When my toes grow numb from walking home in the rain on dark, cold nights…
At least I'll always know I'm not far from a warm house.
For the times when my thoughts run wild and creativity is flooding my mind…
At least I'll always know I have many avenues to express myself.
The times I feel like I can never obtain perfection at my job…
At least I'll always know I have something better to strive for.
For all the work scenarios I take home with me in my thoughts…
At least I'll always know I'm doing something I'm passionate about.
The times my sides have hurt from laughing too hard…
At least I'll always know it's easy for me to find humor in any situation.
When I think about all the unanswered questions I've had in my life...
At least I'll always know that the more mysteries I pursue, the more I find out just how little I know.
When I miss my friends who moved far away…
At least I'll always know I know the coolest people who live life fearlessly, and for that I am constantly inspired.
For the many times I lament about the clothes on my floor…
At least I'll always know I have options of clothing to wear and two hands to pick them up.
When the winter cold sets in and I start to get sad…
At least I'll always know I know how good the warm sun feels.
On the days my body hurts, but I want to run anyway…
At least I'll always know I'll never love my love for running.
When my face turns red from reading past journal entries…
At least I'll always know that I'm constantly progressing.
When song lyrics play in my mind at all times during the day…
At least I'll always know I'll never lose my love for music.
Those times that I need to get out and escape the momentary complications of daily life…
At least I'll always know the river will always be there and flowing in the same direction.
The times I've been insecure about feeling "different"…
At least I'll always know that I'm not like anyone else.
For those nights when the clatter of wind wakes me up from running across my window panes…
At least I'll always know I have a shelter to protect me.
When I hear the sound of the door open or smell something sweet baking in the kitchen…
At least I'll always know I have the dearest housemates.
For all the places I wish to travel and sites I day dream of seeing…
At least I'll always know I'll never lose my love for adventure.
And those days I wonder If I'll ever find love…
At least I'll always know I'm capable of loving.
The times I've stood back and seen how the Lord has guided my life…
At least I'll always know that I have a savior who knows me personally.
Tuesday, December 6, 2016
Sunday, November 27, 2016
Pieces
I spent this past week in the hometown I grew up in. I was housesitting for some friends while they were on vacation. Marietta, PA. There is no place like it, and that's what makes it so wonderful. I love getting the chance to slow down, take care of dogs and spend more time with my family.
Friday evening I took a run across town like I have so many times in my life. In Marietta the nights are darker, but somehow I feel more safe, more secure and more free to be myself. Under the dimly lit street lights I ran down my town's main street admiring resident's newly set-up Christmas decorations. For over two miles down the main part of town I only saw three cars and one pedestrian.
As I make my way further down east I pass my the home of my Grandparents. I see the glow of the television and light of family room on. I can picture my grandparents watching either Jeopardy or NBC news. I smile at the predicability and steadiness of their schedules, and how at any given time I can probably guess what they are doing even if it's been a few weeks since I've seen them. As I run I continue to think how blessed I was to have grandparents that lived so close to me my whole life. I have always known I was never far from a hug, a visit, a hot cup of coffee, a piece of pie or even an adventure. My mind flooded with memories from my childhood at their house playing creative games with my cousins, making paper dolls with grandma and watching Disney movies after school. I think back to the visit I had with them two days before and how good it was to see them, catch up and reconnect. Coming off the heels of Thanksgiving I am reminded of just how special these memories and times of reconnection are. The cool of evening sets in through my layers and into my skin as I run back to the place I am staying.
Life changes fast in sixteen hours. Life can change fast in an instant, a blink of an eye or a flash of fire.
Around noon on Saturday I watched in shock and disbeleif as my grandparents home was lit up in flames. The urgent look on the faces of the brave first responders told the truth that this was a big deal. Relief poured over me when I realized they were both safe and sound. Fire companies from numerous departments came to offer assistance. Community members from all over showed up to see what was happening. I found my family in the midst of the crowd and we just held each other for while not quite knowing what to say. My mind was a haze and head was just spinning. I thought back to the run I had in the exact location the evening before where everything was peaceful, predictable and secure. Now the circumstances were extremely different and life was changing before our very eyes. I never watched a fire like I did yesterday. Just when I thought the smoke would clear and it would be over, more flames would set in. I watched the valiant effort of brave men and woman using strength and knowledge to combat the flames and smoke. I saw windows brake and people climbing on roofs to get to the root of the problem. Even at a distance and standing on the sidelines the smell of smoke was so powerful that I couldn't imagine what the firefighters were going through.
Sometimes food is the answer to everything. After a few hours of watching the horror of the fire, the scene was settling. The investigation is still going on, but the fire was out and they were about to board up the house. Dominos heard about the situation and donated many pizzas to our family. My cousin lives a block away from my grandparents, so we were able to come together and share a meal of pizza and ham pot pie.
My grandparents spent the night in her guest room. I asked my cousin if I could get the room ready for them. She said sure, thanked me, and gave me a tight hug. What she didn't know is I was just as, if not, more thankful. Many aspects of the day went wrong and the fix was beyond anyone's control. It is such a helpless feeling to see something tragic happen before your eyes to someone you love. I wanted so bad to stop the fire, hit rewind and have the whole thing never happen. I wanted to sit in my Grandma's kitchen like I did two days ago, talk about drawing and have everything be normal. Instead I had a mattress as my canvas, a fitted sheet and some blankets. For the next twenty minutes I made the bed in the best way I knew how. I thought about my old school nursing teacher dropping a quarter on the sheet and watching it bounce. I folded the sheets at the top, backed up reassessed it, and then did it again. My wanting the room to be perfect was my small way of wanting everything to be okay. It gave me a tiny grasp of control and way to help them spend their first night away from home a little better.
Tonight I ran across town again just like I did two nights ago. The cold night air was just as refreshing and now tonight Christmas lights on garland illuminated the main section of Market st. Peace and exhilaration came over me as I passed the twinkling lights, beautiful garland and the pattern of lantern, star, lantern, star. As I got closer to the home of my grandparents the smell set in first. Like a bad memory the smell of old smoke lingered from at least a block away. And just like elevated troponins after a heart attack, the bad smell was a reminder that something horrible happened. I watched from a distance as a minivan slowed down to see the house and then drove away into the night.
I ran to the house and my heart kind of stopped (if that's even possible to still be alive.) I thought of all the memories I made of a lifetime of going to Grandma and Pop's. Summers on the porch swing, sleepovers, hot chocolate and cinnamon toast, exploring the attic and admiring my Grandma's artwork. I stood there alone, looked at the house and almost felt betrayed by something inanimate. "How could you burn on fire?!" I wanted to yell.
