One day recently, I was in the checkout lane at a grocery store, when I noticed an unopened pack of cigarettes on the floor. I picked it up and started to hand it to a clerk, assuming it had fallen off the counter or a display rack. The woman ahead of me in line turned and said that it was hers. As I handed her the cigarettes, she said, "Thanks! At ten dollars a pack, I really appreciate it."
I have no idea what kind of facial expression I was exhibiting, but she studied my face briefly and continued, "I bet it just about killed you to give those to me."
I never managed to formulate a reply. She turned and continued writing her check. She was, of course, right in thinking that I was sad to hand her those cigarettes. I had a lot on my mind at that point, but picking up that package snapped my mind into the present, and I felt a twinge of sadness. Cigarettes are addictive. People get hooked. Cigarettes are a huge cause of health problems. They are an enormous waste of money. Even though I didn't know the woman, I could feel empathy and sorrow. I have family members who smoke. I love them and grieve. I'm guessing she has family members who love her and wish she could kick the habit too.
I'm still thinking about that very brief encounter. I wonder if she is.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
Did He Wait for Me?
When I learned on Tuesday that my uncle, who lived in western New York, was weakening and probably would not live much longer, I was literally on my way out the door to the Southern Tier of New York to try to help one of my daughters with a crisis she was facing.
Since I couldn't hurry to see him on Tuesday, my dear sister-in-law Kathy got up early on Wednesday and drove the 3-plus hours to be with him. We didn't want him to die alone. He has lived much too much of his life alone...seemingly by his own choice, but we still didn't want him dying alone.
Kathy and I talked a number of times on Wednesday, as my husband and I tried to get away and head in his direction. At one point, Kathy said, she had told him that I was coming and he smiled. He was no longer speaking. Finally by late afternoon, we felt our daughter's situation was stable enough to leave her temporarily.
The weather was terrible...the rain was coming down heavily. The traffic was also heavy...lots of trucks kicking up spray and reducing visibility. My husband drove like a maniac anyway, and we did not stop for supper. We arrived at the nursing home about 8:45 pm. My husband dropped me at the front door, and said that he would take care of getting our belongings to the guest room. I hurried to my uncle's room. As I entered, the nurse had the stethoscope on his chest and was telling my sister-in-law that in spite of the fact that she could not get a blood pressure, his heart was ticking along just fine.
I touched him on the shoulder and told him I had come. I sat down next to him and stroked his arm and his forehead. His eyes stared out with no sign of recognition and no acknowledgement. My sister-in-law stepped into the hall. Later she told me, she had said to the nurse, he would be able to let go now that I had arrived.
Less than 5 minutes later, his breathing changed. His respirations became more shallow. A couple more minutes and he began to pause between breaths.....5 seconds, 10 seconds, and then he went 30 seconds with no breaths. I almost called the nurse, but as I started to do so, there was another breath. Then I waited a full minute....nothing. I could feel no pulse. I called the nurse. She listened with her stethoscope. It was 9:09 pm. I had been there less than 20 minutes.
Kathy,the nurse, the social worker and others all say that he waited for me.
Strange as it sounds, I think that is just what he did.
Since I couldn't hurry to see him on Tuesday, my dear sister-in-law Kathy got up early on Wednesday and drove the 3-plus hours to be with him. We didn't want him to die alone. He has lived much too much of his life alone...seemingly by his own choice, but we still didn't want him dying alone.
Kathy and I talked a number of times on Wednesday, as my husband and I tried to get away and head in his direction. At one point, Kathy said, she had told him that I was coming and he smiled. He was no longer speaking. Finally by late afternoon, we felt our daughter's situation was stable enough to leave her temporarily.
The weather was terrible...the rain was coming down heavily. The traffic was also heavy...lots of trucks kicking up spray and reducing visibility. My husband drove like a maniac anyway, and we did not stop for supper. We arrived at the nursing home about 8:45 pm. My husband dropped me at the front door, and said that he would take care of getting our belongings to the guest room. I hurried to my uncle's room. As I entered, the nurse had the stethoscope on his chest and was telling my sister-in-law that in spite of the fact that she could not get a blood pressure, his heart was ticking along just fine.
