Thursday, January 26, 2017

His Blessing

His Dementia is a blessing because he doesn't remember her dying.

Laying in bed, fading in and out of consciousness, she mumbled if she spoke, taking no notice of him sobbing beside her, in a fetal position, begging her to stay.

"Please don't leave me Liz ... I love you Honey ... I don't know what I'll do if you leave ..."

She couldn't wait.

"I want to go before him," she confided months earlier.

"What?" I shot, collapsing back in the chair I was climbing out to leave.

Sitting in the middle of the 1070s Sofa in their Living Room with her hands prayerfully folded between her knees, she sat straight staring intensely.

"I can't take it any more," she explained. "He's not who he was. He doesn't remember ... says the same things over and over ... I just can't anymore."

He is my patient.

I am HIS Chaplain.

She's just part of it.

"Why are you telling me?"

Her gaze fixes itself through the large plate glass window into the old Pooler subdivision but she continues speaking to me.

"We were a big part of the Church but when he got like this we stopped going. It was okay for a while because they visited but ... they stopped. It was boring ... he just repeats himself ... now it's just us and I can't do it anymore."

Moments of awkward silence followed until I said, "So ..." not knowing what else to say.

"Will you be my Preacher?" she asks returning the direct stare my way.

I hate the question.

The first time I was asked it cost me 8 years of pastoring a Church I didn't want in the inner city of Louisville, Kentucky.

After that I always said "No" until a Church in a Bar caught me at a bad time.

"Please?" Liz pleaded.

"Shit!" I muttered under my breath, standing and sitting beside her to say, "Of course."

Burying her head into my shoulder she sobbed.

Three months later, she's almost done and somewhere in his Dementia clouded brain, he understands.

Watching him beg as she exhales final breaths, I notice Liz's now unkempt hair, demented body and utter unconcern about appearance.

"Hey Jeri," I say touching his shoulder. "You want to get some coffee?"

"Micheal?" Liz asks through closed eyes.

"I thought you were avoiding me," I reply giving her a hug and she holds on ... glazed grey eyes appear through slits in her lids.

"How's Che?"

You never know what's going to happen at a death.

Our baby hadn't been born yet but Liz was in a place where she seemed to know what was going to happen before it did.

"It's all good Liz. How are you?"

"I love you Micheal," she whispers.

"Yeah," I wistfully say running my finger through her hair. "You're getting what you wanted Liz."

The faintest of smiles kisses her lips.

"What did she say?" Jeri asks from his fetal position.

I kiss Liz on the forehead before answering.

"She wants you to have coffee."

Pulling himself out of bed, he follows me into the kitchen.

No comments:

Post a Comment