Well, friends, it has been a while. Dreadfully sorry.
Anyway, the thing I've been thinking about lately is the saying, "Time heals all wounds."
I call the BS card on this one.
Time does not "heal" all wounds. I don't think "time" itself helps, even. What I DO think is that as we REFLECT on the situations in our past, we learn from them. We begin to integrate our new "changed" self into a self that has meaning. Depending upon your situation, the amount of reflection and time varies.
It has been seven months and one day since my mom died. I just keep thinking, "Why don't I feel better about this yet?" Sure, some days are better than others, but when it comes down to it, when I'm sitting in my room all alone, I can get pretty sad. And so I reflect. And I think a part of why I don't "feel better" about it "yet," is that I'm still going through that first year. There are lots of things that enter my mind that are new. For instance, October 14th was a hard day because that was the anniversary of the day Mom's bladder cancer basically invaded into our lives. And the surgery to fix that was what caused her cognition to seriously deteriorate. Another example of "new" things that calls for reflection and grief is something others might find silly. I am a tactile person. I like to touch things. I often run my hand along the wall as I am walking. As I was walking down the hall to my room the other day, all of a sudden, a vision from my past flashed in my mind. It was of me walking up the stairs with my hand on one wall and Mom holding my other hand. The memory was one of fondness, but tinged with pain as I no longer have Mom to hold my hand, and I can no longer walk up and down those stairs.
And still, I reflect. I grieve. I pray for and think of others who grieve. I've said it before, but I'll say it again: Grief work is hard work. And not work that time itself can do.
Showing posts with label Ghosts of Trishmas Past. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghosts of Trishmas Past. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Grief and the Trunk of My Car
Yesterday was my last day in the office at the big church where I am the intern. My smaller church doesn't have a building at all, so all of my office time has been spent at Big Church (BC). BC is a fairly large congregation, replete with two pastors, an administrative assistant, director for Christian education, parish nurse, and me (for a couple more days, technically).
One of the great thing about BC's "staff church" status is that the staff is excellent. Sure, there are tensions between a couple of people, but nothing insurmountable. We all have gotten along quite well during my ten months of internship.
All of the staff have been great to me during my time in North Dakota. In particular, the administrative assistant, whom we shall call "Smiley," has been a wonderful addition to my life. Not only is she a model of efficiency and pleasantness, she is also very, VERY fun, and to top it off, she reminds me of Sis.
Anyway, yesterday was my last office day, like I said. I was reflecting on how I'd been at Restaurant for 10 years and how I'd been at BC for ten months, and how much more sad I was at the thought of leaving BC.
I waited until everyone else left before I went to get the box I had put in my car (Arnold). Even though they knew yesterday was the last day I'd be working with them in the office, I didn't want to upset them with that reminder. So, Smiley gave me a hug and then they all left.
Which brings me to the gist of this post. I went out and got the empty box to put the bulk of my "office stuff" into. I went to my office and loaded my books and pictures and some things into my bags, and then put most of the stuff in the box. Then, I started carrying my things out to my car. I opened the trunk and realized that the only times I ever open the trunk of my car are times fraught with grief.
When Mom was dying, and J and I decided to drive all night, the trunk was opened to put in our suitcases. The day of her funeral, we opened my trunk to put plants and other funeral home things in there. When we needed to head back to North Dakota, I had to put the last box of my stuff from my childhood home into the trunk, full well knowing that I would probably never get to see the inside of that home ever again because someone wanted to buy it. Even though the death of one of the most influential people in my life is different from leaving a well-loved "job," it is still a grieving process.
So, yesterday, as I was cleaning out my office and taking my things to the car, I realized that the trunk of the car is a place, for me at least, where grief's shadows linger. The trunk lid is opened, and in are poured boxes and contents of my life during times of grief and processing, as well as some of my tears and angst.
I knew full well that my internship was a "fixed time-frame" job. That's what it is to be on an internship. I knew that Mom's time was drawing to a close. That's a part of what it is to be a human being with a terminal illness. And yet, these obvious truths did not stop and do not stop the grief. Which leads me to yet another point: Grief is not a bad thing.
Grief is a healthy thing. Certainly, the loss of loved ones, the realization that we don't get to see people who make us laugh and feel loved on a regular basis, and the growing older and losing the things of childhood cause all sorts of different emotions within us. They hurt, often to the point we think it is unbearable. These things cause tears-even for those of us who don't often cry. All this grief and change help us to see that life is not some perfect utopia, but is instead a place where good and bad things happen everyday. But it's healthy. Grieving is healthy, even if at the same time uncomfortable. Grieving reminds us that we have loved and been loved; reminds us that we have made memories that are irreplaceable; reminds us that we are indeed alive.
And this makes me want to go and open the trunk of my car.
One of the great thing about BC's "staff church" status is that the staff is excellent. Sure, there are tensions between a couple of people, but nothing insurmountable. We all have gotten along quite well during my ten months of internship.
All of the staff have been great to me during my time in North Dakota. In particular, the administrative assistant, whom we shall call "Smiley," has been a wonderful addition to my life. Not only is she a model of efficiency and pleasantness, she is also very, VERY fun, and to top it off, she reminds me of Sis.
Anyway, yesterday was my last office day, like I said. I was reflecting on how I'd been at Restaurant for 10 years and how I'd been at BC for ten months, and how much more sad I was at the thought of leaving BC.
I waited until everyone else left before I went to get the box I had put in my car (Arnold). Even though they knew yesterday was the last day I'd be working with them in the office, I didn't want to upset them with that reminder. So, Smiley gave me a hug and then they all left.