I touched him on the shoulder and told him I had come. I sat down next to him and stroked his arm and his forehead. His eyes stared out with no sign of recognition and no acknowledgement. My sister-in-law stepped into the hall. Later she told me, she had said to the nurse, he would be able to let go now that I had arrived.
Less than 5 minutes later, his breathing changed. His respirations became more shallow. A couple more minutes and he began to pause between breaths.....5 seconds, 10 seconds, and then he went 30 seconds with no breaths. I almost called the nurse, but as I started to do so, there was another breath. Then I waited a full minute....nothing. I could feel no pulse. I called the nurse. She listened with her stethoscope. It was 9:09 pm. I had been there less than 20 minutes.
Kathy,the nurse, the social worker and others all say that he waited for me.
Strange as it sounds, I think that is just what he did.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Crying Out
I wrote this several years ago, but want to share it in connection with my last post.
Crying Out
Crying Out
Fear’s icy fingers clutch at my heart,
They brush over my shoulders and chill me.
I cannot find my voice to cry out,
“Help!”
Surely God is my salvation,
Surely He will rescue me!
I push out a quavering, whispered,
“God?”
Are you there in the darkness?
If I reach out, will I find you?
Softly, timidly I venture,
“I will trust.”
The hand of God stretches toward me,
I crawl into His palm and lie down,
I fall asleep murmuring,
“I will not be afraid.”
Rested and refreshed, I awaken.
His strength warms my soul,
I hear my own voice singing out,
“Praise the God of my salvation!”
Awake at 4 AM
I rarely have trouble falling asleep, but if I awaken during the night, I have difficulty getting back to sleep. Especially if there is something stressful going on in my life that my brain thinks it needs to "work on." As much as one portion of my brain shouts at the other that the middle of the night is not the time to ponder possible solutions to some dilemma, the other portion just keeps cranking out ideas. Tonight I have not one, not two, not three, but four major issues, any one of which could keep me awake. Dealing with one of these problems over the next few days is potentially going to prevent me from dealing with the others.
So...how to cope?
Before I went to sleep last night, I followed my normal habit of reading out of the Bible. I do not usually read more that a chapter, but last night I got into the story in Numbers 22-24, which by the way, includes a talking donkey. As interesting as that is, what stood out to me was a message from God spoken through the prophet Balaam.
God is not a man, that he should lie,
Nor the son of man, that he should change his mind.
Does he speak and then not act?
Does he promise and not fulfill?
Can I trust God to take the necessary actions to solve my problems? Can I believe that He is already working? Will He give me the guidance to come up with the right solutions, at the right time? Will He give me the peace to wait for His leading?
Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
Back to bed I go.
So...how to cope?
Before I went to sleep last night, I followed my normal habit of reading out of the Bible. I do not usually read more that a chapter, but last night I got into the story in Numbers 22-24, which by the way, includes a talking donkey. As interesting as that is, what stood out to me was a message from God spoken through the prophet Balaam.
God is not a man, that he should lie,
Nor the son of man, that he should change his mind.
Does he speak and then not act?
Does he promise and not fulfill?
Can I trust God to take the necessary actions to solve my problems? Can I believe that He is already working? Will He give me the guidance to come up with the right solutions, at the right time? Will He give me the peace to wait for His leading?
Does he speak and then not act? Does he promise and not fulfill?
Back to bed I go.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Toy-ta-toy-toy
I'm not sure how it got started, but ever since I was a very little girl, my Uncle Roy and I have had our special way of closing a conversation. Certainly, it would seem odd to anyone else. We point at each other, making a circular motion with our index fingers and say, "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous. Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning. "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.
I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness. Today I talked to him on the phone. He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions. His voice was weak today. He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.
He said that he was tired. I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle: "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me: "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle: "I love you too, sweetie."
Me: "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper: "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
I burst out laughing. I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation. He won, leaving me to add: "Same to you."
My uncle: "Thanks, sweetie."
Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy." A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship, mutual admiration and concern for each other.
No other words will do.
