The following is a response to an e-mail I received from my mom. I don't get down to see the folks much these days because of the busy nature of my life these days, but I wanted to share this with you. Enjoy!
Witt
Hey Mom, thanks for "The Rain." I don't get the chance to talk to family members much when I am working at the nursing home, but there are moments when I get a glimpse of what Joyce sees every day; the long drawn faces, the here today, gone tomorrow eyes of those afflicted with Alzheimers and the restlessness of life grappling for a foothold on the edge.
I am just the guy who does the floors at night or the guy who fixes a leaky toilet or hangs a picture on the wall for a resident from time to time. I get to see what nurses and aides do every day and the faces of those who are suffering the symptoms of whatever ailment has stricken them. I was never a big fan of nursing homes because I always remembered the smells and the signs of the inevitable affects of time when we would go visit grandma. I miss the days when I could stop by her house and just visit for a while.
Some time ago my boss on days at the nursing home gave me the task of attaching side rails to the bed of a woman who was on hospice care. She did not have long to live and her son and daughter were there every day to sit beside her and be there when the time came. I knocked on the door of the room and told them that I was from maintenance with the side rails that had been requested.
The first rail went on without a hitch, but the second one was giving me fits as it was not fitting quite right. After several attempts and the advice of my boss, the rail went into place and immediately the woman lying in the bed took hold of it. I was moved to say the least when I had a moment to process what had just happened.
I remember quite literally lying on the floor beside the bed while attaching the rail to the bed side. I saw the catheter bag half filled, I felt the cool floor beneath my body and I don't recall any unpleasant smell of any kind. I remember the daughter standing there comforting her mother as she was struggling to get out of bed. 'It's OK Mom, lay back and rest," she said several times.
Restlessness is one of the signs that life is ebbing out of a person who is on their death bed. Needless to say, I felt quite humbled afterwards. I even found myself offering a little prayer asking the Lord to help me do this simple task as it was proving to be more difficult than I had originally thought. It was then that the son came over to lend a hand and everything fit into place. It just goes to show that we are all interconnected by a thin veiled string that binds us to a world that is as fragile as life itself. I think that if more people took the time to show a little more concern for others what a better place this world would be. It does not have to be any great feat of heroism or act of courage, just a helping hand or a kind word will do.
To close, I want to share a couple of poems:
Calling
You call my name
long after it has been forgotten
by all who say they love me.
You touch me
at the core of my being
while others have left,
believing there is nothing there.
You breathe love
into the vessel of my heart
and fill it with warmth and tenderness
even as others take from me,
my last gasping breath.
You hold me
in a sacred space
honoring me for who I am
while others honor me
for who they want me to be.
You call my name
and I am moved to tears,
because I too had forgotten
- Daniel H. Kim
Death Bed Meditiation
All I really know about life I can say
in a few lines:
In April the small green things
will rise through the black Iowa soil
wether we're ready or not.
The Carolina wren will make her nest
in the little redwood house
my son built from a kit.
Daffodils, tulips, irises will get the attention as usual
while purslane, pig weed, lambs quarters
will quietly take over a place
while no one is watching.
In June the corn shoots
will etch long green lines
across the dark loamy fields
and the greenest of all green grasses
will crowd into the ditches and line the roads.
In August the early bloomers
begin to burn themselves out,
but in September the late yellows appear,
luring the bumblebees and yellow jackets
into a frenzy of pollination.
You already know about October,
the color, the last burst of extravagant life.
And then all at once it seems
everything retreats, pulls in to itself, rests,
and prepares for the inevitable resurrection.
- James Autry
I know this is an incredibly long e-mail, but the moment struck me with the arrival of a note from someone I care about so now I pass on a note so that perhaps you may do the same. The more people we care about, the more the world changes for the better. Please pass the word.
Thank You!