Which brings me to the gist of this post. I went out and got the empty box to put the bulk of my "office stuff" into. I went to my office and loaded my books and pictures and some things into my bags, and then put most of the stuff in the box. Then, I started carrying my things out to my car. I opened the trunk and realized that the only times I ever open the trunk of my car are times fraught with grief.
When Mom was dying, and J and I decided to drive all night, the trunk was opened to put in our suitcases. The day of her funeral, we opened my trunk to put plants and other funeral home things in there. When we needed to head back to North Dakota, I had to put the last box of my stuff from my childhood home into the trunk, full well knowing that I would probably never get to see the inside of that home ever again because someone wanted to buy it. Even though the death of one of the most influential people in my life is different from leaving a well-loved "job," it is still a grieving process.
So, yesterday, as I was cleaning out my office and taking my things to the car, I realized that the trunk of the car is a place, for me at least, where grief's shadows linger. The trunk lid is opened, and in are poured boxes and contents of my life during times of grief and processing, as well as some of my tears and angst.
I knew full well that my internship was a "fixed time-frame" job. That's what it is to be on an internship. I knew that Mom's time was drawing to a close. That's a part of what it is to be a human being with a terminal illness. And yet, these obvious truths did not stop and do not stop the grief. Which leads me to yet another point: Grief is not a bad thing.
Grief is a healthy thing. Certainly, the loss of loved ones, the realization that we don't get to see people who make us laugh and feel loved on a regular basis, and the growing older and losing the things of childhood cause all sorts of different emotions within us. They hurt, often to the point we think it is unbearable. These things cause tears-even for those of us who don't often cry. All this grief and change help us to see that life is not some perfect utopia, but is instead a place where good and bad things happen everyday. But it's healthy. Grieving is healthy, even if at the same time uncomfortable. Grieving reminds us that we have loved and been loved; reminds us that we have made memories that are irreplaceable; reminds us that we are indeed alive.
And this makes me want to go and open the trunk of my car.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Years gone by...
Tomorrow, my father will have been dead for fifteen years.
As time has passed, I have experienced different emotions on this day. Last year, I was out golfing with YS and getting a sunburn on one half of my body. Three years ago, my youngest nephew came home from the hospital after being born. Nine years ago, I was taking final exams in high school; thirteen I was graduating from eighth grade...
This year, I find myself a bit more grief-stricken than in some of the other more recent years. I think this is because of the added grief of Mom having died just two months ago. Because our grief at the loss of Mom is so new, I find myself reminded of the intense grief that came from the trauma of "the accident" and Dad's death. So, I remember and find the grief a bit compounded.
I do give thanks, as I reflect, that the last words I said to both of my parents were ones of love. After Dad's heart attack, I stayed (relatively) calm, got the car stopped, and stayed in it while YS and our friend jumped out. I stayed with Dad for a few minutes, and only left because YS and Friend were standing by some guy I did not know. I didn't want them to go with some stranger in their shock, so I got out of the car. But, not before I looked at Dad and said, "Dad, I love you."
That day at Pastures, I told Mom several times, "Mom, we love you." And, well, the story about her death is just a couple below this one.
I don't really know what the purpose of this post is. I suppose I just feel kind of alone in the midst of all this. I'm 800 miles away from my family. My friends are spread far and wide. And thankfully, most of my friends still have their parents. I reckon I am trying to get some of this off my chest and out there. I miss my parents.
As time has passed, I have experienced different emotions on this day. Last year, I was out golfing with YS and getting a sunburn on one half of my body. Three years ago, my youngest nephew came home from the hospital after being born. Nine years ago, I was taking final exams in high school; thirteen I was graduating from eighth grade...
This year, I find myself a bit more grief-stricken than in some of the other more recent years. I think this is because of the added grief of Mom having died just two months ago. Because our grief at the loss of Mom is so new, I find myself reminded of the intense grief that came from the trauma of "the accident" and Dad's death. So, I remember and find the grief a bit compounded.
I do give thanks, as I reflect, that the last words I said to both of my parents were ones of love. After Dad's heart attack, I stayed (relatively) calm, got the car stopped, and stayed in it while YS and our friend jumped out. I stayed with Dad for a few minutes, and only left because YS and Friend were standing by some guy I did not know. I didn't want them to go with some stranger in their shock, so I got out of the car. But, not before I looked at Dad and said, "Dad, I love you."
That day at Pastures, I told Mom several times, "Mom, we love you." And, well, the story about her death is just a couple below this one.
I don't really know what the purpose of this post is. I suppose I just feel kind of alone in the midst of all this. I'm 800 miles away from my family. My friends are spread far and wide. And thankfully, most of my friends still have their parents. I reckon I am trying to get some of this off my chest and out there. I miss my parents.
Monday, January 12, 2009
"Peace Like a River"
The book, "Peace Like a River" has graced my bedside table for a couple of weeks now, and I just finished it tonight. I enjoyed reading this book, not only for its story, but also because I've been to several of the places in which the book is set. It's set in Minnesota and North Dakota, and those states being what they are to me, I am excited to read about them and about places in the states I've at least driven by.
Anyway, I enjoyed the book for the most part, but it really got me thinking about the hymn, "When Peace Like a River." It goes,
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll,
whatever my lot
thou hast taught me to say
it is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet
though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ hath regarded
my helpless estate
and hath shed his own blood
for my soul.
He lives, oh the bliss
of this glorious thought
my sin not in part but the whole
is nailed to the cross
and I bear it no more
praise the Lord, praise the Lord
Oh my soul!
And, Lord, haste the day
when our faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll,
the trumpet shall sound
and the Lord shall descend;
Even so it is well
with my soul."*
The book is set in the 1960s and deals with a father, his two sons, and his daughter. The oldest son, Davy, who is 16 at the beginning, ends up shooting two local bullies (who were bullies to the extreme). The other son, Reuben, is 11, and the sister,Swede, is 9. Anyway, along goes the book, and Davy escapes jail before sentencing after his trial. So, the family goes in search for him, all the while contending with police, FBI people, and others who come across their paths, including a shady character or two.