Yeah, I know...it doesn't mean anything, and it's ridiculous. Except that for us, it is infused with rich meaning. "You'd better behave yourself," or "So long, it was nice to see you," or something else that isn't easily defined, but we both understand.
I am 66 and my uncle is 91, and we still continue this foolishness. Today I talked to him on the phone. He is in a nursing home, has cancer, has been told he cannot tolerate any more chemo and is refusing any other interventions. His voice was weak today. He could barely hear me, although I was shouting as loudly as I could.
He said that he was tired. I told him that I didn't want to keep him talking too long, that I just wanted to let him know I was thinking of him.
My uncle: "I'm thinking of you too, sweetie."
Me: "I want you to know I love you."
My uncle: "I love you too, sweetie."
Me: "Good-bye"
My uncle in barely a whisper: "Toy-ta-toy-toy."
I burst out laughing. I couldn't believe he remembered to say it given his condition. In recent years, it has become a bit of a competition to see who remembers to say it at the close of the conversation. He won, leaving me to add: "Same to you."
My uncle: "Thanks, sweetie."
Each time I talk with him now, I wonder if it will be the last time that I hear "Toy-ta-toy-toy." A silly, silly phrase conveys the warmth of more than six decades of family relationship, mutual admiration and concern for each other.
No other words will do.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
The Record of a Life
My dear uncle is 91 years old and the last person in my family in the generation before me. He recently moved from an independent apartment to the nursing home of the senior residence in which he lives. He skipped over "assisted living," because he stayed in his apartment until he could no longer make it to the kitchen to fix meals or even crawl to the bathroom. He has no children....just four nephews and one niece, and that would be me.
I spent the last six days sorting, packing, giving things to charity, throwing things out, and getting his apartment cleared out. I could have never done this on my own, as the task was gargantuan. I think he saved every piece of paper he ever wrote anything on. Fortunately, my two cousins and the wife of one of them, one of my brothers and his wife, and my long-suffering husband helped.
Although we were focused on the task, we were all cognizant that we were pawing through the record of a life-time. We found pictures of him as a baby, grade school report cards, his high school diploma, college notes, and letters written to him during World War II when he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific Ocean. He has no children and our generation was unaware of him ever dating or bringing a young lady to family events, but we found a picture of him with a young woman wearing a corsage definitely looking like they were going on a date.
We found sketches from his days as an engineer on cooling systems, pay stubs going back decades, old resumes, and photos of him taken when he was sent to Aruba on business back in the 1950s when most people in New York had probably not heard of Aruba.
One entire cupboard in the kitchen was filled with empty jars. Why he was saving them is anybody's guess. He apparently purchased paper towels in large quantities. The number we found would have lasted him years. The refrigerator was full of unopened canned goods. Why he kept unopened cans there is also a mystery.
We didn't have time to read all of them, but there were notes everywhere. All of his paid bills were returned to the envelopes and had notes on the outside....his commentary on the economy or a description of the phone call he had had with a customer service rep regarding the bill. Mixed in with the bills and bank statements were scraps of paper on which he had written notes about books he read or TV programs he watched. I discovered several sheets of paper clipped together on which he had rated each of his nephews and his niece (yours truly) based on our willingness to help our parents, dedication to family, and community service. I think I'd better burn that one. After rambling on and pondering leaving us percentages of his assets based on our "scores," in the end he decided to treat us equally in his will.
I expect he doesn't have much longer to live. He has been battling cancer for about 7 years and cannot tolerate any more chemo. Last week he turned down a blood transfusion and asked that Hospice be called. He told me that he sees no point in being pulled back from the brink any more. Yesterday he refused to get out of bed, saying he was too weak.
He has lived a long life....but, I'm not sure it has been a happy one. He claims he was a "loner," but he does love to talk to others. And yet, very few people in the independent living area knew him. He kept to himself. But I wonder, for whom did he write all of those notes? There were certainly some that he never intended anyone to see, but others that he may have hoped someone would appreciate.
He is and was an enigma. But, we...his nephews and niece...all have fond memories of times spent with him, and when he is gone, I will miss him.