As I ran back I continued to think and reminisce. It occurred to me that all of the memories had nothing to due with the house, but my grandparents that lived there. They lived and dwelled there and were the one's responsible for creating all the amazing memories I grew up with. They raised my dad and his two brothers, worked hard and lived a good life in the strong two story brick house. They have stories to tell and more lessons I can learn about being a hard worker and good person. Shelter is good, and necessary for survival, but what is more important are the people that live inside. They are okay and for that I am most thankful. The road ahead is long. I can't really fathom it now. I desire for this experience to bring us closer together. I hope and expect that good will come out of this situation that we can't even imagine at the moment.
Thank you to all the firefighters, police officers, Red Cross volunteers and community members for your diligence, care and support during this time.
Pieces
I spent this past week in the hometown I grew up in. I was housesitting for some friends while they were on vacation. Marietta, PA. There is no place like it, and that's what makes it so wonderful. I love getting the chance to slow down, take care of dogs and spend more time with my family.
Friday evening I took a run across town like I have so many times in my life. In Marietta the nights are darker, but somehow I feel more safe, more secure and more free to be myself. Under the dimly lit street lights I ran down my town's main street admiring resident's newly set-up Christmas decorations. For over two miles down the main part of town I only saw three cars and one pedestrian.
As I make my way further down east I pass my the home of my Grandparents. I see the glow of the television and light of the family room on. I can picture my grandparents watching either Jeopardy or NBC news. I smile at the predicability and steadiness of their schedules, and how at any given time I can probably guess what they are doing even if it's been a few weeks since I've seen them. As I run I continue to think how blessed I was to have grandparents that lived so close to me my whole life. I have always known I was never far from a hug, a visit, a hot cup of coffee, a piece of pie or even an adventure. My mind flooded with memories from my childhood at their house playing creative games with my cousins, making paper dolls with grandma and watching Disney movies after school. I think back to the visit I had with them two days before and how good it was to see them, catch up and reconnect. Coming off the heels of Thanksgiving I am reminded of just how special these memories and times of reconnection are. The cool of evening sets in through my layers and into my skin as I run back to the place I am staying.
Life changes fast in sixteen hours. Life can change fast in an instant, a blink of an eye or a flash of fire.
Around noon on Saturday I watched in shock and disbeleif as my grandparents home was lit up in flames. The urgent look on the faces of the brave first responders told the truth that this was a big deal. Relief poured over me when I realized they were both safe and sound. Fire companies from numerous departments came to offer assistance. Community members from all over showed up to see what was happening. I found my family in the midst of the crowd and we just held each other for while not quite knowing what to say. My mind was a haze and head was just spinning. I thought back to the run I had in the exact location the evening before where everything was peaceful, predictable and secure. Now the circumstances were extremely different and life was changing before our very eyes. I never watched a fire like I did yesterday. Just when I thought the smoke would clear and it would be over, more flames would set in. I watched the valiant effort of brave men and woman using strength and knowledge to combat the flames and smoke. I saw windows brake and people climbing on roofs to get to the root of the problem. Even at a distance and standing on the sidelines the smell of smoke was so powerful that I couldn't imagine what the firefighters were going through.
Sometimes food is the answer to everything. After a few hours of watching the horror of the fire, the scene was settling. The investigation is still going on, but the fire was out and they were about to board up the house. Dominos heard about the situation and donated many pizzas to our family. My cousin lives a block away from my grandparents, so we were able to come together and share a meal of pizza and ham pot pie.
My grandparents spent the night in her guest room. I asked my cousin if I could get the room ready for them. She said sure, thanked me, and gave me a tight hug. What she didn't know is I was just as, if not, more thankful. Many aspects of the day went wrong and the fix was beyond anyone's control. It is such a helpless feeling to see something tragic happen before your eyes to someone you love. I wanted so bad to stop the fire, hit rewind and have the whole thing never happen. I wanted to sit in my Grandma's kitchen like I did two days ago, talk about drawing and have everything be normal. Instead I had a mattress as my canvas, a fitted sheet and some blankets. For the next twenty minutes I made the bed in the best way I knew how. I thought about my old school nursing teacher dropping a quarter on the sheet and watching it bounce. I folded the sheets at the top, backed up reassessed it, and then did it again. My wanting the room to be perfect was my small way of wanting everything to be okay. It gave me a tiny grasp of control and way to help them spend their first night away from home a little better.
Tonight I ran across town again just like I did two nights ago. The cold night air was just as refreshing and now tonight Christmas lights on garland illuminated the main section of Market st. Peace and exhilaration came over me as I passed the twinkling lights, beautiful garland and the pattern of lantern, star, lantern, star. As I got closer to the home of my grandparents the smell set in first. Like a bad memory the smell of old smoke lingered from at least a block away. And just like elevated troponins after a heart attack, the bad smell was a reminder that something horrible happened. I watched from a distance as a minivan slowed down to see the house and then drove away into the night.
I ran to the house and my heart kind of stopped (if that's even possible to still be alive.) I thought of all the memories I made of a lifetime of going to Grandma and Pop's. Summers on the porch swing, sleepovers, hot chocolate and cinnamon toast, exploring the attic and admiring my Grandma's artwork. I stood there alone, looked at the house and almost felt betrayed by something inanimate. "How could you burn on fire?!" I wanted to yell.
As I ran back I continued to think and reminisce. It occurred to me that all of the memories had nothing to due with the house, but my grandparents that lived there. They lived and dwelled there and were the one's responsible for creating all the amazing memories I grew up with. They raised my dad and his two brothers, worked hard and lived a good life in the strong two story brick house. They have stories to tell and more lessons I can learn about being a hard worker and good person. Shelter is good, and necessary for survival, but what is more important are the people that live inside. They are okay and for that I am most thankful. The road ahead is long. I can't really fathom it now. I desire for this experience to bring us closer together. I hope and expect that good will come out of this situation that we can't even imagine at the moment.
Thank you to all the firefighters, police officers, Red Cross volunteers and community members for your diligence, care and support during this time.
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Some Rain and a Sprain
"You might just have to go on light duty for a while"
"There is no such thing as 'light duty' on my unit, Doctor."
I try to half smile as we discuss the prognosis of my pesky ankle injury. I sit in the small exam room with harsh lighting and posters telling me to cheer up.
Last week I was overly exuberant about purchasing a long board for my twenty fifth birthday. I was having a blast and making jokes about pulling muscles related to my old age. As fate would have it I sprained/ pulled something in my right heel. Now one week later I am hobbling around and looking at my long board with longing (haha to word play) and a little bit of anger. Every step is painful. I get stares and looks of sympathy from people at the store. People offer to hold the door more often or extend extra politeness, which is certainly kind. However, I really do not prefer the extra attention.
