When I'm Gone

Yesterday we were at the funeral of a lady who was a friend and supporter of so many at our church and actually around the community. Mike officiated at the funeral and I know it was hard for him. However, he always seems to know just the right things to say to give a message of comfort and hope. 

This friend left us very unexpectedly. She had a day of doing things she enjoyed and when she went to bed that night I do not believe she knew her time here was over. What maybe seemed like an ordinary day, ended up being a date that will be written next to her date of birth on her tombstone. 

As I was pondering all this our daughter, Maria, told me of a Latin term she was researching, Memento Mori. It means "remember that you must die". Although it sounds rather ominous, it also seems quite simple. For some reason I found comfort in that. I'm not quite sure why it comforted me. Can you explain it? Maybe it is just because it makes us realize that death is normal. It is expected. 

At any rate, I've been thinking about our friend and the husband who now must travel that path of grief so many have traveled before him.  I am grateful for the faith we share, knowing our time of parting is only temporary.  It does not stop the pain of grief, but it sure gives us knowledge of a peace and joy yet to come.

Last night Mike & I were watching a few videos on YouTube and we came upon this one.  It seemed appropriate for this post. It may make you cry, but it is a song of hope and recovery.



Click on the blue words to read more about why Maria was researching Memento Mori.

Joyful Melancholy

Tonight I ran downstairs on a little errand and I got distracted by a basket of old photographs. I'd pulled the basket out Sunday afternoon, thinking I should go through those old photos and get them sorted. I suppose I'm the only one long on good intentions and short on follow-through?  Anyway...

Like I was saying, tonight I wandered past that basket again. I didn't really go through it but I picked up one little batch of photos to treat myself to a walk down memory lane.  It took me back to when I was working as an oncology nurse. It was a time when I felt close to a lot of patients, knew many of them over an extended period of time. I loved my co-workers and enjoyed my days working with them. I've been gone long enough that I don't very well remember the bad days, mostly just the good.

The photos were taken the day we were having a big whoop-de-do outdoor party honoring our patients.  It had been arranged for a patient to cut my hair off for another donation to Locks of Love. I won't go through that story again now but you can read about it here on Maria's blog.  Her version makes me seem like some kind of hero, so of course I'm hoping you'll read it. I'm not a hero. I do admit to being  a fast hair-grower, though.

Tonight I looked at these photos and I realized I was standing there all alone in the basement, smiling widely with the memory of that day.  I remember the patients there getting chemo asking me about my weird hairstyle that day. I'd put it into a series of ponytails in preparation for the cutting. It was goofy but I felt I had permission to be silly that day. That's actually a pretty good feeling; it makes a person feel kind of free.

When I was called outside for the cutting, I was surrounded by onlookers and even reporters.

What a weird experience that was!.

It wasn't really about me, though.

It was about Sharyn and all the other patients.

I remembered how it felt to see Sharyn getting into the fun.

I'm sure she didn't feel well, but for that moment, I don't think she was thinking about her troubles.

This was my favorite photo, though.

Look at her eyes!

She was working those big chocolate eyes for the cameras!

Then, I thought of Sharyn and all the other patients that also became friends.

I still see many of them when I'm out shopping and such.

In fact, at mall lunch just today I shared a happy hug with a former breast cancer patient.

I'd spent so many hours with her during her chemo days.

I was so happy to see her!

Sunday night, when we were out for Mother's Day, I shared a hug

with the spouse of one of my favorite patients from the past.

I love that feeling, knowing that I was a small part of their family history.

Then, the melancholy...

So many people who are no longer living.

So much sadness.

So many families with holes in their tapestry.

How do people deal with that when they do not believe in a life after this one?

My faith does not stop my grief, but it gives me hope.

And after I wallow in the melancholy,

I come out the other side with

a sense of peace.

I feel gratitude for the relationships I've experienced.

I'm happy for the time with those special people, the patients and my co-workers.

I realize my memories, both joyful and melancholy, are a lasting gift.

A Dark Day at Work

She's not in her office

Have you seen her? No?

Has anyone heard from her?

Nurse, friend to all.

Was she sick today?

One sent to check on her.

The waiting.

More waiting.

We don't know for sure, but we start to feel it.

Remember once before when she lost hope?

They helped her before.

They will help her again, right?

Too late?!

