Walking Each Other Home

Tag: life

  • Waiting

    Lately, C.S. Lewis and I keep crossing paths. I think I have a journey reading his books in my future, but for now I see his quotes. Today, my husband and I were getting blood work done. Planning ahead, we had gotten two specimen containers last visit, so we were even prepared in that area too. Sometimes it’s hard to force a specimen if you’ve been fasting. Which we were. So in we go to the lab. The waiting room was FULL. We registered and took a seat. Jim was balancing our “specimens” on his lap. I was across the room. Young, old, able, infirm we waited…silently.

    C.S. Lewis wrote, “I am sure God keeps no one waiting unless He sees that it is food for him to wait.” And wait we did. Initially, the waiting room was exceptionally quiet. No one really looked at each other. No one spoke. A man in his thirties offered my husband a seat. Jim said, “thanks, but I’m still pretty young and I can stand.” I joked, “Yes, he’s younger than the new Pope!” Some laughter. Enough to give me license to now engage. The door opens and someone with an appointment comes in and the lab tech yells, “Mrs. So and So with an appointment.” An appointment! How’d she do that! Why didn’t I do that? In she went and the rest of us continued our wait. The door opened again and in came a mom with a carriage and a little one. Two women who’d been there for a while commented on the bench they shared.

    As we waited, we began to develop a comradery. A woman in a chair offered to switch seats with the bench lady. Discussion about coffee began. When someone was called, the group gave a cheer. We were moving! Yay!! The group began to good naturedly tease the appointments. The kids played right outside of the door, and as children were, they were a bit noisy. No one seemed to bother. My husband, Jim, commented that our specimens might have evaporated, much to the laughter of the room.

    Finally, we were called. Elizabeth was pleasant and smiling. Elizabeth was working all by herself. Her coworker had called out sick, so she had to register the patients and draw the specimens. Wow, and that room just kept filling up. But as I thought about our wait, I thought about a group of strangers who slowly bonded in patience and humor. Who began to support and care for each other. And Elizabeth who masterfully managed us all with kindness and efficiency. What a lesson to learn on a Monday morning.

    We often hit forks in the road where we can choose to move forward in anger and frustration. Or we can choose to see strangers as people. We can choose humor and kindness. Today, after fasting for bloodwork, God gave us the food of kinship and shared experience. What a great breakfast! What a gift!

  • Start in the Corner

    Patsy Lynch Tolan was 69 when she died. It was a Wednesday, 23 years ago. The Friday before, my mother-in-law Mary had passed away after battling cancer. Uncle Phil, Mary’s brother, died the day after that. Because of all of that, my sister had come to be with my mom who lived with Jim and me.

    My mom was Patsy. She was my hero, my pain in the neck, my wise woman, my funny mom. And she loved to talk and maybe even gossip a bit!! She was homebound and on oxygen. The phone was her link to the world.

    Saturday, Jim and I visited with our uncle’s family. How weird that brother and sister should die a day apart!! We planned my mother in laws funeral, we gathered with the family. We grieved a woman who gave herself to all.

    My mom, with my sister, carried out her day on the phone, spreading the word of the deaths and being the bearer of the news. When I got home, I sat on her bed and told her of the day. We laughed at some things, smiled at others. Mom was the daughter of a funeral director. I was a granddaughter of one. We always had a thing or two to say about funerals. And when I told her what funeral home we’d visited, she said, “When I die, don’t use them. I don’t like how they embalm.” My mom, my sister, and I laughed at this thought.

    At about 4am Sunday morning, my husband Jim awoke to his mother’s voice telling him, “Go check Patsy!” We jumped up and heard a moan and ran into her room. My mother, Patsy, was lying sideways across the bed with a purple hue. Her bed was saturated with sweat. We called my sister in, and we called 911. The transport is a blur. I kept trying to say it would be ok, but she was so, so sick.

    The hospital Mom was taken to was not one we’d ever been to before. In the emergency room, the doctors said she was in respiratory failure. Her blood pressure was barely palpable. We’d always discussed she would not be intubated as she had significant lung disease, but now was the moment of truth. “Mom, if your heart stops do you want it restarted?” “No,” she whispered through short breaths. Months before I’d been talking about comfort measures. She told me she didn’t want resuscitation if it got to a point she could not breath on her own. Let her go and please make sure she was not gasping for breath. Her wishes.

    And so, I told the doctors at this hospital, that is no longer in existence, that we wanted comfort measures only. The doctors quickly began to criticize me for this choice. They kept telling me I was killing my mother! I don’t know why, at the most precise time, my mom’s doctor reached out to me. He’d cared for her for years. He spoke to the attending doctor at that hospital and told me to hang tough. I was doing everything right. My husband, having just lost his mom, was heading off these doctors and telling them to step away from me as I was so overwhelmed. We continued with comfort measures. And she was. And I couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Me the hospice nurse of so many years!!

    Oh my heart! My mom, who’d been sick since I was 10 or 11, who cared for me as best she could and who I cared for as best as I could, was leaving me! She’d suffered physically for years with pain and debility. She had to rely on family and friends to care for her. And they did. Her brother, sister and nieces and nephews. When as a child I was overwhelmed when we had to pick up the mom tasks, I’d tell her I didn’t know where to start! She’d say, “take a deep breath and start in the corner.”

    Start in the corner. How many times in life are we hit with overwhelming circumstances. We just aren’t sure what to do next. I used her advice then. Start bedroom cleaning going into the corner of the bedroom, throw out trash, dust the table, make the bed, vacuum the rug. Start that hard class at school by taking small steps. Calm a room or person by taking a hand or a moment of compassion. Keep your eye on the doable and little by little the task is done. One of my greatest life lessons. My smart, wise mom.