This whole week has been such a journey. I have been trying to keep a positive attitude and learn what I can. First thing I'm learning is to be patient with my body. Things don't just change overnight. We live in such a fast paced, instant world. We have access to anything we want to know right away, food on demand and quick fixes for any problems anytime we need them. Our bodies still operate the same way they did hundreds of years ago. Our patience just has dramatically decreased. I tell my patients this all the time. The body sometimes just needs to take its course and heal. Now I am eating the words to my own sermon. Slowly with time, love, naproxen, ice and elevation I'm hoping it will heal up soon.
I have also learned to not take my health for granted. This summer I went on many runs, hikes, bike rides and late night walks without a care in the world. I've worked twelve hour shifts and come home to do more work or workout right after. I don't say this to come across as wonder woman, but to say that I took my healthy body for granted. I assumed my body would always work the way it should and had no question it would. Now the most basic of tasks take me twice as long. My brain thinks quicker but my body is slower to get there. I look out my window as runners pass by in the early morning and late evening. Apart of my heart aches because that was me a week ago and now walking to bathroom is a challenge. I see groups kids on scooters or dribbling basketballs down the street and my ankle starts to hurt just watching them run around. With my foot propped up on a beanbag I lie in my bed and watch the action out my second story window with only a novel to keep me company. I think to myself that when I feel a hundred percent again I will be thankful for everyday I can walk pain free.
The last thing I am learning is something I am still working on and the learning is ongoing as this journey continues. It is fear of the unknown. All the 'what-ifs' and questions that swirl my mind as the hours pass and the sharp pain continues to persist with each and every step. What about work? When will the pain stop? How much activity is too much? What if it gets more serious the more I walk? All of these questions my family doctor and I do not seem to have the answers to. This challenging time has given a great opportunity to trust in God and strengthen my prayer life because in this moment I genuinely feel weak. I know that when I am weak, he is strong. That is Sunday School 101, but when the times actually happen where you need to trust because there is no other option it all becomes more real. I also believe that God can heal this and I continue to pray and believe for that as well. I have realized that I have little control of the unknown. Stewing over the situation will not lesson the pain or make me better. Continuing to trust God, pray for him to give continued strength and healing is the only way to peace of mind.
This whole experience has also given me the ability to be more empathetic with those who struggle to walk, have disabilities or other injuries as well. If I have a patient with pain I feel like I can resonate more with their particular needs. I see the world a little different now in terms of distances to walk places or how much doing an activity will provoke the pain. I have a deeper understanding for their needs, and for that I'm glad to have this difficult time for that reason.
I hope this late summer is treating you well. Be thankful for the health you have or continue to press on if you're struggling with pain as well. Also try to look for learning opportunities in the challenges because during these times we will grow the most.
"There is no such thing as 'light duty' on my unit, Doctor."
I try to half smile as we discuss the prognosis of my pesky ankle injury. I sit in the small exam room with harsh lighting and posters telling me to cheer up.
Last week I was overly exuberant about purchasing a long board for my twenty fifth birthday. I was having a blast and making jokes about pulling muscles related to my old age. As fate would have it I sprained/ pulled something in my right heel. Now one week later I am hobbling around and looking at my long board with longing (haha to word play) and a little bit of anger. Every step is painful. I get stares and looks of sympathy from people at the store. People offer to hold the door more often or extend extra politeness, which is certainly kind. However, I really do not prefer the extra attention.
This whole week has been such a journey. I have been trying to keep a positive attitude and learn what I can. First thing I'm learning is to be patient with my body. Things don't just change overnight. We live in such a fast paced, instant world. We have access to anything we want to know right away, food on demand and quick fixes for any problems anytime we need them. Our bodies still operate the same way they did hundreds of years ago. Our patience just has dramatically decreased. I tell my patients this all the time. The body sometimes just needs to take its course and heal. Now I am eating the words to my own sermon. Slowly with time, love, naproxen, ice and elevation I'm hoping it will heal up soon.
I have also learned to not take my health for granted. This summer I went on many runs, hikes, bike rides and late night walks without a care in the world. I've worked twelve hour shifts and come home to do more work or workout right after. I don't say this to come across as wonder woman, but to say that I took my healthy body for granted. I assumed my body would always work the way it should and had no question it would. Now the most basic of tasks take me twice as long. My brain thinks quicker but my body is slower to get there. I look out my window as runners pass by in the early morning and late evening. Apart of my heart aches because that was me a week ago and now walking to bathroom is a challenge. I see groups kids on scooters or dribbling basketballs down the street and my ankle starts to hurt just watching them run around. With my foot propped up on a beanbag I lie in my bed and watch the action out my second story window with only a novel to keep me company. I think to myself that when I feel a hundred percent again I will be thankful for everyday I can walk pain free.
The last thing I am learning is something I am still working on and the learning is ongoing as this journey continues. It is fear of the unknown. All the 'what-ifs' and questions that swirl my mind as the hours pass and the sharp pain continues to persist with each and every step. What about work? When will the pain stop? How much activity is too much? What if it gets more serious the more I walk? All of these questions my family doctor and I do not seem to have the answers to. This challenging time has given a great opportunity to trust in God and strengthen my prayer life because in this moment I genuinely feel weak. I know that when I am weak, he is strong. That is Sunday School 101, but when the times actually happen where you need to trust because there is no other option it all becomes more real. I also believe that God can heal this and I continue to pray and believe for that as well. I have realized that I have little control of the unknown. Stewing over the situation will not lesson the pain or make me better. Continuing to trust God, pray for him to give continued strength and healing is the only way to peace of mind.
This whole experience has also given me the ability to be more empathetic with those who struggle to walk, have disabilities or other injuries as well. If I have a patient with pain I feel like I can resonate more with their particular needs. I see the world a little different now in terms of distances to walk places or how much doing an activity will provoke the pain. I have a deeper understanding for their needs, and for that I'm glad to have this difficult time for that reason.
I hope this late summer is treating you well. Be thankful for the health you have or continue to press on if you're struggling with pain as well. Also try to look for learning opportunities in the challenges because during these times we will grow the most.
Monday, August 15, 2016
Just a Little Postcard
For the past three years I've lived at the same place. It's been such an experience having so many neighbors in every direction. One mom that lives down the street sticks out in my mind as person I would like to be like someday.
I started to notice her two years ago when she would walk her children to school. I would sit at the same place in my living room every morning to study, eat pancakes and drink coffee; but mostly just study. I always loved the soft morning light, cool morning breeze and the happy chatter as hundreds of children walked to the local junior high. After the morning rush of middle school kids and traffic settled down she would walk past my house hand in hand with her two children (probably taking the one to the local preschool).
In the midst of my mind being in a haze from reading about hemoglobin or discovering the fascinating pathophysiology of pneumonia I would hear them coming down the street. Most times I would hear her kids first; happily talking about the leaves on the ground or engrossed in a story about how big the monster was or how tall the Jenga tower was last night. She was always listening and ever present each morning. She was always asking questions and laughing as her kids told homemade knock knock jokes they made up on the fly. It was obvious she was making the most of each moment everyday with her children.
