True Love

Patients often ask in frustration why they are still alive, why they have to suffer through this illness or injury, and I have heard caretakers time and time again struggle with the answer to that question. I don’t have all the answers, but I certainly know one: because sometimes a trial isn’t what you need to learn, as much as what others around you can learn from you. That was how it was with a special patient of mine.

This patient had lost her husband a few years prior. She talked about him literally every day, many times a day, and was pretty much in her own world. The trouble with being a caretaker is that you get to glimpse bits and pieces of the patient’s life, but you don’t get the full story. Much like flipping open a random book near the end and reading a few pages but never being able to see how the story began or progressed, we get a little glance and can only wonder at what they experienced, what trials they endured, or what made them what they are today. This sweet patient talked a lot about the puppies, and we always wondered what significance those played.

She was very child-like in her communication with me, and would draw out her words, “It’s ttttiiiiiiiimmmeee to da bbbeeedddd?” was one of the sentences I would love to hear again. Every night I took care of her, I would walk her to her bed, she would climb in, I would put on her oxygen, put a stuffed animal under each arm, one was a pug, the other a gray bunny. I would kiss her forehead and say “Good night sweetheart, sweet dreams”, and turn out the light. It became a favorite routine of mine.

She talked about her dear companion every day, as I said before. She was lost without him. She would often get confused and ask where he was, and even ask the various female staff workers, including myself, if he loved them more than her. Nothing broke my heart more, and we would all hurry to tell her that “No hun, he loves you, only you” to which she would smile peacefully and relax. She would worry out loud that he had run off with another woman, and we would remind her of his love, and I would lie and say that I would send him to her room as soon as I spotted him. She would then be calm and go about her business.

Two days before she died, (she was the first patient I ever lost) she told her daughter “(Her husband) told me it would be alright. He is coming for me. He said it won’t hurt.” Her daughter, as well as staff, thought little of it, since she spoke of him so often. I remember it very vividly, it was a Tuesday evening, we were just finishing up gathering all the residents to the dining room for dinner, when for some reason she got her walker and started walking out of the dining room. Suddenly she yelled “(her husband) is here!” and dropped to the floor. My boss, the med tech, and I ran to her, got her up in the wheelchair, and when we couldn’t get vital signs on her immediately, I was told to wheel her down the hallway to her room while my boss grabbed some equipment, and we didn’t want all the patients seeing the scene unfold. I remember praying over and over in my head to not let her die, as I pushed her I rubbed her shoulder saying “Stay with us sweetheart!” We got her to her room, but she had been gone from before she hit the floor.

There was a peace and spirit in the room that was indescribable as we dressed her for the mortuary. I knew her husband had been in that room with us, and thought about how thin the veil was for her that last little while. The mortuary took her away, and they left, as they always do, a fake rose on the made bed, and next to it they set her stuffed animals. I took a picture of that with my phone, and I still have it to this day. I will never forget her, and the comfort that brought me that day, and has since. Death hasn’t scared me ever since, because I know, as she experienced as she passed through, that our loved ones will be nearby, and the veil was thinned. Heavenly Father even allowed her to pass without any pain into the arms of her eternal companion, who she recognized and still loved. It testified to me of the blessing of being sealed in the temple to our families. I know I will get to see her again, and when I do, her beloved companion will be by her side. Ever since that night, I have looked, and will continue to look for, a stuffed pug that looks like hers did. It will forever remind me of what I learned from her. Had she been taken earlier, I would not, as a wide eyed, naïve 18 year old nurse’s aide, have learned the lessons I did, about life, death, true love, and about our Heavenly Father. She was a tender mercy in my life that I will always appreciate.