I lifted the phone and dialed. A call I didn't want to make since I sensed it wouldn't tell me what I wanted to hear. The day had already started hard. One child trapped far from home due to snow had hopefully made it home safely. And as I stumbled to confirm he was indeed safe, I discovered the train he took to work each day had a fire during his commute time. Not being a parent ...and just being young, he navigated his stressful morning without letting me know he was okay. I have triggers ...more than most, I think, because I've already lost one ...am all too familiar it can happen. When he finally responded, I soared. But that energy that ties me in knots still lingered. I wanted to weep ...in gratitude ...in memory. So later after I knew my son was safe I picked up messages on my office phone. As I listened to the familiar voice, and the sparse message, I'd already been primed for sad news.
The work I do is a privilege. I walk the shoreline with people whose lives have been long, but are now winding down. They know this, and so do I. I've learned a lot from these seasoned folks, and over time we learn each other's ways ...and we become friends. I like our elderly and I like to think I have great appreciation for them and the lives they've lived. From them I glean hope and joy ...and I witness a love that takes decades to grow. A love that has weathered twists and turns, the unexpected joy and gloom life brings. And though I do the best I can for each one, some pull the heartstrings a little bit tighter and a little bit closer. So I didn't want to return that call, but I did.
Walking that line ...being the professional and being the friend, maintaining your proper place ...giving family space ...can challenge. I fight back my own tears as I hear the inevitable ...he will not make it home. On the phone, I listen and smile because yes of course the personality would remain vibrant, and of course it would not be the mind, or the passion, or the sheer might that would falter ...it would be the body, the shelter for here. Earthbound has its limits ...we give out, or give up. Life here ends.
It's a matter of time, maybe one more rally, one more football game ...just one more.
Every time I am near death I think of Phoebe ...and I think about God and His graciousness.
My friend fought, as we all knew he would, for a few days. Selfishly, it was enough time for me to tell him how much he'd taught me, how much he inspired me ...and how much I loved him. And it was enough time to ask Phoebe to greet this great man and let him know again just how much her mom had grown to love him, and grow to be so grateful he'd touched her life. It is in giving that we receive ...and I received so much from him.
And then he passed, in the deep of night. God's grace wrapped him I'm sure. I was able to rise and pull out our beautiful Catholic prayers for the dying, pleading his case. It may seem a small thing, but it is a gift we can so easily give to each other. Prayer. And more prayer.
This was a mighty man. He was no captain of industry, he had no awards hanging on the wall, his home was small and tidy, he drove a modest car, lived a humble life. He was content, and satisfied with what he was given. That is not a common quality today, but it always draws me in because it's how I strive to be too.
As a nurse, he challenged me. He set up hard boundaries. It took time to gain his trust, but once I did, we worked with how he was and who he was, and I like to believe he knew I respected his choices. We had honest conversations, without conflict, both holding our ground. End of life issues are real and difficult, and they are often not black and white. Hard choices never had to be made, he was able to slip away ...probably just how he wished.
His family told me they wished I had known him before his illness. And I listened to their stories ....they knew he was a great man. To step into anyone's life, at any time is a gift. And there are meant to be only moments shared sometimes, or brief friendships that leave a mark before dissolving, or relationships fraught with difficulty and tension, or symbiotic friendships that bolster and share ...all types. Each one, each moment, each span of time is a gift meant for both.
Phoebe's death has given me that view, that nothing here is wasted ...no conversation, no altercation, no handshake or laugh is without meaning or purpose for our eternal story. I find it hard to always keep that perspective ...to live that perspective. When I can, gratitude floods me and I know I am a better person in that moment, more like God wants me to be.
For me, stepping into peoples' moments as their earthly life is winding down is pretty special. Some think it's depressing. But if we truly believe death is our return to God, it brings a certain joy to be at that threshold with someone else. Doesn't mean it discounts the pain of loss for others, but it can weave a comfort through the sorrow. If we truly believe.
We leave something behind, a story. I'll revisit my mighty friend's story many times, and remember how through knowing him, I teased out a few things I was wrestling with. He never let on if he knew he was in fact caring for me, teaching me, leading me onward ... he does now, I'm sure.
All of us can see no moment is wasted if we invite God in, allow His grace to weave into our eternal story. That view helps me smile and live in gratitude ...even when I'm sad and missing.
Please pray for my friend and his family ...they are missing a great man!