    The week from hell continued. My mother-in-law Mary had a viewing Monday evening. I was there for a short time and then went to sit with my mom. Overwhelmed with it all, I looked at the hospital doorway and there stood my fellow hospice nurse Sinead. Sinead, from Ireland, learned of my mom’s illness when she went to my mother in law’s viewing. She came to be present. She walked in the door to my great JOY. She opened the window of the room a crack and undid the covers from the bottom of my mom’s bed. She went into her purse, pulled out a cream and began to put frankincense on my mom’s feet. She said she was making way for my mom’s soul to leave the room to heaven. She looked at my mom and my family and said, “Don’t worry Pat. Mary’s finishing up her orientation up there and then she’ll be back to get you!”

    Tuesday came and we sadly buried the best mother-in-law one could have.

    Wednesday, April 24, 2002, my mom Patsy, left to follow Mary to orientation. To be with the angels. And with her God.

    Thursday, we laid Uncle Phil to rest. Another beloved member of my in-law family.

    Friday, we had a viewing for my mom. All week the crowds were there, long lines. Many and most of the same people. Now when mom had died, I asked my sister if we should just use the same funeral home we’d used all week. She said, “sure.” So off we go to the funeral home mom didn’t want. Cause she didn’t like how they embalmed. As I crept into the viewing room, I was almost afraid to look. But laying in the casket was my beautiful mom. And she looked beautiful and peaceful. And my sister Pam and I were so sadly happy. Our beautiful Mom, Patsy Lynch Tolan, was without pain at last. She was at peace. And she was beautiful!!

    And Saturday, she rested. The corner was complete.

  • Heroes

    My nursing career and my life have taken me to places I could only imagine. From high school to nursing school, suburbs to city I have been blessed to meet many heros.

    Heros come in all shapes and sizes. My patient Max was a hero as he showed me what the power of touch and quiet can do. Max awoke with attention and gentle care. He died peacefully many weeks later.

    One night a patient came out to the desk. He was not only a cancer patient, but a resident physician. He wrote on a piece of paper that he coughed up some tumor. He couldn’t talk, but his eyes were scared and weary. As I tried to comfort him, he became frustrated and angry. I could only walk him back to the room. The next day I went to his room to see how he was. I knocked and entered. The light coming in the window showed shadows across the room and bits of dust that you sometimes see in certain lights. In the hospital bed was this man, lying beside his wife. She was curled against him. And beside the bed was a priest administering the sacrament of the sick. It was surreal. The world stopped for a minute as I witnessed the beauty of surrender and faith. Nolite Timere…be not afraid. Heros all three.

    I was a fairly new nurse when we first learned of AIDs. It took so long to determine how it was caused, how it was transmitted, and how staff should take precautions. Camden NJ was part of the area my hospice served. As AIDs raged on, many babies were born of mothers with AIDs. Many of these moms had drug problems so the babies were often crying and cranky. The babies were HIV+. My hero nurse, Silvana, volunteered to care for the AIDs babies. She’d hold them and kiss them. She cuddled them and taught moms how to care for them. And the babies did what babies do. They spit up and they pooped. She was fearless. And special. An example of selflessness and compassion. A hero.

    Walking each other home introduces us to many heroes. More as weeks go on.

  • Walking Each Other Home

    The power of presence

    When I hear or see a quote, I copy it. If it touches my heart and makes me think. Lately I am reflecting on people who’ve touched my life and helped shape my journey. Hemingway said, “What we truly need is the power of human connection: a quiet presence, a gentle touch that reminds us we’re not alone.”

    Life has given me many twists and turns. My mom became physically disabled when I was 10 or 11. But she was just my mom. Always my mom. She’ll be gone 23 years this year. Losing your mom is hard at any age. I miss her every day. Her presence gave me hope and courage. Every day, prior to her disability limiting her mobility , she’d leave me a message on my blackboard in my bedroom. “Good morning P. Hope you have a great day! Love, M.” When she could no longer make it to my third floor bedroom because of her disability, she left the messages on my lunch napkin. “Good morning P. Hope you have a great day. Love, M.” What a boost to my day. What a connection. What a presence.

    Years later, as mom became unable to live alone or care for herself, she came to live with my husband and me. Never any question. We learned we always take care of our own. Mom’s presence gave us great joy and lots of laughs. Her first night after moving in I got in bed and whispered to my husband “This is different.” To my dismay, my mother answered from her room!! Ut oh!!! What happened to the walls? How did she hear that?! Stay on your side of the bed, I told Jim!!

    Mom’s presence brought a renewal of traditions and created new ones. She was my greatest cheerleader. She was my biggest headache. Tired after working all day she’d say, “Can you give me a shower?” Ugh…of course. She felt like a burden, and I would remind myself that someday I would miss this time. Shower time became caring time, gentle time. Laughing time.

    How does the spouse cope. Well….it took time. But my husband became the true son. One day during a bad health episode, she whispered to him, “take care of my baby.” Tears everywhere. She was his copilot in the car as I took advantage of naps, and his co police radio reporter. We became the three musketeers.

    So as I contemplate her presence in my life, I am grateful for her lessons. Keep moving forward. Have courage. Have faith. Love each other. Take care of each other. Be not afraid. Walk each other home.

    Today, I say to you mom…”Dear M. I hope you are having a great eternity in heaven. Thank you for showing me how to face adversity. How to love tradition, laughter and life. How to have courage and selflessness. Miss you. Have a great day. Love P.”