What also always impressed me was what she didn't do. She never yelled at her kids or acted like walking them to school was a hassle. If they got rowdy she would correct it, but she was never harsh or threatening. This is what probably stood out to me the most about her and her kids.
As the months rolled on and fall turned into winter I would continue to see them pass everyday. Their attire changed with the weather from jeans and sweaters to crochet hats and snow boots. She was still always the same: pleasant, kind, funny and full of life; just as much as her kids. I would cherish the mental break from studying as they would make their way past my house.
I often thought that she is the type of mom I want to be someday. She gives me hope that parenting is a joy and also a beautiful challenge. Since we are only a few houses apart I would see them a lot when I would be out as well. I would smile, say "Hi" and do the whole pleasant neighborly exchange, but they didn't know what an impact they were making on my life.
For weeks it was on my heart to write her a postcard just to say how much she inspired me. It was something to affect of how I think she's a great mom, I aspire to like her someday and seeing her with her kids is a bright spot in my day. Although I thought about it for a while it still took courage for me to do because it was a little out of my comfort zone. I found a postcard of an art piece that I liked and wrote a simple message on the back.
Writing it was easier then actually taking the action to deliver it. Being too cheap to buy stamps, I waited until her and her son went to pick up her daughter at preschool so I could drop it off incognito. I proofread it a hundred times before I nervously walked down the six houses that separate us to drop the post card off. On her front porch I put it under the welcome mat so the blustery winter wind wouldn't send it away. I had fumbled around a bit as to ensure it was sticking out enough she could see the pretty design yet secure enough it wouldn't blow away. With a little bit of adrenaline pumping and trying to be mindful of time I ran home; fully cognizant that I probably looked like a complete goon to anyone watching.
When I got home I did some dishes to release any nervous tension and reflect on what I just did. Apart of me challenged the whole idea and wanted to spring back to her place, pick up the card and forget the idea even crossed my mind. I mean, I signed the card "Emily, the girl who lives *described house* and wears the blue jacket". As the water from the faucet started to warm my freezing cold hands I settled into the task I was doing. I love writing cards and words of encouragement to people, but to people I don't really know is kind of challenging. As I scrubbed the dried pasta off an old lasagna dish I prayed that God would touch her heart with those words and it wouldn't be about me at all. Shortly after I felt a peace in my heart and almost an excitement about the whole thing. I thought of the words of edification and encouragement that I have received over the years. The ones that have stood out or carried the most weight were from people I would least expect or who didn't know me well but could see my heart.
Fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity until I heard them coming up the street. They were hand in hand, just like they always were. I dried the last dish and watched them make their way up the front porch. I almost laughed when all three of them walked right into the house not seeing the note sticking out the welcome mat! No one noticed at all, and I couldn't blame them. It was so frigid that after walking so many blocks it would be my soul purpose as well to get out of the cold and into the house. Well, mission of encouragement failed. It would probably blow away with the snow storm they were calling for later this evening and a middle schooler would find it next month when the snow melted away. Three seconds later the front door opened again. Much to my surprise her daughter walked out and picked up the post card and brought it inside. I smiled at the scene I just watched unfold. So they actually did get it. Now she was reading the words from the postcard and I just left it at that. I prayed again that God would speak to her more then any words I could say and then went back to the living room to study.
Its been about a year and a half since that day, and I don't have an amazing conclusion to this story to wrap it up. She never said anything about it and I certainly didn't either. I still yet to have a full conversation with her. When our paths cross now though she smiles extra big like she knows, but I'm still not sure. I smile too and say "Hello", but not much more. I live with a bunch of awesome people (and we all wear different colored stuff) so she probably knows it's one of us. Sometimes I forget about the note and sometimes I wonder what came of it. I pray sometime I'll have the opportunity or greater courage to get to know her better because she seems like an amazing person I could learn from. I see her or her husband out with their kids almost everyday. They smile, laugh and take so much joy in everyday life. Now it is summer so it's all about bikes, scooters and sidewalk chalk. It is still so nice to see them out and to have them as neighbors.
Due to the length of time that has past and the inconclusiveness of the story made me hesitate writing this post. In fact, I started writing this about two weeks ago and just left the tab open. The story would have more weight if lets say I knew something more powerful came from the note of encouragement. However, I believe the most amazing things happen that we will never know about. And honestly I like the mystery a little better then knowing. I like not knowing how she reacted or what came of the note. It is only for stories sake I kind if wish there was a story to follow through with the action.
When I think back to that day I think of how easy it was, how good I felt afterwards and to encourage others when they inspire me. I sincerely believe that the most beautiful things in life happen in the everyday. We just need the eyes to see and an open heart to embrace them and be inspired. This will challenge us and lead us toward doing good in our own lives. Someday, if I'm blessed to have children (long, long, long down the road) I hope I will think back to this family and be reminded of the joy parenting can bring. Until then I will continue to look for ways to encourage others and be inspired by all that's around me.
I hope you have an amazing week. Remember what inspires you, but also remember that you have the power to inspire others.
What also always impressed me was what she didn't do. She never yelled at her kids or acted like walking them to school was a hassle. If they got rowdy she would correct it, but she was never harsh or threatening. This is what probably stood out to me the most about her and her kids.
As the months rolled on and fall turned into winter I would continue to see them pass everyday. Their attire changed with the weather from jeans and sweaters to crochet hats and snow boots. She was still always the same: pleasant, kind, funny and full of life; just as much as her kids. I would cherish the mental break from studying as they would make their way past my house.
I often thought that she is the type of mom I want to be someday. She gives me hope that parenting is a joy and also a beautiful challenge. Since we are only a few houses apart I would see them a lot when I would be out as well. I would smile, say "Hi" and do the whole pleasant neighborly exchange, but they didn't know what an impact they were making on my life.
For weeks it was on my heart to write her a postcard just to say how much she inspired me. It was something to affect of how I think she's a great mom, I aspire to like her someday and seeing her with her kids is a bright spot in my day. Although I thought about it for a while it still took courage for me to do because it was a little out of my comfort zone. I found a postcard of an art piece that I liked and wrote a simple message on the back.
Writing it was easier then actually taking the action to deliver it. Being too cheap to buy stamps, I waited until her and her son went to pick up her daughter at preschool so I could drop it off incognito. I proofread it a hundred times before I nervously walked down the six houses that separate us to drop the post card off. On her front porch I put it under the welcome mat so the blustery winter wind wouldn't send it away. I had fumbled around a bit as to ensure it was sticking out enough she could see the pretty design yet secure enough it wouldn't blow away. With a little bit of adrenaline pumping and trying to be mindful of time I ran home; fully cognizant that I probably looked like a complete goon to anyone watching.