Life is not easy for them, but they have love and faith. The father, especially, is a faithful man who seems to even have performed some miracles; though he himself would never say such a thing.
The book has ups and downs, but it got me to thinking about grief. I placed myself in the book, and found out that I did not like a part of it. I identified with one of the characters a bit more deeply because we share an experience that was not the EXACT same, but aspects of it were very similar.
My thoughts over one occurrence in the book brought up grief from long ago. It's not insurmountable or even all that troubling; it just is. I got to thinking about how I am of the school of thought that people never "get over" their grief. It ebbs and flows with new grief tapping in to old grief, all the while bringing it back to the surface. Professionals say that it takes over a year for life to be "normal" again after the loss of one who is close. I agree, and on that note, find it odd that society seems to think that people who have suffered the death of a loved one need to "get over it" in a matter of weeks. I would like to think that deep down, they know this is not the case, but I would like to see grace being extended in more tangible ways regarding grief.
Anyway, so back to the hymn... The first two verses speak of trials and Satan's coming against people, but that Jesus is present with us. I like these words. They don't say, "Get over it." To me, they say, "Sometimes, life is going to suck, but Christ 'regards!!!' us even in the murkiness of it all." To me, these words also say that we can be in the thickest grief, or even depression, and have faith in Christ's never-failing presence. That doesn't make things all better, but it can be a comforting truth. After all, the verses don't speak of what WE have done, but instead of what Christ has done for us. WE don't have to be Sunshine Susanna's in order to be loved, forgiven, or worthwhile. It is GOD IN CHRIST who has come to and for us; stipulating nothing, but rather coming and giving freely.
And what of this "peace like a river?" Rivers can be peaceful, but they can also be violent and dangerous. But they are still rivers. Life is like a river, in many regards. Sometimes it is wide and calm, while other times it seems too narrow with rocks just below the surface. But in hope, may we trust that Christ is in the boat with us, suffers the same tosses that we do, and remains present regardless.
*Text: Horatio G. Spafford
*Tune: Philip P. Bliss
Anyway, I enjoyed the book for the most part, but it really got me thinking about the hymn, "When Peace Like a River." It goes,
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll,
whatever my lot
thou hast taught me to say
it is well, it is well with my soul.
Though Satan should buffet
though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control
That Christ hath regarded
my helpless estate
and hath shed his own blood
for my soul.
He lives, oh the bliss
of this glorious thought
my sin not in part but the whole
is nailed to the cross
and I bear it no more
praise the Lord, praise the Lord
Oh my soul!
And, Lord, haste the day
when our faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll,
the trumpet shall sound
and the Lord shall descend;
Even so it is well
with my soul."*
The book is set in the 1960s and deals with a father, his two sons, and his daughter. The oldest son, Davy, who is 16 at the beginning, ends up shooting two local bullies (who were bullies to the extreme). The other son, Reuben, is 11, and the sister,Swede, is 9. Anyway, along goes the book, and Davy escapes jail before sentencing after his trial. So, the family goes in search for him, all the while contending with police, FBI people, and others who come across their paths, including a shady character or two.
Life is not easy for them, but they have love and faith. The father, especially, is a faithful man who seems to even have performed some miracles; though he himself would never say such a thing.
The book has ups and downs, but it got me to thinking about grief. I placed myself in the book, and found out that I did not like a part of it. I identified with one of the characters a bit more deeply because we share an experience that was not the EXACT same, but aspects of it were very similar.
My thoughts over one occurrence in the book brought up grief from long ago. It's not insurmountable or even all that troubling; it just is. I got to thinking about how I am of the school of thought that people never "get over" their grief. It ebbs and flows with new grief tapping in to old grief, all the while bringing it back to the surface. Professionals say that it takes over a year for life to be "normal" again after the loss of one who is close. I agree, and on that note, find it odd that society seems to think that people who have suffered the death of a loved one need to "get over it" in a matter of weeks. I would like to think that deep down, they know this is not the case, but I would like to see grace being extended in more tangible ways regarding grief.
Anyway, so back to the hymn... The first two verses speak of trials and Satan's coming against people, but that Jesus is present with us. I like these words. They don't say, "Get over it." To me, they say, "Sometimes, life is going to suck, but Christ 'regards!!!' us even in the murkiness of it all." To me, these words also say that we can be in the thickest grief, or even depression, and have faith in Christ's never-failing presence. That doesn't make things all better, but it can be a comforting truth. After all, the verses don't speak of what WE have done, but instead of what Christ has done for us. WE don't have to be Sunshine Susanna's in order to be loved, forgiven, or worthwhile. It is GOD IN CHRIST who has come to and for us; stipulating nothing, but rather coming and giving freely.
And what of this "peace like a river?" Rivers can be peaceful, but they can also be violent and dangerous. But they are still rivers. Life is like a river, in many regards. Sometimes it is wide and calm, while other times it seems too narrow with rocks just below the surface. But in hope, may we trust that Christ is in the boat with us, suffers the same tosses that we do, and remains present regardless.
*Text: Horatio G. Spafford
*Tune: Philip P. Bliss
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Just Another Day
Today is another day in the life of Trish.
On this day last year, Sis and BiL brought Sunscreen home from the hospital. It seems a bit fitting that today is the day they are giving him his first birthday party. His actual birthday was May 21st, but because they both work and because life is busy, they postponed the party until the weekend. I am heading for "home" after I sleep a bit.
