In response to "The Rain"

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!

A World of Hope...

The following is an article I submitted to a web site called Helium. It is a place to write, critique articles and have your writing rated by other writers. The topic was "How to teach compassion as a way of life for you and your children." In light of this past weekend, it is hoped I have done the subject justice.


Compassion begins with awareness. If you do not take the time to realize that there are others in the world struggling or have it worse than yourself, how can you teach your children to act with compassion? Modeling compassion begins with random acts of kindness. Putting others first in such a way that you put your own needs or desires second is a perfect way to teach your children how to be compassionate persons. Denying the urge to serve one’s self must become a life long habit attainable only through practice. If done enough times, it becomes a part of your life and becomes a part of who you are as a human being.

So we must start with the question; “Who is your model?” Compassion must come from a genuine source like a person who is living or who lived and exemplified the right characteristics. This person clearly sees or saw the unfortunate circumstances of others living in his or her particular time. They were moved and acted upon the need, putting them last in line. Serving others is second nature to the compassionate person; in fact, it is a sense of mission that drives them to it. The mind set is this: “If but one person benefits from my actions, then it was worth the effort.” This is what children need to learn from their parents or guardians. If more people modeled this simple inner dialogue, the world would be a much better place in which to live.

Compassion is empathy, not pity. The idea of walking in another’s shoes for a mile or more can lead us to a place where needs still exist, but suffering is eased. It becomes more about dignity than prosperity, respect than hierarchy and caring than mere responsibility. Governments can do as much or be held to account, but it takes people caring about people to get the message across to future generations. In the final analysis, it comes down to a simple four letter word that has become so misunderstood in our modern world. It really is about love; a word that has meaning in all cultures, all religions and in all societies great and small. It is reflected in the Holy Bible, the Koran and in the teachings of Buddha and in all other great spiritual movements throughout human history.

What would it take for a Muslim to take up the orphan child of a Hindu, or the Christian to care for the needs of a child from China? The answer is, compassion, because it transcends all colors, all religions, creeds and nationalities. It transforms a barren land of hopelessness into a garden of opportunity. It enables people everywhere to see beyond the darkness of prejudice and truly lights up the world. When children can see it occurring right in front of them, then it becomes a reality they will emulate and pass on to future generations. Compassion indeed can change our world. A world of despair becomes a world of hope for all to see.