It was a lovely Christmas celebration on Christmas Eve with family. We ate and we laughed and enjoyed just being together. Christmas Day we were invited to a dear friend's home for some of his sumptuous cooking with a delicious homemade veggie pot pie and potato casserole that had water chestnuts on top covered in a creamy sauce, just to mention a few of the dishes!
We had the pleasure of meeting one of the guests for the first time. Oh my! She is beautiful, charming, and a wonderful story teller! She captured my attention right off the bat! After we had settled down at the feast of a meal in the dining room which was decorated with such style and detail, she told us a little about herself.
She said that all of the homes that she has owned in her adult life had picket fences. If she bought one and it didn't have one, she had one built. "Let me explain." She continued.
"As a child my sister and I would ride in the back seat of the family car for over eight hours every Christmas, and other visits as well, to go see our Grandmother. Our Father would get us up early and take us to get donuts, then get us situated in the car and head to Texas.
My Grandmother's farm had a long winding gravel road entry bordered by huge mature trees on either side. As Grandmother anticipated our arrival, she would listen for the noise of our car making its way to the house, hearing the popping and crunching of the gravel!
She would welcome us with big love, hugs and kisses. It was such a sweet time visiting her. Her home had a picket fence that had a small vegetable garden in it and a rose arbor. We would spend time in the summer helping her pick the veggies and often sit under one of the garden's large mimosa trees while we snapped beans. There are so many loving memories that were created right there in that space, within the confines of the picket fence.
It took me years to figure out why each of the homes in my adult years with my picket fences didn't seem to measure up, didn't make me as happy as it did as a child. But with time I began to realize that it really wasn't the picket fence that filled me with joy. It was the unconditional love of my Grandmother and all the fun and happy memories that were stored in my young heart."
I sat there like I was hypnotized as she filled my head with images and wanting to have had the honor of knowing her Grandmother!!
These are the gifts that matter most all of our lives. It's not about how much money we can spend on our children, how big and shiny our toys are as adults, but instead it's the time well spent together: playing games that make us laugh till our sides ache, pulling out the box of old photos stored under aunt Lucille's bed, having a family reunion and recording the elders' stories of long ago, to truly 'hear' one another, 'see' one another.
It is my prayer for each of you as the New Year begins that you will make very special memories with your loved ones and dear friends that they will carry with them all their days and into eternity. For truly, as I've said before, what we take with us when we 'transition 'is the Love that is woven into the DNA of our souls, the love we gave to another and the love we received.
Blessings! Happy New Year!
Becki
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
WELL DONE
I was visiting Hospice patients all over Tulsa County that winter. I hated getting out on sometimes slick roads and freezing temperatures. But the precious homes and dear patients and families and inviting warmth from the fireplaces or fake gas logs helped encourage me to keep driving!
The majority of my patients always had someone, or many, welcome me inside and were eager to fetch me a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. It was especially good to see a hospice patient surrounded by those who were hopeful of making a difference at the 'tail end' of their loved one's journey.
Sometimes as the end grew near, the moments would seem to grow especially long. And on this one particular visit it was as if time stood still and was weighing upon my heart as I gathered with those surrounding her in her final hours.
She was resting comfortably considering the scene before us. And as some of my patients have occasionally shared with me, "I feel like I'm between here and there", she wasn't responding but we all believed she could still hear us. One sister spoke with this conviction upon her lips, "Sis, I know you can hear me even now. I feel your spirit is just waiting for your tired little body to stop trying to keep you here. Please forgive my tears. I know you are going to your heavenly home and I wouldn't try to keep you here with my selfishness, but I'm just human and I'm heartbroken you are leaving me. But listen here, Sis, all of us are surrounding you wishing you 'travel mercies' for the sweetest arrival Heaven's gates have even known. 'Course now you know we are prejudice, but there you have it." She continued speaking softly in her sister's ear while stroking her now smooth brow with glistening beads of sweat.
Her sister-n-law had arrived the day before and had been at the bedside without words but with gentle application of lip moisturizer ointment, her sister's favorite perfumed lotion carefully rubbed on her frail skin and bony knees, elbows, heels and shoulders, and also tidying up the bedside table, bringing candy-cane colored carnations in a sweet porcelain vase to cheer the room.
Her already grieving children took turns standing near to hold her soft hands that were beginning to turn blue, carefully comb her still beautiful silky white hair, making attempts to sing her favorite hymns, and in these moments now coaxing her, giving her their permission too, to 'cross over' to join their Dad. "Mother, we will be OK. Go on now. We know Daddy is waiting nearby to escort you. He promised he would."