On this day eight years ago, when I was 17, my car was broken. It was a Wednesday, I think, and I was at work. Ma was supposed to come get me when I was done, but she forgot. I got a ride from a co-worker, but could not get into my house because it was locked. So, I had to walk all around town to try to find Ma to let me into the house. I was not a happy camper.
When I was a sophomore in high school, nine years ago, I had an Applied Biology/Chemistry final on this day. It was a beautiful day with sunshine and pleasant temperatures. I did well enough on the final, but science has never really been my thing.
Eleven years ago on this day, I graduated 8th grade at 1:00 in the afternoon. I walked with my boyfriend of the time because we were both the shortest kids in our class, and they paired us according to height. We were the first to walk because it went shortest to tallest. I was always the short kid, even until about 10th or 11th grade. Modern medicine is what let me grow to the height I am now (5 feet, 5 1/2 inches). I am the happiest person you will ever meet to be completely average.
Thirteen years ago, my part of Illinois was dealing with one of the rainiest Mays in several years. May 24, 1995 was a drizzly, cold, and gray day. So cold, in fact, that I wore a blue hooded sweatshirt with pink roses on it, with black jeans (it was cool to wear colored jeans back then). A friend YS and I shared had spent the night prior at our house, and was going to hang out with us and go on errands with us and our dad. This is the first May 24th that I remember, and I remember hours and hours of the day. It's really too bad it's not pleasant.
The point I reckon I'm trying to make is that "good" and "bad" things happen all the time. This day used to bring up horrible, awful, miserable images in my mind that led to horrible, awful, and miserable feelings for me, but I'm doing better now. I guess it's because I can see that May 24th is not a day destined for craptacularness; it's just another day, like all the other days. I remember this day for something bad, and I probably always will, but at the same time, I can look around me and see that good things happen on this day, too. I guess a lot of how a person feels has to do with how they look at what is around them.
The seesaw has gone the other way now, though. I was 12 on May 24, 1995, and here on May 24, 2008, 13 years have passed. It's just a little odd to think of what I was like back then, and on that day, and to think of me now.
Bad and good, indeed. But now, I need to get some sleep so I can celebrate a birthday later today. I love my boys.
On this day last year, Sis and BiL brought Sunscreen home from the hospital. It seems a bit fitting that today is the day they are giving him his first birthday party. His actual birthday was May 21st, but because they both work and because life is busy, they postponed the party until the weekend. I am heading for "home" after I sleep a bit.
On this day eight years ago, when I was 17, my car was broken. It was a Wednesday, I think, and I was at work. Ma was supposed to come get me when I was done, but she forgot. I got a ride from a co-worker, but could not get into my house because it was locked. So, I had to walk all around town to try to find Ma to let me into the house. I was not a happy camper.
When I was a sophomore in high school, nine years ago, I had an Applied Biology/Chemistry final on this day. It was a beautiful day with sunshine and pleasant temperatures. I did well enough on the final, but science has never really been my thing.
Eleven years ago on this day, I graduated 8th grade at 1:00 in the afternoon. I walked with my boyfriend of the time because we were both the shortest kids in our class, and they paired us according to height. We were the first to walk because it went shortest to tallest. I was always the short kid, even until about 10th or 11th grade. Modern medicine is what let me grow to the height I am now (5 feet, 5 1/2 inches). I am the happiest person you will ever meet to be completely average.
Thirteen years ago, my part of Illinois was dealing with one of the rainiest Mays in several years. May 24, 1995 was a drizzly, cold, and gray day. So cold, in fact, that I wore a blue hooded sweatshirt with pink roses on it, with black jeans (it was cool to wear colored jeans back then). A friend YS and I shared had spent the night prior at our house, and was going to hang out with us and go on errands with us and our dad. This is the first May 24th that I remember, and I remember hours and hours of the day. It's really too bad it's not pleasant.
The point I reckon I'm trying to make is that "good" and "bad" things happen all the time. This day used to bring up horrible, awful, miserable images in my mind that led to horrible, awful, and miserable feelings for me, but I'm doing better now. I guess it's because I can see that May 24th is not a day destined for craptacularness; it's just another day, like all the other days. I remember this day for something bad, and I probably always will, but at the same time, I can look around me and see that good things happen on this day, too. I guess a lot of how a person feels has to do with how they look at what is around them.
The seesaw has gone the other way now, though. I was 12 on May 24, 1995, and here on May 24, 2008, 13 years have passed. It's just a little odd to think of what I was like back then, and on that day, and to think of me now.
Bad and good, indeed. But now, I need to get some sleep so I can celebrate a birthday later today. I love my boys.
Friday, February 01, 2008
Yikes
So, I went "home" last Saturday because 3 of my 4 sibs, their significant others, children, and I were planning to go to the nursing home on Sunday and celebrate Ma's 68th birthday with her. OB was invited, he just didn't show.
Saturday was a pretty ordinary day, except in the evening, Sis and BiL invited me to dinner with BiL's sister and her boyfriend. I went because they already had a sitter for the boys and YS was at work. We went to a REALLY nice restaurant. It's called "The Fish House." I think they have them all over the place. I know there is one in Springfield. It was good food and good company, so all was well. Plus, they listened to me talk about my trip to I/P.
When Sunday morning rolled around, I went to church. I gave Pastor the "scrap" of olive wood he requested from Israel. I had it wrapped up in a plastic bag just in case it had bugs on it or something. He said, "What's this?" I told him that the people didn't really understand the concept of "scrap," and so I said to them, "uncarved olive wood." The guy looked at me like I was crazy, but said, "Let me go see." He brought me back a log of olive wood that probably was 3 inches in diameter and 14 inches long. Ha. Pastor laughed and I said, "I hope you can use it." He thinks it will be just fine, and in fact, said he'd probably start working with it today. He's going to make us some olive wood crosses, so I'm excited.
