My patient had a plastic bucket in front of her to collect vomit, and behind her head was one-half of a Little Caeser’s pizza box, wedged into the window, for insulation.
Her brother, who’d moved into the trailer to help, cried over his sick sister because of her pain, and his. He apologized for his tears as he ran out of the room, embarrassed.
Their mother had died, and they were the only ones left.
When our patient dies, the man will be left alone. He works the night shift at a nearby Walmart. He has a few friends, but they’re really just acquaintances.
He is in the habit of telling his sister he loves her. He dispenses her meds. He tries hard to understand everything that’s going on, but this is difficult due to a learning disability.
When you love someone, say it. Spend it. Don’t hoard it. Lavish your affection.
Some friends recently returned from a trip to Cuba. On the trip, they met a fellow traveler whom they described as fully engaged and engaging — in their conversations, through her sharp mind, and in the brightness of her eyes, the window to the soul.
Upon leaving Cuba, the woman made an unexpected trip to a Miami hospital. She died not long after.
My friends, who had made a new friend, were quite shocked and sad. Yet in their brief time together, my friends obviously had made a connection with an open-hearted woman who loved generously.
One of the gifts of working with the dying and their families is encountering the cliche that life is short and, knowing that, what people do with that small window. Gratefully, many do what my patient’s brother does: they show up and speak their love in myriad ways.
They love and live well amidst the reality of encroaching death.
That in turn becomes a challenge for me, as I aim to spend and not save. Share and not hoard. Speak, rather than be silent. Amen.
“Life is short and we have too little time to gladden the hearts of those who travel the way with us. So, be swift to love and make haste to be kind.”
gapsintheroad 