Because I Can

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Because I Can

I am quietly sitting in the main level bedroom of a nicely appointed house that dates back to the 1890’s. It’s insulated well enough that air conditioning isn’t required despite the high summer temperatures outside. The windows are open and I can hear the chatter of cows from the farm that borders the back yard. I can hear those same cows from my own home which is within walking distance. Here though, I get to eavesdrop on the more nuanced conversations, beyond the distressed mooing that occasionally travels to my patio. The cows are conversing in more hushed tones.

Each room in this house has been lovingly filled with precious items.  Long ago gifts, remembrances and highly sought after antique flea market finds that probably took months, perhaps years, to procure. The individual pieces are meaningful, eclectic and likely filled with sentimental value. A lot of love went into decorating this home and perhaps a twinge of obsession, the result is a timeless casual elegance.

The items themselves are a bit worn around the edges. Faded like the lingering scent of fabulous meal after the dinner dishes have been cleared. It seems more poignant with some of the newness ebbed away by time, longevity has it’s own allure which, something shiny and new can’t quite grasp.

After several minutes Thelma, jumps down from the bed and visits me at my corner chair. A petite orange tabby, she sniffs my feet for a few minutes. I attempt to pet her which yields a do not touch look so I stop myself and decide to ignore her. After a few minutes she bites my knee because that’s what cats do. My involuntary jolt sent her scampering away for the remainder of my visit. Her sister, Louise, is out in the yard somewhere planning her next kill or rolling in the grass, sunny side up. I won’t hear from her unless she wants to come in which, she will announce by jumping 4 feet up, onto the screened porch door. Thelma & Louise keep things interesting around here.

During the olfactory interrogation, I can hear the Serena Williams match on the TV in the kitchen. A man’s voice is giving an unofficial commentary of the match…”Oh no, Geezus!” and “Come on Serena!” are on a repetitive loop. I’m happy that he has a distraction even if the end result isn’t what he wanted. He is passionate about something separate from the care-giving which likely consumes him. In this small way he is reclaiming something important for himself and I wish more caregivers would do that.

Before he leaves for the gym he stops by the bedroom. He tells me that they just got back from vacationing at the beach where they got married decades ago. I wonder if his wife has any recollection of that now as she lay snoring, midday, in the bed they still share. He gives her a long, gentle, emotional hug as he prepares to leave and I try to become invisible in that moment.

I see the hospital bed close by and I wonder which one of the two beds she will pass in. Probably the hospital bed, it will likely happen before the unofficial end of summer. I push against the inclination to imagine a similar scenario in my own life as I silently ask God for another 20 (pretty please make that 30) years of health and happiness with my husband. I am momentarily engulfed in the absolute knowledge that this is all temporary. I’ve seen this situation play out about 100 different ways in the ten plus years that I have been a hospice volunteer. It’s usually some diabolical form of cancer with the wife caring for the husband or the daughter caring for a parent. It always leaves a print of sadness on my soul which gets absorbed and gently tucked away.

When I prepare to leave, I notice the fireplace in the bedroom has writing on the header. “Fairy Tales Really Do Come True…” is painted in pretty cursive. A swirl of emotions courses through me. I don’t believe in fairy tales, I had to rescue myself and yet, my life is blessed beyond anything I could have imagined as a child. For the thousandth time I question why I do this…why do I place myself in the center of someone else’s heartbreak. The answer is always the same, because I can and those that can, should.

 

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11 responses »

    • Don’t sell yourself short Huntress you are a badass in the best of ways. Raising your boys on your own and soldering through college busting your ass working full time. I’ve been fortunate to be in a spot where I could shift focus toward other interests…that is a luxury that not everyone gets.

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Wow! So many times I’ve wondered why people become hospice workers. I’ve always thought it’s because they have bigger, more compassionate hearts than I do, but you’ve thrown me a curve ball on this one. Thank you. It’s beautiful food for thought. xoxox, Brenda

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Brenda. I first got interested in hospice work when my aunt (59) was dying of metastatic breast cancer in the late 90’s. She was a Chaplain and had such a positive outlook regarding the process of dying. I thought then that it would be nice to be a buffer friend for the dying person. Someone that had no emotional baggage that they could talk to because most of their friends and relatives are too upset by the situation. My curiosity was piqued….work, then family obligations had me place it on the back burner for ten years. When both kids were in Preschool and I was a SAHM I decided to look into it again and became a volunteer. I don’t always go into situations where the patient is lucid or interested in a companion but when I do step into those scenarios…those moments they are magical.

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  2. This is one of the best pieces you’ve written. It’s filled with emotion and heartbreak on a level so relatable I could literally feel my heart squeeze. It was only at the end I realized I was holding my breath throughout. You’re a beautiful writer and a beautiful soul, my friend.

    Liked by 1 person

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