While we were waiting to go into the sanctuary before church started, people were talking to me and asking me how the trip went and things, and I was happy to tell them. But, pretty soon, the organ started playing, and I get a little nervous if I'm not in the sanctuary by the time the music starts playing. So, I went in.
The sermon Pastor delivered this past Sunday was REALLY good. And don't worry, I DID tell him I enjoyed it. It was about hope, even when things don't FEEL hopeful, and about how Jesus calls us to him and we are fed, kind of like when Pastor's childhood neighbor would beat on a bucket and say to the cows, "Here mboss," and all the cows would come in from the field because they KNEW that the bucket would lead them to one who cared for them. Even if that's just a case of classical conditioning. I'm not doing the sermon justice; let's just leave it at that. Oh, and because last Sunday's Gospel text had a bunch of places in it, Pastor looked down at me sitting there in my usual, 4th pew from the front on the pulpit side spot and saw me smiling. He said, "Trish just got back from a trip to the Holy Land and so she probably has an all new appreciation for reading about these biblical sites." And we talked for a quick minute and he made a joke and people laughed before he got back into the sermon. He's good like that.
When it was time to collect the offering, the organist started playing, obviously, and one of the ushers came forward and talked to the doctor who sits right in front of me. He got up and went out, and I figured someone in the congregation was having difficulties. A minute or so later, he called out, "Does anyone have any nitroglycerin tablets?" A woman from the congregation got up and went to offer hers. Pastor went back there while Doc was doing his thing, and I think he probably had a word of prayer or something-I don't know. I said a prayer for him.
The organist started playing the offertory and Pastor came back up front and concluded the service at warp-speed. He told us to dismiss out the sides because the ambulance was there taking care of "Hercules," an older gentleman of the congregation who I wrote about here, as the man who times my sermons.
As I walked out, Hercules had an oxygen mask on and was sitting in his pew still. He looked awful. He was all ashy-white and he looked worried, as would I if I were having a heart attack. I stood out in the fellowship hall to talk to more people if they wanted. I also was going to ask Herc's wife if she needed a ride, but I heard someone else ask her and she had things squared away. When the EMTs brought Herc out of the sanctuary on the stretcher, he looked even worse. They loaded him up and took off, with his wife soon following.
I learned later that he died. I am so sorry to hear that, but I "knew" it was going to happen. Remember this and this and this? Sometimes I just "know" these things because I've seen them before, and sometimes I just have a really strong suspicion. Hercules will be missed. He was a longtime member of the church, he had a fun laugh, and he was able to talk to people. One time before I was leading worship, he even called me over before the service to tell me about some guy who made the world record of number of skydives in a twenty-four hour period. It had been in the previous day's newspaper.
It was kind of weird not being the one "in charge" in the situation. I have seen 6 heart attacks close up. One happened when I was 4 or 5-My Aunt Joyce, who was severely mentally handicapped, had a heart attack on the couch in my parent's living room and died. I remember it pretty well. Both of my parents had heart attacks in 1995. I was with them both. Mom's wasn't evident though, so I didn't do anything. Dad's WAS, and so I did do something. Next was the guy at Restaurant, where I monitored the pulse and breathing of the customer who crashed pretty much as soon as the EMTs got there, and one heart attack was at the hospital when I was doing CPE, so obviously, I didn't do anything, and now, number 6, Hercules. Doc was doing what he could for someone who was conscious, breathing, and alert.
This most recent situation has made me think. Doc did everything he could to help Herc. And the things he did and the things I did for the guy at Restaurant were remarkably similar. Granted, the customer was unconscious and Herc was alert, but other than that-similar. So, I think I did everything "right," as they say, and it's not my fault. Good to know. Let me file that one away in my mind...
This has turned into a really long post, and I need to go medicate again. I'm out, yo.
Saturday was a pretty ordinary day, except in the evening, Sis and BiL invited me to dinner with BiL's sister and her boyfriend. I went because they already had a sitter for the boys and YS was at work. We went to a REALLY nice restaurant. It's called "The Fish House." I think they have them all over the place. I know there is one in Springfield. It was good food and good company, so all was well. Plus, they listened to me talk about my trip to I/P.
When Sunday morning rolled around, I went to church. I gave Pastor the "scrap" of olive wood he requested from Israel. I had it wrapped up in a plastic bag just in case it had bugs on it or something. He said, "What's this?" I told him that the people didn't really understand the concept of "scrap," and so I said to them, "uncarved olive wood." The guy looked at me like I was crazy, but said, "Let me go see." He brought me back a log of olive wood that probably was 3 inches in diameter and 14 inches long. Ha. Pastor laughed and I said, "I hope you can use it." He thinks it will be just fine, and in fact, said he'd probably start working with it today. He's going to make us some olive wood crosses, so I'm excited.
While we were waiting to go into the sanctuary before church started, people were talking to me and asking me how the trip went and things, and I was happy to tell them. But, pretty soon, the organ started playing, and I get a little nervous if I'm not in the sanctuary by the time the music starts playing. So, I went in.
The sermon Pastor delivered this past Sunday was REALLY good. And don't worry, I DID tell him I enjoyed it. It was about hope, even when things don't FEEL hopeful, and about how Jesus calls us to him and we are fed, kind of like when Pastor's childhood neighbor would beat on a bucket and say to the cows, "Here mboss," and all the cows would come in from the field because they KNEW that the bucket would lead them to one who cared for them. Even if that's just a case of classical conditioning. I'm not doing the sermon justice; let's just leave it at that. Oh, and because last Sunday's Gospel text had a bunch of places in it, Pastor looked down at me sitting there in my usual, 4th pew from the front on the pulpit side spot and saw me smiling. He said, "Trish just got back from a trip to the Holy Land and so she probably has an all new appreciation for reading about these biblical sites." And we talked for a quick minute and he made a joke and people laughed before he got back into the sermon. He's good like that.
