice volunteer. “This part of my life seems to be meant for these moments,” she says. Both women remember their early encounters with dying patients. Mladič notes that her personal losses prepared her for accompanying the sick and dying. Through her husband, parents, sister, and friends, she learned how important it is for someone to pass away with dignity and not feel alone. “When you experience the death of a loved one, you get the chance to say goodbye and ensure they don’t suffer. The feeling that someone you love doesn’t die alone is irreplaceable,” she explains. The greatest fears of those nearing the end of their lives, according to both women, often aren't related to death itself. Instead, they frequently include fear of pain, losing dignity, and becoming a burden to others. There are also deeper anxieties, unspoken words, unresolved relationships, unfulfilled desires, and concerns for those left behind. “There are many things we put off for tomorrow. When we want to do them, there might not be enough time anymore,” Sekolovnik Klemenčič reflects. What do the patients teach them about life? “Life is a precious gift,” Sekolovnik Klemenčič states. Accompanying patients constantly reminds her that the most important moments are those shared with loved ones. During illness, all masks fall away, trivial matters lose significance, and only the essence remains. “It’s unfortunate that we don’t realize this sooner. We could be much happier,” she adds. One story particularly stays with Sekolovnik Klemenčič, the tale of her mother who suffered from a rare, incurable neurological disease. For nearly two years, she cared for her mother at home, as her mother refused to move into a nursing facility. “I learned almost to read her thoughts and needs,” she says. Although her mother’s body gradually failed, small moments remained, her gaze, tears while listening to a favorite song, and the feeling that despite the illness, she was still present with them. She also remembers her son, whose tragic passing permanently marked her family, and her sister, who bravely lived with cancer for eleven years. “Every story is important, unique, and deserves its own book,” she says. When they enter the homes of those they visit, the locals usually respond with relief and gratitude. Mladič notes that people often find it easier to talk to them than with their own relatives. “They frequently tell us that they can more easily discuss what scares them and the approaching death with us,” she says. She still remembers the words of her husband’s doctor: “At some point, they will want to talk about death. Don’t miss this opportunity because others might not.”