No, it couldn't be true! 

Reality.

The shock.

The gasps.

The denial.

The tears.

This doesn't feel like reality.

Strained smiles for the patients.

We can't make our eyes smile.

Do they see the pain?

Can the patients feel the darkness of our day?

Too much silence.

Too much.

Prayers for her family.

Prayers for her friends.

Prayers through tears.

Why?

Why?

Didn't she know we would want to help her?

That's our business.

We are the helpers.

We were right here all along.

Did she feel alone?

Just last week, what was she saying  about depression?

She said it takes over your mind and you just shut down.

I thought she referred to her past.

Did she know she was referring to her future?

Should we have known?

Could we have known?

Could anyone have known?

She said she was doing better.

Suicide.

Ugly word.

Grief and guilt, tangled up with anger and confusion.

We lost her to despair.

We lost her to pain.

We lost one of our own.

She was kind.

She wouldn't have hurt any one of us.

She hurt all of us.

She hurt herself.

How to understand this?

How to explain this?

Lord bring peace.

Only your peace can heal.

Only you bring lasting hope.

Lord bring peace

  and hope

     and healing.

Lord in your mercy,

    hear our prayer.

About Sara

I've been writing this post in my head for several days. I just decided I wanted to tell you about a lady who was one of my first chemotherapy patients. She was also my dear friend.

When I first met Sara, I was working as the only nurse in a one-doctor office.  I'd not been giving chemotherapy very long. Sara likely was pretty frightened that first visit, but she didn't really show it. Her family was terrified. We all knew she was in for an ordeal.

Sara was a nurse. That was maybe our first connection. Our strongest connection, though, was our Christian Faith. We quickly formed a bond of mutual respect and friendship. I grew to love her dearly. I think I probably took care of her over about a 3 year period. Early on, while we were still in the solo doctor clinic, we had a lot of time visiting with just the two of us in the room. Later, when we merged with a larger clinic, other nurses sometimes did Sara's chemotherapy but I always thought of her as my patient.

Sara was kind and funny and quick-witted and musical and friendly and so much more. As grim as her situation became, she always had a joyful spirit. One winter she and her family were going on a trip to somewhere exotic. She wanted to make the most of the time she had, leave her family with beautiful memories. They were driving to Denver (about 4 hours away) to catch their flight. Unfortunately, they got caught in a snowstorm and were stuck in Cheyenne, WY for three days at a hotel. When they returned, rather than whine about the trip they didn't get to take, she laughed and told me all the fun they had while stuck in Cheyenne! That was the kind of person she was.

Sara always remained a nurse. Often, when she arrived, she "worked the room" before going to her treatment chair. She would smile and greet all the other patients. She was especially attentive to new patients. Her easy nature helped others relax. Sometimes she'd offer to get someone a blanket or something else she thought they might need. Like I said, she always remained a nurse.

As Sara's health got worse, she just got sweeter. She still always asked a lot about me and my family, told me stories about her's. Even after she no longer received chemo and was under the care of hospice nurses, she welcomed me into her home for visits. I was touched when I was shown that she had my photo on her refrigerator. It was sad to watch as her body started to shut down, but her spirit remained bright. As I watched her approach death, I wondered if I would be able to do so as graciously as did she.

On Halloween 2008, working at the oncology center,  we received the call near the end of the day. We were expecting this news. Sara was gone. I don't really remember how the day ended but I remember calling Mike just before I headed home, telling him of Sara's death. Of course, it was no surprise. Mike had met Sara but didn't know her well. He just knew that she was important to me.

When I arrived home that day Mike met me at the door. He didn't say a word; he just held open his arms for me. Although I had been trying to act brave, he knew I just needed to mourn.

Now, five years later, I still feel so grateful for the time I got to know that sweet lady. Sometimes when I am dealing with something difficult, particularly if it is related to my work as a nurse, I go to Sara's grave to sort it out.

Actually, just standing by Sara's grave, I can see tombstones with other familiar names, other patients I once treated. It is sad but also it makes me feel honored to have been a part of their lives when they were in need.

This is kind of a strange post. I don't have any tidy way to get to any particular point. Is this a post to remember a dear friend? Is this a post about how nurses handle grief? Is this a post about how blessed I am to have a good husband who held me as I cried? Is this a post about living each given day to the fullest?