When it was time to collect the offering, the organist started playing, obviously, and one of the ushers came forward and talked to the doctor who sits right in front of me. He got up and went out, and I figured someone in the congregation was having difficulties. A minute or so later, he called out, "Does anyone have any nitroglycerin tablets?" A woman from the congregation got up and went to offer hers. Pastor went back there while Doc was doing his thing, and I think he probably had a word of prayer or something-I don't know. I said a prayer for him.
The organist started playing the offertory and Pastor came back up front and concluded the service at warp-speed. He told us to dismiss out the sides because the ambulance was there taking care of "Hercules," an older gentleman of the congregation who I wrote about here, as the man who times my sermons.
As I walked out, Hercules had an oxygen mask on and was sitting in his pew still. He looked awful. He was all ashy-white and he looked worried, as would I if I were having a heart attack. I stood out in the fellowship hall to talk to more people if they wanted. I also was going to ask Herc's wife if she needed a ride, but I heard someone else ask her and she had things squared away. When the EMTs brought Herc out of the sanctuary on the stretcher, he looked even worse. They loaded him up and took off, with his wife soon following.
I learned later that he died. I am so sorry to hear that, but I "knew" it was going to happen. Remember this and this and this? Sometimes I just "know" these things because I've seen them before, and sometimes I just have a really strong suspicion. Hercules will be missed. He was a longtime member of the church, he had a fun laugh, and he was able to talk to people. One time before I was leading worship, he even called me over before the service to tell me about some guy who made the world record of number of skydives in a twenty-four hour period. It had been in the previous day's newspaper.
It was kind of weird not being the one "in charge" in the situation. I have seen 6 heart attacks close up. One happened when I was 4 or 5-My Aunt Joyce, who was severely mentally handicapped, had a heart attack on the couch in my parent's living room and died. I remember it pretty well. Both of my parents had heart attacks in 1995. I was with them both. Mom's wasn't evident though, so I didn't do anything. Dad's WAS, and so I did do something. Next was the guy at Restaurant, where I monitored the pulse and breathing of the customer who crashed pretty much as soon as the EMTs got there, and one heart attack was at the hospital when I was doing CPE, so obviously, I didn't do anything, and now, number 6, Hercules. Doc was doing what he could for someone who was conscious, breathing, and alert.
This most recent situation has made me think. Doc did everything he could to help Herc. And the things he did and the things I did for the guy at Restaurant were remarkably similar. Granted, the customer was unconscious and Herc was alert, but other than that-similar. So, I think I did everything "right," as they say, and it's not my fault. Good to know. Let me file that one away in my mind...
This has turned into a really long post, and I need to go medicate again. I'm out, yo.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
And not really a good story, at that.
*big sigh* I'm not sure you all want to read about this, so if you're especially sensitive or not in the mood for a real bummer, please stop reading now.
Friday night, I was at Restaurant. The night was going along fine, although at around 5:30 or 6:00 I started feeling really light-headed and kinda queasy. But, I couldn't just say, "Hey Boss, I don't feel well, so I'm going to go home, ok?" I just stayed. I didn't really feel "sick" per se, I just didn't feel quite right. But anyway, I kept trucking along.
We weren't especially busy Friday, although we had a party of 12 that I waited on. I also waited on a bunch of twos and a few fours and what not. Well, I had my party of 12 all watered, coffeed, and soda-popped. They also had their food. I then had a couple to wait on. At Restaurant, the tables are set up in rows. On the left hand side of the room are tables L1-L5. Then there is row M1-M4 in the middle, and R1-R3 on the right hand side. So, I was waiting on a couple at L2. I had given them their drinks and they ordered and I had just taken their menus when I heard a loud crash at L1 (approximately 10 feet away from me). I looked at this man who looked like he was having a seizure. A few people started murmuring and I threw the menus back down on L2 and dropped my order book into my apron. I ran over to the wife of this man and I said, "Do you need us to call an ambulance?" (Thinking maybe he was epileptic and would snap out of it in a moment and not want the added 'embarrassment' of having had to call the bus). The wife said, "Yes, I think maybe you should." So, I ran into the bar room and said, "Boss, call 911 right now. There's a man in there who needs an ambulance!" I would have called myself, but the phone in the kitchen hasn't been charging and wasn't working at all. So, Boss calls 911 and I run back into the dining room. The man is upright in his chair and his eyes are open, but he is not responding. All of a sudden, someone says, "Does anyone know CPR?!" I say, "I do." So, it seems that all eyes are on me. I think back to my First Aid days and I say, "We need to get him straight on the floor with his head tilted back to establish an airway!" So, the man who was closest grabbed onto this guy and we get him on the floor. By that time, the wife is crying and some other patrons are trying to console her. So, this guy is on the floor and I say, "Tilt his head and listen, look and feel if he's breathing. The guy who lifted him to the floor did that while I put my fingers on his neck to see if he had a pulse. The guy said, "Yeah, I can hear breathing, but it's really shallow. Another woman said, "I feel a pulse" (in his wrist) and I felt a pulse in his neck. Someone says, "Do you need to do CPR?!" And I say, "No. He has a pulse and he's breathing. If we do CPR, we'll hurt him. You can't do CPR so long as they have a pulse. So, by that time, a whole bunch of people are kinda standing around looking at what's going on. Someone from the kitchen brought me a cool washcloth and I (not wanting to put my fingers into an unresponsive man's mouth) try to get the little pieces of food off of his slightly protruding tongue. He didn't have big pieces of food in his mouth, so I don't worry too much about choking, but I wipe him off a little bit in case I was going to have to start rescue breathing. I had realized that he was in fact, probably not having a seizure, but more likely a stroke or heart attack.
