Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Another Goodbye Story

Pam had a birthday around Thanksgiving.  Her daughters, ignoring her diabetic diet restrictions, showered her with rich food and desserts.  Actually, they did that all the time.

Just looking at Pam, it was obvious that eating was a favorite activity.  And to spend a few minutes with her, you'd learn that laughing and story telling were also favorites.  The jolly fat person, with the hearty laugh and jiggling belly.

Before Christmas, she called me to her room and handed me a gift bag.  I thought;  She likes me so much she's gotten me a gift.  How nice! 

It wasn't for me. 

She'd been looking through a toy catalog and saw a special spinning top.  Two pieces attached, put them together, wind them up tight and push the button releasing the top to whirl crazily around flashing bright lights in several colors.

"I thought your Deaf son would appreciate it."

He did.  We did.

She got a little weepy one night, looking at old photos of Christmas' past, when her kids were little.  In detail, describing the parties they would have every year.  The house wall to wall people. Needing to open the front and back doors to let the air flow through, as back then, everyone smoked.

Hazy pictures of smiling, smoking, drinking good times.  Her husband a smaller person than she, but just as jolly. 

I asked her how they'd met. 

When Pam was fifteen, her twenty year old sister had a boyfriend Jack.  They'd dated for some time, and before he set off to war overseas, gave her a ring.  They'd be married when he returned.

He wrote to her every day.  Months worth of letters piled up as her sister went on with her life.  And found someone else.  And mailed his ring back to him.  She broke his heart.

Pam thought her sister was a jerk, and felt awful about what she'd done to Jack.  So Pam started to write to him.  For a year or two, they wrote back and forth, perfectly innocently; she still mostly a child, and he a soldier at war.

She was eighteen and working at a soda fountain when a uniformed soldier sat down at the counter.

It was Jack, coming to thank Pam for her letters.

Pam and Jack were married for forty something years.  A set of twins, two other children, big house, big family, happy years.

Pam's sister married three times, never quite satisfied, never quite happy, never had children.

Pam lost Jack ten years ago, and remembered him to me often with a twinkle in her eye.

We lost Pam, unexpectedly, this morning.

I'd told her once, that had I the time, I would sit with her and type her stories for her, so full of them she was, and loved telling them.  We both knew it wasn't likely to happen.

I did assume though, that I'd get to say goodbye to her.

Well.  I guess I just did.

37 comments:

  1. Yes, you did just tell her story very well. And it touched me. Thank you.

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  2. I think I'm allergic to your blog. My eyes seem to water when I'm hanging around.

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  3. Oh man... my heart hurts...

    ~shoes~

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  4. i have chills...i am sorry you lost your friend.

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  5. Oh, Tulpen...how much more can a heart stand????

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  6. I love the way you write these stories. The way these people are remembered and honoured after they die. I read this one out to my husband.

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  7. You have the best patients. I makes me jealous since my pt are sometimes over 500lbs and need my help finding their penis so that they can pee.

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  8. Thanks for sharing Pam and her life with us. I hang on to every word of these stories - I think it's just awesome that you take the time to record these folks' lives and tales.

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  9. Thank you for writing this and sharing it with us.

    Everey single person has a story; sometimes more than most.

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  10. I am so glad your patients have you to care for them instead of someone who just has a job to do. It makes me happy that at least that small group of people get to spend time with someone with a heart like yours before they go, and I wish everyone could be so lucky.

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  11. Sorry for the passing of your friend, she sounded like a cool chic.

    I am amazed at your strength of soul.

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  12. There you go again, reminding us you aren't just a foul mouth broad.
    Love your stories and your heart.

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  13. I feel like I can't just skim the obits. I either have to skip them entirely or take the time to read them...although they're never 1/2 as good as this. There must be thousands of stories behind every one of them.

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  14. Love the way you wrote this! I'm sorry you lost a friend. No words in the world can make it better.......

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  15. I'm pretty sure you could write a book telling the stories of your patients. All have such beautiful stories and you tell them well. I am certain their families would be proud and they are smiling down from heaven.

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  16. I LOVE YOU TULPEN!

    but I won't tell anyone

    xoxoxo

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  17. That was beautiful. May we all have caregivers like you when we reach our end stages of life. You really know how to connect with them.

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  18. You really bring your patients to life for your readers. What a gift (to them...and us).

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  19. Ah, man! I had a student on a new medication crying earlier, and I have a strict rule that in my classroom, no one cries alone. I had another student write about his father's death, a student who isn't very open about his feelings, so it just slayed me. Now your good bye - I am in the fetal position under my desk.

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  20. Amazing post...about an amazing woman. What a wonderful story to share.

    I often wonder why we don't hear more of these kinds of stories, and less about the burden of elderly folk. These stories are GEMS. I don't think they are all that rare. I just don't think that many folks have the patience to listen.

    Thanks for sharing Tulpen.

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  21. I am so sorry for the loss of your friends. :( It sounds like she had a special place in your heart and you in hers.

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  22. I'm with Snuggle - I don't approve of this crying thing I'm doing now.

    Not cool.

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  23. Sounds like a life well lived. Once more, I think this every time I read one of these posts... thank goodness for the kindness and caring you showed her at the end of her life. Thanks for sharing.

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  24. Beautiful way to pay tribute to Pam. What an amazing love story. Thanks for sharing her.

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  25. oh girl. i am so sorry. pam sounds like she was a gem, and i love the story about her and her husband. WAH! you know i am a sentimental sally (particularly lately), so this brought tears to my eyes. people come and go, and it is so strange. and so sad when they leave.

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  26. I'm sure you deal with this often in your line of work - and I don't know how you do it, becoming close with these people - friends, even. Pam was lucky to have had you in her life.

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  27. Your patients are lucky to have you leave a bit of their legacy on your blog. You always honor them so beautifully.

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  28. Aw, Pam. Doesn't sound like she left anything un-lived, but still. She sounds like someone the world is a little darker without.

    *Adds one to the running tab of throat punches owed*

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  29. Your hospital stories remind me that the most important thing in life is to sit down and listen.

    Thank you.

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  30. RIP, Pam. And big ole hugs to piss you off, Tulpen.

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  31. So, is this the way it's going to be around here? My Lord, I'm going to have to invest in some Kleenex instead of ripping off a hunk of toilet paper when I'm all snuffly from crying.

    I'd say you did a beautiful job eulogizing Pam. I love hearing the stories of people. It's sad that there are far too many of the elderly with no one who cares about their stories.

    Hug it out, again, even if you're not a hugger.

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