SUBJECT: Home for Chrtistmas
Submitted by Boatdood#15226 (76.23.112.234) from SOUTH CAROLINA on
The day the three of us went out in search of the Christmas Spirit keeps coming back to me each year. It helps me to keep the spirit close to my heart, even when the spirit is hard to find for me too. The ride to the hospital this evening is especially long and lonesome, for tonight is Christmas Eve and tonight I'll spend all but alone, but it is my turn, and I have volunteered for I have no other who would or could take my place tonight.
As I entered the lobby I heard the announcement over the P.A. system. "Visiting hours will be over in 15 minutes. We ask that you make arrangements to leave the hospital now." How could they be so cold? Don't they realize that families and loved ones are here , trapped by these walls; walls that intrude on their lives in a way that only they can know? Yet still they ask, no, demand, that all leave now. I'm not leaving ; I'm just now arriving; arriving to take my shift and relieve those before me. None of us wish this on the other, but then, none of us wish this on ourselves either. We all know that his time has come, even he knows this. He seems to come and go. We blame it on senility or Alzhymer's or such, or maybe it's the drugs, but the old man just doesn't quite seem to know where he is or what's going on, or so they say. "Hi Mom; How are you?" I say as I enter the room. The room is darkened much as the mood. Aunt Grace is positioned over by the window with Aunt June cornered, pr
This is the same man who only 40 years ago shed another tear as his daughter, his first daughter, my mother, was born in this same hospital. She was such a small, helpless little thing, but a beautiful gift in his eyes, and as he took her in his then strong arms and held her tenderly to his breast he swore to all the world that this child would know her father's love for all time, and no man should test this promise.
The same man who 30 years ago, in this same hospital, fell to the floor in desperate tears as his last child was delivered much too soon, and died in his arms.
The same man who 20 years ago found new faith in his Lord as I, his first grandchild, was placed in his then still strong arms.
The same man who 10 years ago cursed that same Lord as his wife passed away on the next floor up; and the same man who only 5 short years ago was told of the cursed disease that would now , soon , take him from our midst as well.
"Goodnight Mom; sleep well. You need the rest. I'll take good care of Grandpa then I'll be home for Christmas dinner tomorrow." And with my blessing she and the rest departed for the night, leaving only Grandpa and me to face the night. The drugs were doing their job well as Grandpa seemed to rest peacefully in the hospital bed. How many more days would there be? Surely he was nearing the end of his journey; he was so very frail, a mere shell of what once there was. It had been days since anyone had a meaningful conversation with him. He seemed to be re-living his life; remembering only the good times, and those good times were clouded by Demerol and Morphine. I sat down with my book as I wondered to myself if it were the years or the drugs that clouded the thought.
I was disturbed by a pitiful moan from the bed as Grandpa stirred and mumbled incoherently. His eyes stretched once more and came finally to meet mine. Expecting yet another meaningless conversation I was surprised by the clarity of his gaze.
"Son, my time is near. I don't want to die here in this hospital. Take me home, please. Take me home for Christmas."
"Grandpa, you know I can't take you home. They can't take care of you if you are not here. You need the doctors and nurses to keep you comfortable. I'll take you home as soon as you are better."
"Sonny, you and I both know that I will never get better. Take me home, please. You're Grandma is buried on the old spread and I need to be near her now, not here in this God forsaken place miles from home."
His words weighed heavy on my mind as I couldn't think of a reason to deny him this request. What right did I have to keep him here when he asked to go home? The night nurse entered the room and went about her duties as if I nor Grandpa were even there. Grandpa pretended to be asleep as she took his blood pressure and checked the heart monitor. The IV bag was checked once more and the flow rate upped to dispense the prescribed amount of drug. The nurse was on her way out of the room when I heard myself ask her to stop. "Grandpa wants to go home for Christmas."