So, this man is laying on the floor. I'm kneeling next to him, checking his pulse in his neck, another woman is monitoring his pulse in his wrist, and the man who was helping us kept his face down to make sure the guy was still breathing. Every couple of minutes he would breathe in deep, but then he'd go shallow again. I turn to the wife and say, "Does he take nitro?" She says, "No." Then I hear a woman who had been at the table right next to theirs say, "I have nitro!" I say, "We can't use it if it's not prescribed to him." So we're all there monitoring him. Then, I look up and see this cop standing there, so I move away, thinking he would want to take charge. About the time the cop showed up, people said, "Here are the EMTs" SO I definitely hauled it away from there. I know enough not to try to be a hero and get in the way of EMTS. Unfortunately, the EMTs hadn't actually come IN to the restaurant yet. They had just arrived out front. But they were in very expeditiously. When I left that man, he had a pulse and a heartbeat; although both were weak. And I went into the kitchen to get out of the way. I turn in the order I took right before all this begins. I tell the cook that the food on the counter can't go out right now because it's too the table right next to where the EMTs are about to start working. I look out the kitchen door into the dining room and I see them doing CPR on the guy and then I go out and kind of make sure my customers are doing ok. I didn't know what else to do at that point. Oh yeah, for sanitation's sake, you'll be happy to know as soon as I stepped away from the man, I did go wash my hands thoroughly. About that time, I heard them say, "NO one come near the cot right now." And they shocked him. And they loaded him onto the stretcher and I could see them doing CPR some more and the one EMT telling the wife that they would do everything they could for him.
In the meantime of all this happening, people are using cell phones like crazy trying to find this couple's daughter and son in law. Being from Podunk, I know Daughter and SiL, although I don't know the couple. The wife is sitting there crying and all her consolers have kind of left and I go up to her and say, "Ma'am, do you need anything at all?" and she says, "No, dear. Thank you for your kindness." Then I hear, "D and SiL are going to meet them in HospitalTown." HospitalTown is about 20 minutes away from Podunk, by the way. So the EMTs left and we got everything cleaned up and people were basically stunned and I'm fairly certain upset about what had happened. And I was praying like crazy for that man, and wondering how we would find out if he made it or not.
After they took him, I floated around to the tables to try to calm my nerves (I was physically shaking by that time) when I went back and saw this group who comes in fairly regularly. I said, "How are you all doing back here? Need more tea or water or anything?" And they said, "We're fine. How are you? We saw you jump to action over there." I replied that I was fine, and then I went about doing other things. At the end of the night, I went to Sis's house, as per usual on Fridays because I try to spend weekends there. Needless to say, I didn't sleep real well.
Saturday morning rolls around and I wake up before my alarm goes off. I was having bad dreams, I think. I hear an ambulance go by a few streets down. All of a sudden, Nise comes into "my" room and says, "Trish, you need to get up. We need to go to the hospital." I bolt upright in bed and say, "WHY!?" (thinking the ambulance took someone I know and love) She said, "Mom had to go to the ER. She's having some bleeding." So, we got up, got ready, and left. On the way out of town, we saw Daughter and SiL's van at the funeral home. I guess the man didn't make it. Damn, I feel useless.
You all might be surprised to know that this is not the first time I've attempted to help someone in cardiac duress. When I was 12, I was riding in the car with my younger sister, our friend, and our dad. We had been running some errands when we had a flat tire. Dad got out to fix it and decided that before we went to "town" he needed to clean up. On the way home, he had a heart attack. Because I was in the front seat, I had to get the car stopped before we hit oncoming traffic. I put us in the ditch and Sis and Friend got out. I stayed and tried to give CPR. I didn't know CPR back then though. Dad died that day.
Ever since then, I've had periods where I feel tremendously guilty about not being able to help. I always vowed that if anyone ever had a heart attack in my presence again, I'd do my best to help them. Well, again, it didn't work. And I feel guilty, again. I want to talk to the daughter and tell her that I'm sorry that I couldn't help her dad, but I don't think I could handle it if she was mad at me for not doing more. Deep down, I know that we did all we could to help, but it's still a sore spot for me.
I'm just sad about the whole thing.
Friday night, I was at Restaurant. The night was going along fine, although at around 5:30 or 6:00 I started feeling really light-headed and kinda queasy. But, I couldn't just say, "Hey Boss, I don't feel well, so I'm going to go home, ok?" I just stayed. I didn't really feel "sick" per se, I just didn't feel quite right. But anyway, I kept trucking along.