The answer to each of those questions is, "Yes."

A Healing Purpose?

(This photo has nothing to do with this post.  I just liked it.  

The painting in the background is by my talented mother.)

Last week at work I re-met a lady whom I'd met last year while working at hospice.  Last week she was just accompanying someone who was in for a colonoscopy.  Last year she was at the bedside of a young woman who had suffered a sudden event and was sent from the emergency room to our hospice home.  Over the course of a few days she'd gone from independent living to being on her death bed.  I was with her and her family as she breathed her last.  I was the one who said those sad words, "Time of death...."

At the surgical center where I now work I am finding that I often meet people from my past jobs.  I guess that isn't surprising as this is not a metropolis.  Working at hospice I often got to know patients and family members over an extended period of time.  Even further back, as a chemotherapy nurse, I developed friendships with patients and their families that often spanned a number of months or even years.  Actually, that was one of my favorite parts about those jobs.  Many of those patients gave more to me than I ever gave to them.

My concern, now, is the effect seeing me has on the survivors.  I am seeing them at a time when they are likely a bit nervous as they are coming to our center for a procedure.  They are vulnerable.  Then, in I walk.  Does it give them comfort to have someone they already know enter their room?  Maybe.  I am happy to see them and greet them with joy, but I know that the sight of me represents painful memories as well.  That doesn't make me happy but it is what it is.

As I thought about this, wondering how I could make it easier on my current patients, I realized I may be looking at it all wrong.  Maybe these meetings are a time when I'm supposed to offer something of a healing presence.  Do you suppose that I can say or do something that helps them through their grief?  Maybe just knowing that I remember their loved one, cared about their loved one, sometimes even still mourn their loss myself could be healing for them.  I don't know.

Yesterday a patient came in who was a family member to one of my previous patients... a nurse herself who became a friend and mentor to me, even as I cared for her.  I gave her chemotherapy over the course of several years.  I loved her!  When I saw her family member, I knew they would know me.  My friend/patient had kept my photograph on her refrigerator and had included me in some of her family events.  Since her death, though, I'd only seen her family a few times.

I prayed before I entered his room.  I wanted to help him face his procedure.  I did NOT want to cause him pain.  So, I went in smiling.  We hugged.  We talked.  I tried to pay attention to what he might need to hear.  Finally, I felt he needed to hear me say some of what she had meant to me.  I told him how I still go to her grave site sometimes to pray.  I told him I still think of her.  I still miss her.

THEN, we moved on.  We talked of his life now, four years after his loss.  We talked of his family.  We talked of the future.  I think it was good.  I realized then, that maybe these meetings could be more than just painful reminders to people.  Maybe they could have a healing purpose.  Maybe that healing is for me, as well as for them.  I don't know.  

My Life as a Travel Agent

On a recent morning I was at work and as one of my patients was waiting for his death, I thought again about an idea that keeps popping into my head... the thought that I am now some sort of a travel agent, someone who's main job is to assist travelers as they prepare for a big, big trip.

My patient, thanks to good medications, was reaching a level of comfort.  He knew it was almost time for his departure.  His daughter was by his side.  She wasn't going with him but she wanted to wait with him until it was time for him to go.  She was sad because she knew she was going to miss him, but she was happy for him because she knew he was going somewhere very lovely and exciting.  Although she couldn't travel with him at this time, she expected to join him at a later date.  

Together, they waited and waited and waited.  It reminded me of a train station.  I don't think in terms of the grim reaper or anything like that.  I was thinking of an elegant train that was coming and he was the only passenger at our station who was waiting to board at that time.  The station seemed pretty empty to me, but our traveler reported there were "a lot of people" present.  Just because I did not see them does not mean they were not there.

Although this traveler was originally reluctant to make this trip, as the train approached, he was ready.  In fact, I think maybe his mother was already on that train, coming to escort him to his destination.  I think this because he thought he saw her; he was watching for her.

His daughter left the room for a few minutes.  It wasn't long before I saw the train coming, I could hear it, I could see it, I could almost feel the ground trembling... almost.  I stepped away from our traveler for just a few moments to summon her so she could hug him good-bye.   I knew it was important to her to be present when he climbed aboard.  I could see pain in her eyes but she smiled as she approached him and held his hand.  She did not try to stop him from going.  Her husband joined her for the send-off and they were ready to say good-bye.  When they reassured me they were prepared, I quietly left their side.