When I got home I did some dishes to release any nervous tension and reflect on what I just did. Apart of me challenged the whole idea and wanted to spring back to her place, pick up the card and forget the idea even crossed my mind. I mean, I signed the card "Emily, the girl who lives *described house* and wears the blue jacket". As the water from the faucet started to warm my freezing cold hands I settled into the task I was doing. I love writing cards and words of encouragement to people, but to people I don't really know is kind of challenging. As I scrubbed the dried pasta off an old lasagna dish I prayed that God would touch her heart with those words and it wouldn't be about me at all. Shortly after I felt a peace in my heart and almost an excitement about the whole thing. I thought of the words of edification and encouragement that I have received over the years. The ones that have stood out or carried the most weight were from people I would least expect or who didn't know me well but could see my heart.
Fifteen minutes seemed like an eternity until I heard them coming up the street. They were hand in hand, just like they always were. I dried the last dish and watched them make their way up the front porch. I almost laughed when all three of them walked right into the house not seeing the note sticking out the welcome mat! No one noticed at all, and I couldn't blame them. It was so frigid that after walking so many blocks it would be my soul purpose as well to get out of the cold and into the house. Well, mission of encouragement failed. It would probably blow away with the snow storm they were calling for later this evening and a middle schooler would find it next month when the snow melted away. Three seconds later the front door opened again. Much to my surprise her daughter walked out and picked up the post card and brought it inside. I smiled at the scene I just watched unfold. So they actually did get it. Now she was reading the words from the postcard and I just left it at that. I prayed again that God would speak to her more then any words I could say and then went back to the living room to study.
Its been about a year and a half since that day, and I don't have an amazing conclusion to this story to wrap it up. She never said anything about it and I certainly didn't either. I still yet to have a full conversation with her. When our paths cross now though she smiles extra big like she knows, but I'm still not sure. I smile too and say "Hello", but not much more. I live with a bunch of awesome people (and we all wear different colored stuff) so she probably knows it's one of us. Sometimes I forget about the note and sometimes I wonder what came of it. I pray sometime I'll have the opportunity or greater courage to get to know her better because she seems like an amazing person I could learn from. I see her or her husband out with their kids almost everyday. They smile, laugh and take so much joy in everyday life. Now it is summer so it's all about bikes, scooters and sidewalk chalk. It is still so nice to see them out and to have them as neighbors.
Due to the length of time that has past and the inconclusiveness of the story made me hesitate writing this post. In fact, I started writing this about two weeks ago and just left the tab open. The story would have more weight if lets say I knew something more powerful came from the note of encouragement. However, I believe the most amazing things happen that we will never know about. And honestly I like the mystery a little better then knowing. I like not knowing how she reacted or what came of the note. It is only for stories sake I kind if wish there was a story to follow through with the action.
When I think back to that day I think of how easy it was, how good I felt afterwards and to encourage others when they inspire me. I sincerely believe that the most beautiful things in life happen in the everyday. We just need the eyes to see and an open heart to embrace them and be inspired. This will challenge us and lead us toward doing good in our own lives. Someday, if I'm blessed to have children (long, long, long down the road) I hope I will think back to this family and be reminded of the joy parenting can bring. Until then I will continue to look for ways to encourage others and be inspired by all that's around me.
I hope you have an amazing week. Remember what inspires you, but also remember that you have the power to inspire others.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Beyond Social Media
Last night I posted some pictures on Facebook. It was a beautiful Friday night, we were in a beautiful spot and I was with some beautiful people. After dinner together our neighbor friends, my brother and I took our dogs down to the river and went exploring off the trail. We had some good laughs and nice talks. The memories we captured I'll go back to and smile when they come to mind. From the looks of what I posted last night and the past few days it may look like my life is positive and maybe outdoorsy. From the looks of my timeline everything is great. I'm usually smiling or posting some random thing I'm doing.
But people only see a very small fraction of my life. No one knew about the feelings of loneliness and doubt I experienced just hours before we went out. No one saw me sitting on the curb of Wendy's Thursday night at 11:30 pm because I was too tired to cook dinner after work. No one sees my messy room where half of my clean clothes are still in the wash basket and the other half are slowly becoming friends with the dirty clothes pile.
I would say that I am a happy person. I have so much to be thankful for. In fact, many amazing things happen in my life everyday that it would be way overboard if I documented it all. However, I think a problem can lie if we perceive what others post on Facebook, Instagram and other social media as exactly how their life goes.
Every day there's a few posts related to fitness goals accomplished. Before and after pictures are documented after the completion of a thirty day shred or sixty days of "clean eating" or whatever. Despite my best intentions, I can count on one hand how many sit-ups I did this summer (and I was still sore the next day). And I can promise that the bowls of ice cream consumed far exceeds that number. I scroll through social media to see moments captured by happy couples; holding hands and gazing into the sunset in perfect lighting. I feel a slight pang, because I don't know when that time will come for me. I see others days, vacations, clean rooms, fitness accomplishments and creative ideas. It is so easy to feel a sense of inadequacy purely based on what others post on social media. Sometimes I even feel behind in life or this sense that I'm not where I should be. The funny thing is that seeing someone's post about a ten mile run never motivated me enough to get out the door and go on one myself. It just left me feeling like "I should do that..someday, sometime.."
I know I'm not the only one that has felt like their life is less exciting after seeing someone's life changing trip across Central America. And I also know I'm not the only one who loves scrolling through their news feed when they have a minute. Social media is good, and I love seeing what my friends are up to who I don't get to see often. It is also fun to document memories with friends when you're all together and the laughs just keep coming. The problem starts when we're sitting home alone and we start comparing our lives to other's daily highlights. We can not get sucked into the comparison trap that is so easy to get tangled in. Galatians 1:10 says "For am I now seeking approval of man or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ." We each have unique lives that are telling a story so amazing that Facebook just can't cover. We live in such a time of quick, instant gratification that it's hard to remember the inevitability that our lives will have slow times and fun doesn't always abound every three seconds. Sometimes we will have nothing to do on a Friday night, and that's okay. No one is less of a person because of this. I believe these moments happen more then talked about, but there's this underlying pressure to always needing to be doing something "cool". I would blame the recent uprise in social media for this because we're constantly bombared with other's daily highlight reels. I wonder what life was like fifteen years without Facebook. There was probably less keeping in touch with long distance friends, but probably more freedom and contentment because we didn't have access to always see what our friends were up to.