I spent the last six days sorting, packing, giving things to charity, throwing things out, and getting his apartment cleared out. I could have never done this on my own, as the task was gargantuan. I think he saved every piece of paper he ever wrote anything on. Fortunately, my two cousins and the wife of one of them, one of my brothers and his wife, and my long-suffering husband helped.
Although we were focused on the task, we were all cognizant that we were pawing through the record of a life-time. We found pictures of him as a baby, grade school report cards, his high school diploma, college notes, and letters written to him during World War II when he served on a hospital ship in the Pacific Ocean. He has no children and our generation was unaware of him ever dating or bringing a young lady to family events, but we found a picture of him with a young woman wearing a corsage definitely looking like they were going on a date.
We found sketches from his days as an engineer on cooling systems, pay stubs going back decades, old resumes, and photos of him taken when he was sent to Aruba on business back in the 1950s when most people in New York had probably not heard of Aruba.
One entire cupboard in the kitchen was filled with empty jars. Why he was saving them is anybody's guess. He apparently purchased paper towels in large quantities. The number we found would have lasted him years. The refrigerator was full of unopened canned goods. Why he kept unopened cans there is also a mystery.
We didn't have time to read all of them, but there were notes everywhere. All of his paid bills were returned to the envelopes and had notes on the outside....his commentary on the economy or a description of the phone call he had had with a customer service rep regarding the bill. Mixed in with the bills and bank statements were scraps of paper on which he had written notes about books he read or TV programs he watched. I discovered several sheets of paper clipped together on which he had rated each of his nephews and his niece (yours truly) based on our willingness to help our parents, dedication to family, and community service. I think I'd better burn that one. After rambling on and pondering leaving us percentages of his assets based on our "scores," in the end he decided to treat us equally in his will.
I expect he doesn't have much longer to live. He has been battling cancer for about 7 years and cannot tolerate any more chemo. Last week he turned down a blood transfusion and asked that Hospice be called. He told me that he sees no point in being pulled back from the brink any more. Yesterday he refused to get out of bed, saying he was too weak.
He has lived a long life....but, I'm not sure it has been a happy one. He claims he was a "loner," but he does love to talk to others. And yet, very few people in the independent living area knew him. He kept to himself. But I wonder, for whom did he write all of those notes? There were certainly some that he never intended anyone to see, but others that he may have hoped someone would appreciate.
He is and was an enigma. But, we...his nephews and niece...all have fond memories of times spent with him, and when he is gone, I will miss him.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Pride, Prejudice and Propriety
I am quite fond of both recent versions of Pride and Prejudice, the longer BBC version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle and the shorter one with Matthew MacFayden and Keira Knightley. I have watched both multiple times and can't decide which I like best. Each has scenes I prefer over the other and supporting characters I like better.
Yesterday I used the 2 hour version to put some civility and dignity back into my life after a phone call I received in which someone directed crude and foul language at me. Of course, the manners demonstrated in both versions seem stiff and affected to us today, but there is something comforting in the pattern. No matter how much one loathes another, he or she is still bowed to and given at least a surface respect. The characters communicate their intent very clearly without profanity. There is something to be said for keeping things civil.
So, I hung up on the disrespectful perpetrator of foul language and stood there shaking briefly, until it occurred to me that I could get the nasty encounter out of my head and immerse myself in a climate of cordiality by popping in the DVD of Pride and Prejudice.
As Sir Lucas would say, "Capital!"
Yesterday I used the 2 hour version to put some civility and dignity back into my life after a phone call I received in which someone directed crude and foul language at me. Of course, the manners demonstrated in both versions seem stiff and affected to us today, but there is something comforting in the pattern. No matter how much one loathes another, he or she is still bowed to and given at least a surface respect. The characters communicate their intent very clearly without profanity. There is something to be said for keeping things civil.
So, I hung up on the disrespectful perpetrator of foul language and stood there shaking briefly, until it occurred to me that I could get the nasty encounter out of my head and immerse myself in a climate of cordiality by popping in the DVD of Pride and Prejudice.
As Sir Lucas would say, "Capital!"
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