When I returned, the train was just pulling out from the station.  The traveler's daughter was crying and smiling at the same time.  Her husband held her close.  It was quiet.  It was peaceful.  We all felt we'd just been very close to something amazing, something we could not yet fully understand.  

True Love or Idolatry?

I heard an interesting comment on KLOVE yesterday.  To be honest, I tuned in at what seemed to be the last few sentences of a thought-provoking conversation.  They were discussing how we (humans) try to find something or someone to idolize.  I totally agree with that.  That isn't new.  Biblically the Israelites were constantly being pulled away from following the idols of other nations as well as creating their own.

When some people think of worshipping idols I know they think of a gold or marble statue.  Most people I know wouldn't think of idolizing a man-made statue.  However, I was taught that anything we let become more important to us than God could be considered our idol.  That could include money, cars, houses, sports or really anything.  The discussion on KLOVE was something different yet.  They were talking about idolizing a person. 

Although I missed most of the discussion, I did find the letter that started their discussion posted on their site.  It was from Scotty Smith, Pastor for Preaching, Christ Community Church, " ...it’s idolatrous to give anybody the power to make us through their affirmation, or destroy us by their rejection."  Wow!  My first thought was that a lot of old love songs have it all wrong!  The attitude of I'll-just-die-if-you-don't-love-me or I-can't-live-without-you is wrong from many different angles but I'd never thought of it as idolatry.  What do you think?

The more I thought about it the more I agreed.  To allow anyone, even your most beloved people, to have that kind of power over you really is a form of idolatry as it totally gets in the way of you fulfilling your calling as a Child of God.   When pondering this I first thought of teenagers and the drama of love in their lives.  If a teenager believes their happiness is dependent on the acceptance of another, that is taking God to a lower level.  That is idolatry.

I thought this out even further.  I think most of us who are happily married, at some point, wonder how we could possibly be happy if our spouse were to die.   I've seen people wrap their grief around themselves and hold onto it for years, allowing that grief to keep them from living as a confident Child of God.  Is that a form of idolatry?  I had never thought of it that way but I kind of think maybe it is.

However you think of it or look at it, anything that comes before God in your life is likely idolatry, even if it is a person.  We are called to love others.  We are made to have sustaining relationships but none of them should ever be more important to us than our relationship with God.  That's what I think.

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HOPE- A Tribute to Bobbi

I don't know if any of you felt it yesterday, but the world lost some of its glow.  Our friend, Bobbi, went home to Jesus.

I only met Bobbi because she had cancer and I was an oncology nurse.  That's how our paths crossed.  She was sick and I, among many, tried to help her.  Well, as happens often enough, she probably helped us a lot more than we helped her.

Bobbi was one of those people who shared her smiles freely.  There was a warmth about her, and a zest for life.  Bobbi loved her family and friends and she knew that she was well-loved in return.  Bobbi had much to live for.

Bobbi had a theme word, HOPE.  One day we were talking about my love for giraffes.  Another patient had told me that in Africa, giraffes were the symbol for hope.  Bobbi said, "Oh, that's my word!"  After that, we always mentioned the word, "hope" to each other.   One day she brought in 4 red letters to spell "hope" and gave it to me.  I have had them on my bathroom mirror ever since.  I wanted it where I would see it first thing each morning.

The last time I went into our chemo clinic was rather a hard day for me.  My recurring illness had become annoying enough that I was no longer able to continue doing the job I loved so much.  I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.  My plan was to come in, clean out my desk, and leave as quickly as I could so that I wouldn't cry in front of people.   It just so happened that Bobbi was there that day.  She called me over to her treatment chair.  She gave me a hug and spoke words of encouragement to me.  My situation was not as grim as her's, but she was speaking words of assurance to me.  She was ministering to me.  I was so very grateful.

So as we are mourning our loss,  I am trying to focus on HOPE.  Mike helped me find a bible verse that comforted me.  Romans 5:3-5  "...we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our  hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."

Bobbi suffered and endured.  She had great character, and she had HOPE.  Bobbi knew her life would not end when cancer claimed her body.  She knew she was wrapped in God's love and she knew that she would go to be with her Lord. 

See you later, Bobbi.