"Oh, they all want to go home sooner or later. He's where he needs to be so we can take care of him and keep him comfortable. Even if we did listen to him and send him home, as soon as the drugs wear off he would be in excrutiating pain. Just ignore him when he asks to go home. He'll be fine."
The nurse left us alone again, and again his eyes met mine as clear as before. "Son, take me home , please. It's not right for me to go here. I need to be in my own home. Take me there; please take me there."
Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he begged. How could I deny him? This man , once so proud, was now reduced to begging; begging someone to take him home; how could I deny? He was right , it simply was not proper. He had never denied one thing I asked of him if he thought it was what I deserved, and this was certainly what he deserved. Yes, he could be delirious, or senile, or even have a case of Alzhymer's , but this request seemed so right, so logical, so in need of an answer. No one should have to die in a hospital on Christmas Eve.
"Grandpa, you have to help me if I will ever get your pants on you. Raise your foot a little, just a little. There, I knew you could do it. Now raise the other. Good, now lay back on the bed so I can push your pants up a little." With that small mission accomplished I then start with the socks. The old man always loved his Argyle socks and these would be followed by his best wing tips. Grandpa was going home, and he would look good when he got there. The old man was give out from the struggle and laid back on the hospital bed to catch his breath. How would I ever get him home? "Grandpa, this isn't such a good idea. We'll never make it."
"We'll make it son, I have to. I don't belong here. You're grandma is waiting for me there."
Yes, he was delirious. Grandma had been gone for years. The old man was apparently so senile that he couldn't remember and I'd let him convince me to get him dressed for the trip home. How could I be so naive? I looked out the door and found no-one looking back. The wheel chair had a little squeek as I wheeled it quickly down the hall towards the elevators to the lobby. As I arrived at the door to the elevator I quickly pressed the down arrow. An eternity later, the door opened and a nurse quickly passed us by with only a quick smile, as she exited the elevator and continued on her rounds. Quick as a fox, the two of us entered the elevator and I pressed the lobby button. Just as the door started to close a hand appeared and my heart stopped as well as the door. An older lady stepped in and smiled at me as she entered.
"How are you two fellows tonight?"
Grandpa raised his head a little and managed a faint smile at the lady and answered, "We are just fine, thank you; I'm going home. Merry Christmas dear." With Grandpa's answer I felt renewed faith in my mission. Maybe it was the right thing to do.
Finally the lobby was reached and we departed, bidding a good night to the lady as she bid us the same. I breathed a sigh of relief as we made our way into the parking lot and eventually to the old Ford pickup.
"How's she been running Son?"
"She's been doing fine Grandpa. Thanks for giving it to me. I promise I'll always take good care of it."'
"I know you will. You are a good man."
It occurred to me that it was the first time Grandpa had ever referred to me as a man. What brought that about? What deed or passage of time had brought me to the point where my Grandpa now observed me as a man? So many thoughts swam through my mind as I gently lifted what was left of a proud man into the passenger seat of the old pickup.
The long trip to Grandpa's house was punctuated by numerous moans and twitches from Grandpa. With each such episode I continued to question the wisdom of my decision to grant him this last request. What if the nurse were right? How would I handle it if he began to scream in pain? How would I explain myself to everyone who gave me their trust and left him in my care?
Finally the trip that seemed would never end came to a close. Just up ahead I spotted the old mailbox that had stood by the road for countless years. It was always the landmark all of us looked for marking the drive to Grandma and Grandpa's house. How many times had I turned in here and how many good times we had. But tonight was quite different. Tonight I was granting an old man his last request; the only thing left that I could do for him; after all he had done for me it seemed so slight. The old Ford creaked a familiar creak as the ruts of the old gravel drive jiggled and jostled us about, and Grandpa seemed to catch his second wind, spirited by the rhythym of the dips and bumps. "I'm coming home Eva Mae, I'm coming home."