Social media can only capture so much, and we are in control of what we put on. It only makes sense that we want to post things that capture us at our best. Everyone has low points daily and in life in general. Yes, this isn't earth shattering news, but seems to be easy to slip the mind when all we see are certain things. It's also easy for thoughts to creep in like "I'm the only one going through this issue." or "I'm the only one with a boring life." This is so far from the truth. We shouldn't go to Facebook for validation for these thoughts, but so often we do. It is only when we learn to embrace our uniqueness with the lives and circumstances we've been given, that we can then generate a positive change in our own lives. Real change does not come looking outside in on the life of someone else. Living vicariously through another person does more harm then good. If we find ourselves starting to feel less than, it is best to just put down the phone, go for a walk and just be thankful for the breath in our lungs. Each of us has amazing, God given gifts. We have a heart beat for a reason and we each have so much to offer the world. No amount of trips, friends or workouts make anyone's life better then someone else's. No matter if you did 400 sit-ups or 400 minus 396; you're life is telling a beautiful story. And whether or not it is documented on Facebook is besides the point.
This isn't a post to prompt a halt to the social media. However, if comparison is an issue I would encourage it. Sometimes a break can be refreshing. How sad would it be if we were so focused on what talents or accomplishments we lacked (because we were busy comparing ourselves on Facebook) that we missed out on what we were amazing at and created for?
I hope you enjoy and embrace the normals, highs and even lows that life brings you today.
But people only see a very small fraction of my life. No one knew about the feelings of loneliness and doubt I experienced just hours before we went out. No one saw me sitting on the curb of Wendy's Thursday night at 11:30 pm because I was too tired to cook dinner after work. No one sees my messy room where half of my clean clothes are still in the wash basket and the other half are slowly becoming friends with the dirty clothes pile.
I would say that I am a happy person. I have so much to be thankful for. In fact, many amazing things happen in my life everyday that it would be way overboard if I documented it all. However, I think a problem can lie if we perceive what others post on Facebook, Instagram and other social media as exactly how their life goes.
Every day there's a few posts related to fitness goals accomplished. Before and after pictures are documented after the completion of a thirty day shred or sixty days of "clean eating" or whatever. Despite my best intentions, I can count on one hand how many sit-ups I did this summer (and I was still sore the next day). And I can promise that the bowls of ice cream consumed far exceeds that number. I scroll through social media to see moments captured by happy couples; holding hands and gazing into the sunset in perfect lighting. I feel a slight pang, because I don't know when that time will come for me. I see others days, vacations, clean rooms, fitness accomplishments and creative ideas. It is so easy to feel a sense of inadequacy purely based on what others post on social media. Sometimes I even feel behind in life or this sense that I'm not where I should be. The funny thing is that seeing someone's post about a ten mile run never motivated me enough to get out the door and go on one myself. It just left me feeling like "I should do that..someday, sometime.."
I know I'm not the only one that has felt like their life is less exciting after seeing someone's life changing trip across Central America. And I also know I'm not the only one who loves scrolling through their news feed when they have a minute. Social media is good, and I love seeing what my friends are up to who I don't get to see often. It is also fun to document memories with friends when you're all together and the laughs just keep coming. The problem starts when we're sitting home alone and we start comparing our lives to other's daily highlights. We can not get sucked into the comparison trap that is so easy to get tangled in. Galatians 1:10 says "For am I now seeking approval of man or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ." We each have unique lives that are telling a story so amazing that Facebook just can't cover. We live in such a time of quick, instant gratification that it's hard to remember the inevitability that our lives will have slow times and fun doesn't always abound every three seconds. Sometimes we will have nothing to do on a Friday night, and that's okay. No one is less of a person because of this. I believe these moments happen more then talked about, but there's this underlying pressure to always needing to be doing something "cool". I would blame the recent uprise in social media for this because we're constantly bombared with other's daily highlight reels. I wonder what life was like fifteen years without Facebook. There was probably less keeping in touch with long distance friends, but probably more freedom and contentment because we didn't have access to always see what our friends were up to.
Social media can only capture so much, and we are in control of what we put on. It only makes sense that we want to post things that capture us at our best. Everyone has low points daily and in life in general. Yes, this isn't earth shattering news, but seems to be easy to slip the mind when all we see are certain things. It's also easy for thoughts to creep in like "I'm the only one going through this issue." or "I'm the only one with a boring life." This is so far from the truth. We shouldn't go to Facebook for validation for these thoughts, but so often we do. It is only when we learn to embrace our uniqueness with the lives and circumstances we've been given, that we can then generate a positive change in our own lives. Real change does not come looking outside in on the life of someone else. Living vicariously through another person does more harm then good. If we find ourselves starting to feel less than, it is best to just put down the phone, go for a walk and just be thankful for the breath in our lungs. Each of us has amazing, God given gifts. We have a heart beat for a reason and we each have so much to offer the world. No amount of trips, friends or workouts make anyone's life better then someone else's. No matter if you did 400 sit-ups or 400 minus 396; you're life is telling a beautiful story. And whether or not it is documented on Facebook is besides the point.
This isn't a post to prompt a halt to the social media. However, if comparison is an issue I would encourage it. Sometimes a break can be refreshing. How sad would it be if we were so focused on what talents or accomplishments we lacked (because we were busy comparing ourselves on Facebook) that we missed out on what we were amazing at and created for?
I hope you enjoy and embrace the normals, highs and even lows that life brings you today.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
My Sweet Aunt Emma
Despite my brain being in a fog from a pesky summer head cold, I've been thinking so much about my Aunt Emma since her passing almost two weeks ago. I needed to write to share my thoughts about how she changed my life and those around her, even toward the end.
My Great Aunt Emma peacefully passed away June 30th at the age of 98. I had the honor of visiting her bimonthly at Conestoga View.
After signing in I reluctantly grab a visitors pass. It always looks like the past three people who wore the pass used it as a napkin to wipe off their hands after lunch. I wait for the five minute elevator ride to take me to floor number seven. The same thoughts run through my head during the ride up: "I could take the steps so much quicker." "Where is the stair case anyway?" "How did people get anything done when elevators were so slow in the seventies?" "Am I just being impatient?" As my thoughts continue to linger eventually the doors open and I'm spit out to my desired floor.
I am immediately introduced to scents of the floor. Institutional food mixed with bodily fluids mixed with nail polish remover. I try to tell my brain which smell to focus on to lessen the likelihood of me physically looking like I smell something awful. Oh look, ladies getting their nails done. How cute! I am distracted at this adorable site as four elderly ladies sit at the table and fan their fingers for the Resident Assistant to paint their nails. As endearing as this site is, I continue my mission and scan the common space to look for her.
