When death is an occupational hazard

Photo adapted from Three Crosses by Tim Green

Someone I cared about passed away on Saturday morning. Her death was unexpected; at least I wasn't expecting it.

I came to know Pat about 18 months ago when I began taking Holy Communion to her -- and others -- once a month at a nearby nursing home. I didn't see her every time I visited. When the weather was good, she would take the city bus for people with disabilities to go to Mass at our church. But in the winter, I'd get to spend some time with her. It was time I looked forward to.

Pat was blind, but she saw with faith. She used a wheelchair most of the time, but she walked a life a service, even until her death. When I would visit, she would ask me to read that day's Gospel to her. Then I would do my best to recount the message of the homily. On certain days I had to admit that my mind had wandered during the homily and I couldn't recall what the priest had said. Pat & I would talk about the Scripture and what in the passage spoke to each of us. Most of my visits with other residents at the nursing home are fairly brief, made so by the residents' limitations with communication, so these conversations with Pat were opportunities I looked forward to.

Based on how old she told me her children are, I would guess that Pat was about my mother's age. Maybe a little bit older. She was determined to really live the life she had. She had a large reading machine that she would use to read books, letters, the church bulletin. Although she was dependent on others to meet most of her physical needs, Pat still lived the call to serve.

Over the past several years, she handmade more than 1,000 cards of encouragement for members of the Indiana National Guard. In her room, she had photos of herself with some of those soldiers who had been on the receiving end of her kindness. So often people think of nursing homes as a place where old people are warehoused until they die. There was no putting Pat on a shelf.

My last visit with Pat was on Christmas day. I'd gone over to the nursing home in the early evening to visit a few people. She and I sat and talked for close to an hour that night. I learned that she had been a nurse and that she preferred working with psychiatric patients. She told me that it had been her birthday just a few days before. She mentioned that she was having some difficulty with her new reader and that she thought some brightly colored tape might help her see where to line up what it is she was trying to read. I told her I'd find some and bring it with me on my next visit. I had no idea that the Christmas visit would be my last visit.

When the phone rang last night and I saw it was a call from one of the other women in this ministry, I knew it had to be bad news. One of our ladies has been fading and has hospice care set up. I had a feeling that this was a call to let me know that she had passed away. When I heard that it was Pat who was gone, I could not believe it. She seemed so good -- finally recovering from a nasty fall, upbeat and like her old self. I halfway thought that there must have been some mix up and that she would be sitting in her chair waiting for me when I got to the nursing home this morning. I wondered whether I would tell her about the errant message and we would laugh about it or whether I would just silently give thanks that it had not been true.

That was wishful thinking. When I arrived, her name was already off the placard outside the door. I hoped I might see her daughter there, clearing out her mother's things so that I could let her know how sorry I am and how much I really liked her mom. But no one was there at the time. The bed had been stripped, the dark blue plastic cover on the mattress piled high with Pat's belongings -- many of them the holiday decorations that probably would have come down soon anyway. I put my hand on the pile and said a prayer for my friend.

Visiting a nursing home on a regular basis, it's not unusual to know people who die. Since I started, I can count six people who've gone on. Most of their deaths have made me briefly sad. Pat's death? It has left me weeping with an aching sadness.

One of the volunteers told me a while ago that I shouldn't get too close to the people I visit. I don't know how to operate like that. So I just accept this feeling of loss as an occupational hazard, because in the end, the losses are so outweighed by the faith and love I gain.

Rest in God's peace, Pat.

Love, personified

Soft, wavy white hair, speckled with a few black strands that refused to back down. That's what I saw as I watched my Grandma sleeping so quietly and so small in the bed at the hospice center a few weeks ago. I leaned in to kiss her wrinkled cheek and followed with my eyes as it led to her beautiful, wrinkled ears. How do ears wrinkle, anyway?

I reached down and rubbed her wrist. Her skin hung loosely, but so softly, around the bones of her arm. Under the pink and white afghan, I could see how much she had shrunk in stature, so tiny in that bed.

I couldn't help but smile. That tiny frame could not contain the enormous strength of my Grandma, of this woman who had born 13 children and buried two, one in infancy and one in adulthood. I looked back at the defiant strands of black in her hair and smiled more. They were a biological symbol of the fight my Grandma had within her.

Death is a part of life. And when my mom called to say Grandma passed away this morning, I was immediately sad for the missing piece of my heart. But I am also filled with joy because if there is anyone who has earned this rest, it is Grandma.

She earned it through the days and nights of worry over her love -- her husband -- off to war and later off to fight fires in his job as a fire chief.

She earned it through more than 65 years of marriage. 

