My new BFF is a Canadian Black Lab named Kirby. I'd call this a shout out, since praise and props in e-form are regaled as shout-outs. But alas, dogs can't read, or respond for that matter. Nevertheless, here is my tribute to a dog.
Dogs are funny things. Highly emotional and sensitive characters, they are quick to forget how much doting attention you give them if you take too long to let them out the last time or if you didn't quite fill up their food dish or dump in cool enough water at their appropriate feeding times. And yet dogs are the first to welcome you, the last to see you go, and generally a constant companion. Kirby is so relentless in his companionship that he actually camps outside the bathroom door when I decide I need a shower or 5 minutes of respite from the aforementioned dog.
We could all use a few dogs. Or perhaps a few dog-like people. No, not people who will drool all over your car windows or snore next to your bed when you desperately try to rest. No, people who are loyal, present and concerned for your well-being. It's common practice for nursing homes to have such pets, and, if they must, fluffy-tailed cats, who, I might add, are nowhere near as loving as short-hair tailed dogs. Nursing homes do this because people don't.
Of course today I met a family who, among the siblings, meticulously care for their mother in one nursing home and their father in another nursing home that is an egregious amount of miles away. They do this as if it was nothing. They are not the only ones.
But, of course, there are people who are neglected by family and friends who have left to live their own lives. Last week I visited a woman who was all alone; a woman whose only personal note in her file read something like, "do not call if her medicines change, do not call if her status changes. Only call if she actually dies." Sad. The woman was agitated and alone and I was asked to pray for her life to end. A scary thing, no?
We've talked about this in class before: when to pray like hell for healing and when to pray like hell for heaven to finally come. I'm told I'll get a feeling for this, but as a green chaplain, I was more than happy to receive such direction.
Generally when I pray, I pray for comfort, peace, joy and love. For patients to be comforted, to feel the least amount of pain possible. I pray for peace, peace between family members, peace for the patient, and peace for their loved ones after the patient dies. Joy, I pray for joy; I'm not sure whose joy, the patient's or mine. I pray for love, that it may abound for all. I don't typically pray for healing. In Hospice care the prognosis is usually death. But praying for death to finally come. Eish.
My prayer was fulfilled.
Such prayers are filled by the multitude these days, though my only action around these deaths are to cross names from my list. In fact, all whom I have reflected upon in my blog have now died. Nevertheless, Colin sees far more death than I. We are both surprised. Such a reality makes us both glad to have one another and my new BFF Kirby, the smiling face at the end of the day, the constant request to receive attention, and the wagging tale that tells me I am loved. Two are better than one...a three-cord strand cannot be broken (Ecclesiastes 4:9-12).
Do take care and love one another. Peace.
Photo compliment of Blake Grangaard
Hey Jeni,
Peace, love, death -- it's a funny mix. I'm glad you have such a handsome fella keeping you company as you navigate these waters. Scratch his ears for me.
Jenny B.
Posted by: Jenny Bartholomew | June 29, 2007 at 04:45 PM
Scratch Colin's ears for me too please!!!
Doug
Posted by: Doug Holtz | July 16, 2007 at 10:40 PM