She is easy to find. She is sitting in the glider by the window smiling. She is dressed to the T, and looks like she has been waiting for me all day. "Hi Aunt Emma! It's Emily!" I gently touch the top of her hand and slowly bend down to embrace her for a hug. I don't want to freak her out because I know with her dementia it will take her a while to remember me. And despite the continuity of my visits I notice her dementia gets worse as time goes, making each visit more of a memory jog. She doesn't look scared at all by me and even though I know she has no idea who I am yet she embraces me for a strong hug and cheerful greeting. I am always impressed by the strength of her hugs for being so small. We sit down in the common area surrounded by others. She always offers me the best of what she has right away. Whether it is the comfy glider, or the sandwich she's eating for lunch; her selflessness and desire to see others comfortable is one trait that never left her.
We usually begin our visit by a five minute introduction and explanation of how we are related. "Now I know I know you, but remind me again; Who ARE you?" she would ask me every time. "Now which one's Carol?" When I would tell her I'm Carol's granddaughter and Michelle's daughter. Once we sort have those bases covered we would talk about life and what was going on in the Conestoga View world. "Oh, I love it here." She would always say. Then she proceeds to point out the most ordinary things and describe how wonderful they are and how grateful she to be there. "Look at this chair! It's so wonderful. See, it's right by the window, and I just sit here and look outside." She smiles and rocks contently in the glider. The sun from the seventh story shines through and gives her short white hair almost a halo appearance. "Now what is it you do?" she asks with such interest. Depending on the time I would tell her I was in nurses training or I was a nurse. She smiles so big with familiarity. Nursing was such a big part of Aunt Emma's life that no matter how much of the world she forgets; nursing is so tightly wound in her DNA she will always remember it. Relief comes over me that we have something we can talk about that she remembers. I ask about where she worked and the adventures and places nursing took her. I know she went as far as Colorado and Hawaii to nurse, which back then I'm sure was huge adventure for a Mennonite woman from Akron, PA. Not being able to fully remember locations she says "I've been a lot places and did a lot of things. Yes, it's good work we do." We chat a little more about helping people and I tell her how cool I think it is she traveled so much in her career. Aunt Emma received many accolades for being the amazing human and nurse, and I often would tell her I hope I'm as good of a nurse as she was. She would smile and at this point the dementia is as far away as it can be. She grabs my hand, leans in and says "You'll be a good one. I know it." With her tendency to repeat herself and the multiple visits, she said this many times. However, each time it gave me chills and I silently vow to myself to do my part to make this true.
We continue to chat in the common room when suddenly we here a cry and moan. Heads turn and attention is drawn to the middle aged man with special needs. He is sitting on the couch with his legs drawn to his chest. His face turns cherry red and big, fat tears roll down his face. It is unclear what provoked the melt down, but the folks don't seemed too concerned. Apparently this occurs multiple times a day, and these crying episodes are just per his baseline. Someone offers an "It's okayyy…" from across the room. But once people see who it is they just return to what they are doing. There are nails to paint, pills to pass, and TV to watch. Aunt Emma sees him, touches my hand and excuses herself from our conversation. She walks across the room to the couch where the man is sitting. She puts her hand on his shoulder and gently rubs his back. The man cries harder and tears are now soaking his sweater. "Let me show you how to fix this." she says referring to his tears. She reaches up her sleeve and pulls out two used tissues. She dries the mans tears and then shows him how to do it himself. She watches as the man fumbles with the tissues and attempts to pat his eyes. This lesson is easing his crying and he is slowly calming down. The sobs are turning into soft sniffles. "Okay." Aunt Emma gently takes the tissues from his hands and refolds them as she's about to reinforce the lesson. "Next time you feel sad you just go like this." She shows him again how to wipe his tears and blow his nose. She gives him the tissues for his keeping, pats him again and walks away. She comes back to me as I try to hold in my own tears. "He wasn't very happy." She says. "Hopefully that helped." We continue our conversation and she talks like nothing happened. But I know from across the room on that couch, that mans world was made a little brighter.
There were so many times I saw Aunt Emma make people's lives a little brighter. People loved her and she loved people. Having a failing memory and three roommates might provoke someone to be grumpy or to expect pity. That was never the case with her. She was always happy, but not the fake kind of happy where people put on a front just to make others feel okay. No, Aunt Emma was always optimistic and looked for best and humor in all situations. Her constant peaceful disposition was always refreshing to be around. She always displayed manners and class to everyone she encountered, even when others didn't do the same. I was honored and inspired every time I visited her. I would leave committed to wanting to be kinder, more positive and to look for the others who need help; just like Aunt Emma.
About a week before she passed away I was visiting her daily. I would go in either before or after work. Even if it was late and the doors were locked, the people at the front desk would let me in. I would sit beside her on the bed, read some Psalms, or just hold her hand. She looked so at ease and beautiful even toward the end. One night I was just holding her hand. Time was just passing, and nothing special was going on. I let my hand go as I prepared to leave. Immediately I felt a weak grip. My Aunt Emma with all the strength she could muster grabbed my hand and placed it closer to her chest. Chills ran down my spine, and I froze in that moment not wanting to forget any of it. Right there on the seventh floor in Conestoga View, I felt like the luckiest girl, most loved girl in the world. I kissed her and left. As I left her dark room and into the florescent lit hallway, I still had chills from that moment and promised myself to never forget that. I took the five minute elevator ride down only this time my thoughts were more somber but my heart still full of love.
After Aunt Emma passed my Grandma and I were talking. She told me that I remind her of Aunt Emma sometimes. And honestly it took a lot of work for my head not to swell too much. I only got to know Aunt Emma well in the later stages of her life, but it was nonetheless one of the most inspiring relationships I've had. I only heard stories form others about her in her prime. The combination of these stories and the cumulation of my visits with her make her one of my heroes.
At her viewing last week my great aunts gave me one of Aunt Emma's necklaces. I wore it to work yesterday. The combination of battling a cold, working a second twelve and having a heavy assignment made for a difficult shift. Mid shift I took a bathroom break and washed my hands. I caught my reflection and saw the necklace. Immediately I thought of aunt Emma. I thought of her tenacious personality and optimism. I revisited a memory of her smiling and trying to make the best of a situation. I adjusted the necklace and as well as my attitude. And just like Aunt Emma made the seventh floor at Conestoga View a little better, I decided to make the seventh floor at LGH a little better as well.
My Great Aunt Emma peacefully passed away June 30th at the age of 98. I had the honor of visiting her bimonthly at Conestoga View.
After signing in I reluctantly grab a visitors pass. It always looks like the past three people who wore the pass used it as a napkin to wipe off their hands after lunch. I wait for the five minute elevator ride to take me to floor number seven. The same thoughts run through my head during the ride up: "I could take the steps so much quicker." "Where is the stair case anyway?" "How did people get anything done when elevators were so slow in the seventies?" "Am I just being impatient?" As my thoughts continue to linger eventually the doors open and I'm spit out to my desired floor.