She earned it through the raising and correcting and loving of 13 children. In the thousands of exasperated utterances of "Patricia!" or "Bill!" or "Paul!" -- or pick any other of her children's names. 

She earned it through the thousands of meals, hundred of jars of home-canned foods, mincemeat pies, peanut butter frosted cakes and dozens of gumdrop cookies and springerles that came from her hands.

She earned it through the quiet rituals -- the wooden stable and nativity put under the Christmas tree each year; the cherries pitted with hairpins at the kitchen table on hot (and un-air-conditioned) summer days; the quick and certain kisses she gave to say good-bye at each parting. 

She earned it in the loving, but not indulgent, manner with which she greeted every child who crossed her door. Grandma showed us the only riches you need to raise an army of children and a legion of grandchildren are plenty of love and some chocolate ice cream dished up in avocado-green bowls.

She earned it in the faithful example of her life as a woman of God. It has been said "Preach the Gospel often. Use words if necessary." That was Grandma.

My Grandma was not a woman of many words. (In recent times, the deterioration in her brain loosed some of the quick-witted things she must have been thinking, but not saying for all these years, much to our amusement.) But her actions spoke volumes. They spoke love and compassion, loyalty and service and humility.

This is my Grandma (with my niece Kate):

 

She loved.

She was loved.

She was LOVE.

Keepin' the faith

Let no one disregard you because you are young, but be an example to all the believers in the way you speak and behave, and in your love, your faith and your purity. -- 1 Timothy 4:12

For the next three days, I will be chaperoning a group of teenagers (including Annie) from our church as they join 20,000 other teens for the National Catholic Youth Conference in Indianapolis. I'm looking forward to the time away and am really hoping to be transported back to my own high school days were the LIFE group was such a huge part of my faith and social experience. 

One of the lessons I'm going to try to stay in touch with was one from a retreat the summer before my senior year of high school. "Be here now."

I'm really going to try to stay in the present while I'm gone. Not worrying about how Mike and the boys are getting along at home. Not thinking about what tasks will be waiting for me when the weekend is over. I hope that my present presence encourages the kids with us to do the same.

Mostly, I'm really looking forward to the unique exuberance kids bring to faith. I'm anticipating great music, honest faith-sharing, and of course the hilarity and silliness that comes when you get a bunch of teenagers together.

I would appreciate prayers for our group and for all the teens at the conference. In the spirit of "be here now," I don't plan to blog again until I return home on Sunday.

Enjoy the days and know I'll be keeping you in prayer as well.

Separation anxiety

We took Charlie to his first sleep-away camp yesterday.

We arrived toward the tail end of check-in, thanks in part to some shoddy navigation by someone who should have been paying attention to the Google map instead of playing 13 games of Words with Friends on the phone. By the time we checked in and walked up (and up and up) to his cabin, his group was gathered out front, ready to go to the pool. While he changed into his swimsuit, Mike and I made his bed and tucked his suitcase away.

Charlie seemed a little nervous,  but mostly ready to go make some new friends. I gave him a quick kiss and hug and off he went. There wasn't a lot of time for long goodbyes and really, I was excited for him to have the opportunity.

By bedtime last night, though, I was starting to miss him. It's not like Charlie's never slept away from home before. In fact, he spent Friday night at a slumber party. I'm not sure "missing him" is the right phrase. I just wondered whether he was warm or cool enough in the cabin, if he'd liked what they served for dinner, how he was getting along with the other boys in his group. I said a quick prayer for his safety and his experience and went to bed.

This morning, "missing him" certainly fit the bill. Did he sleep ok? Did his pillow fall off the end of the bunk bed? Did the nurse remember to give him his allergy medicine? Had he lost anything yet? (I'm pretty sure he won't come home with everything we packed.)

As I walked from the parking lot to my office building, I was thinking that this will be the longest period of time in Charlie's whole life that I've gone without talking to him. Again, I said a prayer for him and walked into the building.

When I got to my desk, the red voicemail message light was lit up. As I waited for the laptop to warm up, I punched in my voicemail access code to listen to the message. It was Charlie! He'd left the message for me after I'd left the office on Friday, so the question he was asking was no longer relevant. But the sound of his voice was just what I needed to hear.

I smiled as I listened to it and thanked God for this small reminder of his faithfulness and for that kid at sleep-away camp.

911 Fragments

Ok, I promise that this will be the last of the posts having to do with my little adventure on Tuesday. But I still have random thoughts tied to the experience and thought what better way to use 'em up than in a Friday Fragments post.

On hospital food: After I got settled into my room in the cardiac observation unit, the nurse told me if I was hungry I could just pick up the phone and order room service. Given that my usual response to stress is to eat and that I hadn't eaten anything for about 6 hours, I thought that sounded like a great idea. Imagine my disappointment to find that chocolate frosted chocolate cupcakes were not on the heart-healthy menu in front of me! But I could have all the low-sodium chicken noodle soup, sugar-free gelatin and Diet Pepsi (ugh! Sorry, Uncle Bill) I wanted.