We weren't especially busy Friday, although we had a party of 12 that I waited on. I also waited on a bunch of twos and a few fours and what not. Well, I had my party of 12 all watered, coffeed, and soda-popped. They also had their food. I then had a couple to wait on. At Restaurant, the tables are set up in rows. On the left hand side of the room are tables L1-L5. Then there is row M1-M4 in the middle, and R1-R3 on the right hand side. So, I was waiting on a couple at L2. I had given them their drinks and they ordered and I had just taken their menus when I heard a loud crash at L1 (approximately 10 feet away from me). I looked at this man who looked like he was having a seizure. A few people started murmuring and I threw the menus back down on L2 and dropped my order book into my apron. I ran over to the wife of this man and I said, "Do you need us to call an ambulance?" (Thinking maybe he was epileptic and would snap out of it in a moment and not want the added 'embarrassment' of having had to call the bus). The wife said, "Yes, I think maybe you should." So, I ran into the bar room and said, "Boss, call 911 right now. There's a man in there who needs an ambulance!" I would have called myself, but the phone in the kitchen hasn't been charging and wasn't working at all. So, Boss calls 911 and I run back into the dining room. The man is upright in his chair and his eyes are open, but he is not responding. All of a sudden, someone says, "Does anyone know CPR?!" I say, "I do." So, it seems that all eyes are on me. I think back to my First Aid days and I say, "We need to get him straight on the floor with his head tilted back to establish an airway!" So, the man who was closest grabbed onto this guy and we get him on the floor. By that time, the wife is crying and some other patrons are trying to console her. So, this guy is on the floor and I say, "Tilt his head and listen, look and feel if he's breathing. The guy who lifted him to the floor did that while I put my fingers on his neck to see if he had a pulse. The guy said, "Yeah, I can hear breathing, but it's really shallow. Another woman said, "I feel a pulse" (in his wrist) and I felt a pulse in his neck. Someone says, "Do you need to do CPR?!" And I say, "No. He has a pulse and he's breathing. If we do CPR, we'll hurt him. You can't do CPR so long as they have a pulse. So, by that time, a whole bunch of people are kinda standing around looking at what's going on. Someone from the kitchen brought me a cool washcloth and I (not wanting to put my fingers into an unresponsive man's mouth) try to get the little pieces of food off of his slightly protruding tongue. He didn't have big pieces of food in his mouth, so I don't worry too much about choking, but I wipe him off a little bit in case I was going to have to start rescue breathing. I had realized that he was in fact, probably not having a seizure, but more likely a stroke or heart attack.
So, this man is laying on the floor. I'm kneeling next to him, checking his pulse in his neck, another woman is monitoring his pulse in his wrist, and the man who was helping us kept his face down to make sure the guy was still breathing. Every couple of minutes he would breathe in deep, but then he'd go shallow again. I turn to the wife and say, "Does he take nitro?" She says, "No." Then I hear a woman who had been at the table right next to theirs say, "I have nitro!" I say, "We can't use it if it's not prescribed to him." So we're all there monitoring him. Then, I look up and see this cop standing there, so I move away, thinking he would want to take charge. About the time the cop showed up, people said, "Here are the EMTs" SO I definitely hauled it away from there. I know enough not to try to be a hero and get in the way of EMTS. Unfortunately, the EMTs hadn't actually come IN to the restaurant yet. They had just arrived out front. But they were in very expeditiously. When I left that man, he had a pulse and a heartbeat; although both were weak. And I went into the kitchen to get out of the way. I turn in the order I took right before all this begins. I tell the cook that the food on the counter can't go out right now because it's too the table right next to where the EMTs are about to start working. I look out the kitchen door into the dining room and I see them doing CPR on the guy and then I go out and kind of make sure my customers are doing ok. I didn't know what else to do at that point. Oh yeah, for sanitation's sake, you'll be happy to know as soon as I stepped away from the man, I did go wash my hands thoroughly. About that time, I heard them say, "NO one come near the cot right now." And they shocked him. And they loaded him onto the stretcher and I could see them doing CPR some more and the one EMT telling the wife that they would do everything they could for him.
In the meantime of all this happening, people are using cell phones like crazy trying to find this couple's daughter and son in law. Being from Podunk, I know Daughter and SiL, although I don't know the couple. The wife is sitting there crying and all her consolers have kind of left and I go up to her and say, "Ma'am, do you need anything at all?" and she says, "No, dear. Thank you for your kindness." Then I hear, "D and SiL are going to meet them in HospitalTown." HospitalTown is about 20 minutes away from Podunk, by the way. So the EMTs left and we got everything cleaned up and people were basically stunned and I'm fairly certain upset about what had happened. And I was praying like crazy for that man, and wondering how we would find out if he made it or not.
After they took him, I floated around to the tables to try to calm my nerves (I was physically shaking by that time) when I went back and saw this group who comes in fairly regularly. I said, "How are you all doing back here? Need more tea or water or anything?" And they said, "We're fine. How are you? We saw you jump to action over there." I replied that I was fine, and then I went about doing other things. At the end of the night, I went to Sis's house, as per usual on Fridays because I try to spend weekends there. Needless to say, I didn't sleep real well.
Saturday morning rolls around and I wake up before my alarm goes off. I was having bad dreams, I think. I hear an ambulance go by a few streets down. All of a sudden, Nise comes into "my" room and says, "Trish, you need to get up. We need to go to the hospital." I bolt upright in bed and say, "WHY!?" (thinking the ambulance took someone I know and love) She said, "Mom had to go to the ER. She's having some bleeding." So, we got up, got ready, and left. On the way out of town, we saw Daughter and SiL's van at the funeral home. I guess the man didn't make it. Damn, I feel useless.
You all might be surprised to know that this is not the first time I've attempted to help someone in cardiac duress. When I was 12, I was riding in the car with my younger sister, our friend, and our dad. We had been running some errands when we had a flat tire. Dad got out to fix it and decided that before we went to "town" he needed to clean up. On the way home, he had a heart attack. Because I was in the front seat, I had to get the car stopped before we hit oncoming traffic. I put us in the ditch and Sis and Friend got out. I stayed and tried to give CPR. I didn't know CPR back then though. Dad died that day.
Ever since then, I've had periods where I feel tremendously guilty about not being able to help. I always vowed that if anyone ever had a heart attack in my presence again, I'd do my best to help them. Well, again, it didn't work. And I feel guilty, again. I want to talk to the daughter and tell her that I'm sorry that I couldn't help her dad, but I don't think I could handle it if she was mad at me for not doing more. Deep down, I know that we did all we could to help, but it's still a sore spot for me.
I'm just sad about the whole thing.
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