But I think the hardest part for me was helping this beloved patient's Mother who was still able to walk with her walker to draw near as close as she could to her daughter's side. I openly, quietly wept as I held her up as she tried to bend over and kiss her daughter's pale cheeks, "Sweetheart, Mother is here. This is Mother dear. Don't be afraid. You are going to see so many loved ones. I am so ready to go with you but God is keeping me here a mite longer. You tell everyone I'll come too before long." As I helped her to the love seat nearby I thought my heart was going to burst.
Then within just moments before she did pass, her oldest sister approached, pulled up the little wooden stool as close as she could get to the bed and with a deep breath began urging her little sister tenderly, against all common sense to most, against her true heart's desire, someone she had told us that she loved beyond words...to go. "Sister, your sweet little heart is weary beyond human comprehension. You can lay your precious body down now and rise up and take flight. We will all miss you but we truly will be OK. We know you have always wanted to take care of all of us, but we promise you, we will take care of ourselves. We will take extra good care of Mother..."
And with those last words, their loved one did take one more deep breath before finally letting go.
A granddaughter requested they all join hands and pray. This young but very mature woman beautifully called upon their God for all they needed in those moments and in the days, weeks, and months ahead. She then opened her Grandmother's worn Bible and read the underlined (with red ink) 1 Peter 1: 3-9
Every winter season when this time of year rolls around, I think of them and say to myself, "Well done family. Well done."
The majority of my patients always had someone, or many, welcome me inside and were eager to fetch me a cup of coffee or hot chocolate. It was especially good to see a hospice patient surrounded by those who were hopeful of making a difference at the 'tail end' of their loved one's journey.
Sometimes as the end grew near, the moments would seem to grow especially long. And on this one particular visit it was as if time stood still and was weighing upon my heart as I gathered with those surrounding her in her final hours.
She was resting comfortably considering the scene before us. And as some of my patients have occasionally shared with me, "I feel like I'm between here and there", she wasn't responding but we all believed she could still hear us. One sister spoke with this conviction upon her lips, "Sis, I know you can hear me even now. I feel your spirit is just waiting for your tired little body to stop trying to keep you here. Please forgive my tears. I know you are going to your heavenly home and I wouldn't try to keep you here with my selfishness, but I'm just human and I'm heartbroken you are leaving me. But listen here, Sis, all of us are surrounding you wishing you 'travel mercies' for the sweetest arrival Heaven's gates have even known. 'Course now you know we are prejudice, but there you have it." She continued speaking softly in her sister's ear while stroking her now smooth brow with glistening beads of sweat.
Her sister-n-law had arrived the day before and had been at the bedside without words but with gentle application of lip moisturizer ointment, her sister's favorite perfumed lotion carefully rubbed on her frail skin and bony knees, elbows, heels and shoulders, and also tidying up the bedside table, bringing candy-cane colored carnations in a sweet porcelain vase to cheer the room.
Her already grieving children took turns standing near to hold her soft hands that were beginning to turn blue, carefully comb her still beautiful silky white hair, making attempts to sing her favorite hymns, and in these moments now coaxing her, giving her their permission too, to 'cross over' to join their Dad. "Mother, we will be OK. Go on now. We know Daddy is waiting nearby to escort you. He promised he would."
But I think the hardest part for me was helping this beloved patient's Mother who was still able to walk with her walker to draw near as close as she could to her daughter's side. I openly, quietly wept as I held her up as she tried to bend over and kiss her daughter's pale cheeks, "Sweetheart, Mother is here. This is Mother dear. Don't be afraid. You are going to see so many loved ones. I am so ready to go with you but God is keeping me here a mite longer. You tell everyone I'll come too before long." As I helped her to the love seat nearby I thought my heart was going to burst.
Then within just moments before she did pass, her oldest sister approached, pulled up the little wooden stool as close as she could get to the bed and with a deep breath began urging her little sister tenderly, against all common sense to most, against her true heart's desire, someone she had told us that she loved beyond words...to go. "Sister, your sweet little heart is weary beyond human comprehension. You can lay your precious body down now and rise up and take flight. We will all miss you but we truly will be OK. We know you have always wanted to take care of all of us, but we promise you, we will take care of ourselves. We will take extra good care of Mother..."
And with those last words, their loved one did take one more deep breath before finally letting go.
A granddaughter requested they all join hands and pray. This young but very mature woman beautifully called upon their God for all they needed in those moments and in the days, weeks, and months ahead. She then opened her Grandmother's worn Bible and read the underlined (with red ink) 1 Peter 1: 3-9
Every winter season when this time of year rolls around, I think of them and say to myself, "Well done family. Well done."
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