Recognize the preciousness, weep.

“In the entire history of the universe, let alone in your own history, there has never been another day just like today, and there will never be another just like it again. Today is the point to which all your yesterdays have been leading since the hour of your birth. It is the point from which all your tomorrows will proceed until the hour of your death. If you were aware of how precious today is, you could hardly live through it. Unless you are aware of how precious it is, you can hardly be said to be living at all.” ~Frederick Buechner
 I am so often aware of how precious our moments in life are. Buechner is right, I can hardly live through the awareness of the preciousness, it leaves me frequently in a  weeping state. I have referenced this statement of his before and probably will again because it so moves me. Today my weeping began when I was the recipient of extreme compassion by a woman who could have easily remained disconnected, aloof or unaffected by my story. She had nothing to gain by encouraging my discourse and it was not part of her job description to show me such kindness. It was part of her generous spirit to involve herself and share of herself. Because of her willingness to get involved my heart was touched. She asked probing questions and presented me with various options for dealing with the situation, all while completing the duties she needed to accomplish. Instead of sitting bare-assed on a doctor’s exam table I felt like I was sharing coffee with a friend at a painted kitchen table with zinnias and sunflowers outside of the window, this is how comforting she was. If I was capable of bestowing some sort of Nurse Extraordinaire award, she would be the recipient.
I had so many people showering me with kindnesses this day that my tears were more of a shower than the relenting summer rain.
~A kindred spirit with whom I share the bond of each of us having daughters who need a little extra from us as mothers, and the bond of loving life and choosing to extract every ounce of pleasure and happiness it offers.
 ~My beloved sister whose thoughtfulness and generosity escape from her with every breath she exhales.
a friend whom I have known since Kindergarten making a comment on Facebook that felt more like a hug than a social media entry.
~ An old friend whose emails bring me laughter and comfort always.
~A fellow swimmer inquiring after my daughter’s well being.
~A friend whose door is always open with love and peace waiting just inside the door.
~A non-person entry to this list, a fiery sunset sinking into the river after the rain subsided.
We all want to be complete, strong and courageous, so anytime I realize that I am actually broken, vulnerable and needy I am grateful to those who build me up, hold me up and shore me up with their extreme acts and words of kindness, thoughtfulness and compassion, whether they are a person who does that on a daily (some days hourly) basis or if they are a person who briefly touches my life once or twice a year.
All of you make my days so very precious that I can’t help but be aware. I am living.Image
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In all our contacts it is probably the sense of being really needed and wanted which gives us the greatest satisfaction and creates the most lasting bond. Eleanor Roosevelt

You would have seen the man with his shoulders hunched forward and his head watching the floor as he rapidly shuffled down the corridor to escort the paramedics to apartment C104, his rapid, gasping respirations revealed his level of stress. He paced through the dining area of the apartment that was not home, he had a confused look on his face as he fingered items on a table; familiar items on a table that had belonged to former generations.  The table and the items he could relate to, but their placement in this apartment was foreign to him, they belonged at home, under the window where they had been for years. One of the paramedics convinced him to sit for a few moments and gave him the phone number for the emergency room while keeping an eye on his heavy breathing. I was summoned to the bedroom to assist with getting his wife ready to be taken in the ambulance. Standing in the hallway looking in, I could see her sitting on the edge of the bed with impeccable posture. Under her very thinning tufts of hair was a face smiling at the men assessing her. She had her overnight bag fastidiously packed and with the efficiency of a veteran nurse had her husband’s medications organized and labeled for him for while she would be gone. The men stepped out of the room and without any false modesty she allowed me to assist her in putting on a fresh, comfortable nightgown which satisfied her need for “trip to the hospital” decorum. She took hold of my arm and was pulled to a stand. I held onto her hips, placed her cane in her hand and turned her over to the medics who accompanied her to and lifted her onto the waiting  gurney. While taking her purse and overnight bag and jockeying the gurney out of the apartment, the paramedics assured us that the E.R. nurse would phone and give us an update as soon as possible. We were told to rest here, there was nothing we could do if we were sitting at the hospital in a hard, straight chair. I was happy for their conviction and authoritative voice. Once the apartment door closed, the man was unsure what to do and once again fiddled with the items on the little table. After pushing the furniture back to the original configuration, I sat at the dining table and beckoned him to join me. He thanked me for being available to assist them and choked on his words, unable to mask his emotion. Resting his forehead in his palm, he relied on his arm to keep his weary head from plopping to the table. I knew that he valued pride, as only those from America’s Greatest Generation do, considering vulnerability a weakness and neediness an abomination. I told him that I consider them family and that these are things that family members do for one another. I explained that I truly understood how difficult it is to receive help from others and that it has been something I have struggled with for the past twenty-six years, since Prader-Willi Syndrome entered my life. Feeling needy and vulnerable can weigh on a person, until you realize allowing others the chance to be of assistance is a gift to them. Especially during times of grief or trouble loved ones want to help you. What they really want is to take away the hurt and eradicate the source of the pain, but since that is not within their power they want to help in whatever manner they are capable of. For some that might mean lessening a financial burden. For others it is any number of practical, tangible chores that need to be done, such as gassing up a car, providing meals, cleaning house, laundering clothing, and tending to children. Some people’s best way to help is to simply listen, provide a shoulder to cry on or a hand to hold. Everyone has their own best ways to help and their best can change according to the circumstances of need. As Emily Dickinson once said, “They might not need me; but they might. I’ll let my head be just in sight; a smile as small as mine might be precisely their necessity.”

This willingness or desire to be of comfort and help to others is part of one’s character and  allowing others to fulfill that desire is part of your character. It is a difficult thing to swallow some pride and let other folks in. By doing so you are giving them a peek into your vulnerable recesses, often areas that are too painful to bring out in the light but when you do, your loved ones benefit. They benefit because they get to help you.

I fumbled my way through some of this with this hurting, defeated gentleman. He was gracious, accepting and grateful, but still broken by the burdens of a body and mind that were neglecting to serve him in the manner to which he was accustomed. I started this tale by telling you what you would have seen, but should share with you what I saw that night. As I arrived at the building’s door, standing before me was a man who amid his chaos and confusion was chivalrous enough to come hold the door open for me. I saw a man who worked himself into a state of anxiety because he could not grasp the idea that a well packed bag took precedence over the urgency of getting prompt medical care. In fact he shook his head with bewilderment as he said to me, “She won’t let me call 911 yet, but her bag is neatly packed! See what you can do.” I saw a memory of a giant taking a dark haired girl by her hands and swinging her in a circle before turning back to tend to the charcoal in his handsome new stone backyard barbeque. I saw the formidable stony face of a man approaching his sports car that was smashed against a tree in a ravine and I saw the movement of his jowl as he watched the dark haired girl whose flesh was whiter than usual walk to him unscathed from the accident. I saw the man who stood proudly and broken-hearted by his son’s casket. I saw a man who was learning how to live in a new period of his life, just like he had done before during times that were not of his choosing. I saw a man whose breathing had returned to normal pat and squeeze my hand while I was talking to him. I saw a man who had resigned himself to the fact that his wife was where she needed to be and he should go to bed. As he said, “we’ll just sit here staring until we annoy each other, there is no reason why you shouldn’t go home to bed.” We embraced. I kissed him on his forehead as I had promised his dark haired girl I would. I gathered my belongings, took the trash to the hallway, closed myself out of the apartment and went to my car in the icy parking lot. After starting the car, fastening my seat belt and adjusting the heater, I looked up at the apartment building; in the doorway, watching to see that I made it safely to my car, I saw a man.Image