I am immediately introduced to scents of the floor. Institutional food mixed with bodily fluids mixed with nail polish remover. I try to tell my brain which smell to focus on to lessen the likelihood of me physically looking like I smell something awful. Oh look, ladies getting their nails done. How cute! I am distracted at this adorable site as four elderly ladies sit at the table and fan their fingers for the Resident Assistant to paint their nails. As endearing as this site is, I continue my mission and scan the common space to look for her.
She is easy to find. She is sitting in the glider by the window smiling. She is dressed to the T, and looks like she has been waiting for me all day. "Hi Aunt Emma! It's Emily!" I gently touch the top of her hand and slowly bend down to embrace her for a hug. I don't want to freak her out because I know with her dementia it will take her a while to remember me. And despite the continuity of my visits I notice her dementia gets worse as time goes, making each visit more of a memory jog. She doesn't look scared at all by me and even though I know she has no idea who I am yet she embraces me for a strong hug and cheerful greeting. I am always impressed by the strength of her hugs for being so small. We sit down in the common area surrounded by others. She always offers me the best of what she has right away. Whether it is the comfy glider, or the sandwich she's eating for lunch; her selflessness and desire to see others comfortable is one trait that never left her.
We usually begin our visit by a five minute introduction and explanation of how we are related. "Now I know I know you, but remind me again; Who ARE you?" she would ask me every time. "Now which one's Carol?" When I would tell her I'm Carol's granddaughter and Michelle's daughter. Once we sort have those bases covered we would talk about life and what was going on in the Conestoga View world. "Oh, I love it here." She would always say. Then she proceeds to point out the most ordinary things and describe how wonderful they are and how grateful she to be there. "Look at this chair! It's so wonderful. See, it's right by the window, and I just sit here and look outside." She smiles and rocks contently in the glider. The sun from the seventh story shines through and gives her short white hair almost a halo appearance. "Now what is it you do?" she asks with such interest. Depending on the time I would tell her I was in nurses training or I was a nurse. She smiles so big with familiarity. Nursing was such a big part of Aunt Emma's life that no matter how much of the world she forgets; nursing is so tightly wound in her DNA she will always remember it. Relief comes over me that we have something we can talk about that she remembers. I ask about where she worked and the adventures and places nursing took her. I know she went as far as Colorado and Hawaii to nurse, which back then I'm sure was huge adventure for a Mennonite woman from Akron, PA. Not being able to fully remember locations she says "I've been a lot places and did a lot of things. Yes, it's good work we do." We chat a little more about helping people and I tell her how cool I think it is she traveled so much in her career. Aunt Emma received many accolades for being the amazing human and nurse, and I often would tell her I hope I'm as good of a nurse as she was. She would smile and at this point the dementia is as far away as it can be. She grabs my hand, leans in and says "You'll be a good one. I know it." With her tendency to repeat herself and the multiple visits, she said this many times. However, each time it gave me chills and I silently vow to myself to do my part to make this true.
We continue to chat in the common room when suddenly we here a cry and moan. Heads turn and attention is drawn to the middle aged man with special needs. He is sitting on the couch with his legs drawn to his chest. His face turns cherry red and big, fat tears roll down his face. It is unclear what provoked the melt down, but the folks don't seemed too concerned. Apparently this occurs multiple times a day, and these crying episodes are just per his baseline. Someone offers an "It's okayyy…" from across the room. But once people see who it is they just return to what they are doing. There are nails to paint, pills to pass, and TV to watch. Aunt Emma sees him, touches my hand and excuses herself from our conversation. She walks across the room to the couch where the man is sitting. She puts her hand on his shoulder and gently rubs his back. The man cries harder and tears are now soaking his sweater. "Let me show you how to fix this." she says referring to his tears. She reaches up her sleeve and pulls out two used tissues. She dries the mans tears and then shows him how to do it himself. She watches as the man fumbles with the tissues and attempts to pat his eyes. This lesson is easing his crying and he is slowly calming down. The sobs are turning into soft sniffles. "Okay." Aunt Emma gently takes the tissues from his hands and refolds them as she's about to reinforce the lesson. "Next time you feel sad you just go like this." She shows him again how to wipe his tears and blow his nose. She gives him the tissues for his keeping, pats him again and walks away. She comes back to me as I try to hold in my own tears. "He wasn't very happy." She says. "Hopefully that helped." We continue our conversation and she talks like nothing happened. But I know from across the room on that couch, that mans world was made a little brighter.
There were so many times I saw Aunt Emma make people's lives a little brighter. People loved her and she loved people. Having a failing memory and three roommates might provoke someone to be grumpy or to expect pity. That was never the case with her. She was always happy, but not the fake kind of happy where people put on a front just to make others feel okay. No, Aunt Emma was always optimistic and looked for best and humor in all situations. Her constant peaceful disposition was always refreshing to be around. She always displayed manners and class to everyone she encountered, even when others didn't do the same. I was honored and inspired every time I visited her. I would leave committed to wanting to be kinder, more positive and to look for the others who need help; just like Aunt Emma.
About a week before she passed away I was visiting her daily. I would go in either before or after work. Even if it was late and the doors were locked, the people at the front desk would let me in. I would sit beside her on the bed, read some Psalms, or just hold her hand. She looked so at ease and beautiful even toward the end. One night I was just holding her hand. Time was just passing, and nothing special was going on. I let my hand go as I prepared to leave. Immediately I felt a weak grip. My Aunt Emma with all the strength she could muster grabbed my hand and placed it closer to her chest. Chills ran down my spine, and I froze in that moment not wanting to forget any of it. Right there on the seventh floor in Conestoga View, I felt like the luckiest girl, most loved girl in the world. I kissed her and left. As I left her dark room and into the florescent lit hallway, I still had chills from that moment and promised myself to never forget that. I took the five minute elevator ride down only this time my thoughts were more somber but my heart still full of love.
After Aunt Emma passed my Grandma and I were talking. She told me that I remind her of Aunt Emma sometimes. And honestly it took a lot of work for my head not to swell too much. I only got to know Aunt Emma well in the later stages of her life, but it was nonetheless one of the most inspiring relationships I've had. I only heard stories form others about her in her prime. The combination of these stories and the cumulation of my visits with her make her one of my heroes.
At her viewing last week my great aunts gave me one of Aunt Emma's necklaces. I wore it to work yesterday. The combination of battling a cold, working a second twelve and having a heavy assignment made for a difficult shift. Mid shift I took a bathroom break and washed my hands. I caught my reflection and saw the necklace. Immediately I thought of aunt Emma. I thought of her tenacious personality and optimism. I revisited a memory of her smiling and trying to make the best of a situation. I adjusted the necklace and as well as my attitude. And just like Aunt Emma made the seventh floor at Conestoga View a little better, I decided to make the seventh floor at LGH a little better as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)