On faith: The hospital I went to was one I've been boycotting because of some bad experiences we've had there in the past, even though it is a Catholic hospital and I like to keep my emergencies within the flock. However, it was the closest one to the kids' school and given that I thought I might be dying or at least having a heart attack, I decided to let bygones be bygones. One of the first things I noticed in the observation room was a crucifix over the door. I was immediately washed over with a sense of comfort and peace. I knew I was in the right place. And for the record, the care I received was excellent.

On cutting the cord: One of the toughest parts of the experience was to be without my laptop for 12+ hours. God bless Mike for bringing it to me at 9:30pm. In the absence of the laptop, I made do with Facebooking and texting from my cell phone. Yesterday, catching up on e-mails from work, I read one from my boss to all our staff that said "Amy is making up for not having a laptop by texting six times as usual." Seriously, if I was without my laptop and my smartphone for that long, I think I'd have a coronary for real.

On potassium: My friend Beth is a dietitian. I was telling her that I didn't know how my potassium could be low because I'd had a banana for breakfast on Tuesday morning. She said that bananas don't really have has much potassium as people think. (Sorry Chiquita banana lady.) In fact, she said for potassium, you'd be better off eating a whole fresh orange. Who knew?

On with the show: When I got home on Wednesday, I did lay down to take a nap. But once the boys came home from school, it was business as usual. Mike and the kids did a good job of picking up the house while I was gone,  (I should be hospitalized more often!) but I loaded the breakfast dishes that were waiting there, went to school to pick Annie up from play practice, met up with my favorite camera dude at the grocery store on the corner to shoot another IN Shape Indiana segment, then went to the grocery store. When the doctor said I could resume my normal activities, I don't think he knew what I was in for.

On grocery stores and milk: I still have more Nature's Dairy milk coupons for you Central Indiana people. 

Thanks once again to Mrs. 4444s for hosting today's Friday Fragments. That's one thing that's always good for the heart. And if Friday Fragments don't give you enough of a lift going into the weekend, check out the great links on Boost My Blog Friday at Design it Chic:

Impatient follower

I consider myself a fairly faithful person. I attend Mass regularly. I pray before meals (well, ok, dinner). I am aware of God at work in my life and try to remember to say thank you. But, I am an impatient follower. I find myself running to God with the urgent request of the day (or the week or the month), then tapping my foot waiting for an answer. If only God used instant messenger.

But often, there is that period of quiet and stillness where my plea is hanging out there and no lightning bolts of clarity are coming in response. For as much as I beg my kids for peace and quiet, I'm uncomfortable with it when it comes from my God. Tell me what to do. Give me a sign that I'm on the right path. Hello God, it's me, Amy. Are you there?

In the absence of an immediate response from Him, I fill that silence with a twisting, emotional debate between my heart and my head. Trying to force an answer, trying to control the outcome of whatever the situation might be. It's exhausting, really.

And foolish, because if I would rest in the quiet, if I would let go of my need to orchestrate every last detail, if I would trust that God will lead where I should follow, I have a sneaking suspicion that I would hear the answer I'm so impatiently waiting for. That instead of being tired and worn out, I would be fulfilled by the assurance that someone greater is at the controls.

Thanks for letting me:

Filled

It's Sunday night and I'm tired, but not weary. I spent this weekend as part of the presenting team for Christ Renews His Parish at our church (similar, I've been told to the Emmaus Walk retreats, if you're familiar with those).

Nothing earth shattering happened to me. No "Shazaam" moments (that's for you, Anna). I gave a witness on Christian Awareness and related pieces of my story in which I could see God's grace working in and through me. I know what I said touched some people because they were nice enough to tell me so.

I laughed a lot. I cried a little. I ate an amount I'm satisfied with -- it wouldn't pass a Weight Watcher's test, but I don't think I was gluttonous either (I've done worse!). I slept more than I thought I would. And of course, I prayed...in silence, in word and in song.

I listened to my "sisters'" own testimonies and found myself a little surprised at how much I really care for them. And I met several new, wonderful women who answered the call to spend a weekend growing in love for Christ and in communion with others doing the same thing.

I prayed this morning for something specific to happen -- and it did. And I'm thankful for that grace. I experienced something that was unscripted, unplanned and unimaginably, beautifully reverent.

I've returned home, back to the busy-ness of life, but I hold with me all the prayers of this weekend, all the moments of quiet, all the painfully, joyfully honest stories of struggle and triumph, faith and love. And I am filled.