His voice seemed stronger, or was it just my imagination? As I pulled up to the front porch Grandpa reached for the handle to open the door. He managed enough strength to pull the handle and unlatch the door just as the old truck rattled to a stop. I bounded out the driver's side door and rushed over to his side just in time to catch him. In his rush to set foot on familiar ground, sacred ground to him, he seemed to have forgotten that it had been weeks since he took his last unassisted step. Together, we took several steps towards the front porch before I again took him in my arms and carried him the last few steps and then up onto the porch.
"Set me over there in the porch swing Sonny. I don't need to go inside."
"Grandpa, it's cool out here. Are you sure you will be OK?"
"Sonny, I am sure of only one thing tonight. I will be OK now that I am home, just go inside and get me a blanket, get that quilt that your grandma made, it will keep me comfortable."
I sat the old man gently in the swing just as he asked and rushed inside to find the quilt. There on the foot of the bed, neatly folded just as she had left it years ago, laid the quilt. How many hours of love and affection were represented in that one piece of work. How many garments and curtains and blankets were represented in the many pieces carefully threaded together? Nothing seemed more appropriate for my grandpa tonight. I draped the quilt around his neck and wrapped it around his shoulders, and then took my place at his side in the old porch swing. Memories of my childhood swam merrily back to me as I gently pushed the swing with one foot on the wooden floor of the porch and gazed out into the darkness of the yard and fields where many a brother and sister, many a cousin and many an uncle had enjoyed the lives and hospitality of my grandparents. How many family reunions had taken place on this hallowed ground? How many times had we all gathered here in both happiness and sorrow.
The old man started to talk. He began with first a story of a hunting trip; then one of a float trip; then one of when he and Eva Mae were young and just sparking. Eventually his voice grew tired and he was content just to sit and stare, stare out to the old Oak tree where now Eva Mae laid. After a long, long time I heard him once again.
"I'm coming Eva Mae, I'm coming. Have patience my love." And again, I wondered if I had done the right thing in bringing him here.
The time drug on and my eyes grew heavy as I sat and held him in my arms. The pain he lived with caused him to twist and turn, and jerk occasionally, each episode causing me more and more concern that I had indeed done my grandpa a disservice; but then again he would turn and smile, and give a weak wink. Eventually, in the wee hours of the night, or was it the morn, my eyes grew too heavy to resist, and I fell asleep, I am sure. And to dream, I am sure that I did dream.
The sun was just beginning to glow in the East as my eyes opened yet again, and there in the light of the new morn I observed: A new powder snow was just now beginning to fall, and as it fell softly to the earth it covered all that had come before. All the hurt and sorrow covered for all time. All that was to be seen was a fresh new beginning, or a blessed end. The dim light of the new morn made me squint yet again, for my eyes did yet deceive. There, under the old oak they stood, Eva Mae and Joe, locked in an embrace, a seemingly eternal embrace, for it was as if no other being, or even another world did exist but the one they found themselves in. As I sat peacefully enjoying their union, again I opened my eyes, and there in my arms, in the dim light of a coming new day, lay the remains of a life well lived and I realized that I had drifted off and missed his passing. Tears began to well up and blur my vision as I held him close to my heart, but then as if called out loud, my gaze was drawn to the old Oak tree and the hill on which it stood, and there, as clear as a mountain stream, stood two lovers embraced for all time, for all the world who would see, and how very glad I was that I did follow my heart, at least on this most splendid Christmas day.
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Wade Fisher from TEXAS says Beautifully done as usual ........
Good to see you back around these parts. Hope all is well with you and yours.Thank you
Wade
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Boatdood#15226 (76.23.112.234) from SOUTH CAROLINA says No, Wade. Thank you.
It may be lonely on the porch now and then, but you are as dependable as the rising sun. Thanks buddy. -
Thirdbar (75.31.87.22) from TEXAS says Time passes
... and I am ashamed to say I have not set on the porch with y'all and took a slug out of the ole jug in a long while. I have missed these times.These words you put down on this page touch us all in so many ways and levels.
Thanks Dood .... third bar.
