Don’t Take Life For Granted…At Least Not For A Little While

Yesterday, I sat with family members, as one of us had her chest cut open to repair the damage life has done to her, and I got to thinking……….

Now, some of you know that it can be fairly dangerous for me to get to thinking, but it can hardly be prevented.

I had cried and prayed the day and night before, for my cousin. I didn’t want to go to the hospital; like most of you, I had had a few bad experiences there, but family is family, after all. We owe it to them to be there, simply because it will be us one day, more than likely.

I looked around, past the big group of us, at other people in the waiting room. They all looked so weary. I wanted to hug every one of them.

Instead, I went to the little side room with a magazine and got coffee.

I sat there, not really seeing the magazine, but picturing my cousin’s chest being torn open, the machines, the doctors and nurses in masks and gloves, the blood, the heart exposed and being cut. I pushed the magazine to the side and laid my head on the table.

An older man came into the room.

When I say older, I probably mean he was around my age. (I have difficulty being “older”.)

He got coffee, sat down across from me, and just looked at me with a little smile.

At first, I was a bit irritated that he could smile while I was upset and praying.

But, I raised my head, smiled back at him, and used the tried and true southern phrase, “How you doin’?”

Here is what he said. “I have been here for so many weeks; I don’t even know how long it has been. My wife is here; she has fought and fought for her life for so long. The children and grandchildren are on their way here.”

“Great!” I said. “ She will be so happy to see all of them, I know!”

I picked up my coffee and magazine and started toward the waiting room to join the throng of cousins we always seem to have at times like this.

But….the little man didn’t stop talking….he continued as though I still sat there in front of him.

“She can’t fight anymore. She is too weak and the doctors say she will never wake up. The kids are coming in, and we are going to stop her life support.”

I came to a screeching halt, almost spilling coffee, and turned around.

He was looking out the window. He continued.

“We have shared our lives for nearly forty five years. She has been the best wife a man could ever wish for. I held her hand today, and told her what the plans were, that the doctors say she is ready to leave this earth. I love that woman, and I hate to do it, but we can’t keep on with this.”

He put his forehead against the window.

“I dread it for the kids, though.” He sighed.

Now, Lord knows I am southern through and through, and a southern woman does not think twice before hugging a stranger.

I sat my things down, went to him, and took him in my arms.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

We sat and talked for a while. These are simple, country people, and he didn’t mind pouring out his heart a little.

That’s when I got to thinking………….

Sometimes we ask for too much, I think. Here I was, with a cousin in surgery, and feeling sorry for her, for myself, and for all of us gathered to wait for news. We already knew the surgery was going well, and we had relaxed a bit.

And here sat a man, who is about to follow through with a choice he has made…the choice to end the life of a wife he has had since he was young.

As we talked, I realized… this is the woman who loved him back, birthed his children, cleaned his house, washed his clothing, cooked his meals, treated skinned knees, wiped tears off their children’s faces, dealt with teachers, church, pets, and untied shoelaces.

She watched with pride as their grandchildren played around her.

She cut their kids hair with old scissors, laughed and cried along with him, learned to drive an old Chevy from him, picked turnip greens alongside him in the garden, and made sure his diabetes diet was followed to a tee.

He finally got up and said, “I hope you have a great day, and that your cousin gets well. I already prayed for all of you. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

I had to go to the bathroom and cry a little. I miss my Momma so much, but I am not alone in this. Everyone, I know, has someone to miss.

Life is a lot like popcorn that is both sweet and salty. You get both every time you take a bite, and it’s the same with our lives.

Today, I am gonna check on my cousin. Today, I am also going to remember that man, that family, who lost their mother last night after I left the hospital.

I will picture them gathered around her bed, waiting. Maybe they held hands, maybe they smiled or cried, or both. Maybe he pictured her when she was healthy, young and beautiful, and her skirts blew in the breeze. (I sometimes remember my Momma that way.) Maybe they all were remembering the hugs and kisses their mother gave them. Maybe they could smell the cookies she made them, and picture the times she sewed Easter dresses.