I Want to Fill My Life With Things I Will Never Regret

I went to see one of my patients today. She had cancelled her last three home visits. I had caught up with her, in the meantime, by dropping by her oncologist's office during the time I knew her appointment was. It was the first time I had seen her out of her home. She looked so different...all bundled up and hidden...only a little of her face showed beneath the hat she was wearing. She looked so sad. I didn't know it then, but she had just had to have her dog of eighteen years put down the week before.

Today, I went to see her. I was so glad she hadn't cancelled this visit. I called ahead to let her know what time I would be arriving, but only got her answering machine. That was a first. I chalked it up to her depression...not guessing she might not be home, simply assuming she had wearied of answering calls.

The day had begun so warm I hadn't needed a jacket when I had left home for work. Within the span of less than an hour, though, the temperature had dropped over twenty degrees and continued to plummet. By the time I arrived at her house, the wind was in a frenzy, mercilessly whipping hard little sleet flakes horizontally along, not allowing them to reach the ground. I rang her doorbell. Silence. No barking. I knew something was wrong then. Her three dogs always raised such a fuss each time I came to the door...the Australian Shepherd that she always put into the garage before I came (worried she might bite), the hyperactive little gray poodle that we would have to shut out of her bedroom before I changed her dressings because there was no way to keep her off the bed and out of the middle of things, short of locking her out of the room...and the older, emaciated, gray poodle that wore carefully tailored newborn pampers because she had long since lost control of her bladder. The older poodle moved so slowly and stiffly. She always came into the bedroom and laid quietly on a pillow on the floor next to the bed. Her loud, rhythmic snores would begin almost before I had the old dressings gently teased away from her master's sore skin.

The dogs were gone. I went back to my car and began dialing the number of her oncologist to see if the nurses there knew where she was. I thought, "Maybe she went to Kansas City to stay a little while with her friend." I was interupted by a knock on my window. A man I had never seen before stood there...his thin jacket being whipped about by the wind. He was her neighbor from across the street. He told me she had died a few days ago, just a few hours after being admitted to the hospital. There had been no funeral. She didn't want one. Her dear friend from Kansas City had been with her as she died...and later, she had placed the ash remains of the older poodle alongside her in the casket. Her friend had taken the other two dogs back to KC to live with her.

She is my third patient to die since I began my new job, here, five months ago. Like the first patient, she had no family...but, she had a friend who was her family. It makes me realize how important friendships are. There is a verse in the Bible that says there is a friend that sticks closer than a brother... The connections we have with those around us are so important. When all the dross is burned away, what will remain will be the love and time we have invested into the lives of others. It isn't the big things...but the tiny, seemingly insignificant pieces that remain. God whispers...and so often I am too busy. He whispered to me to go see Mike when he was hospitalized in Springfield with what seemed a routine complication. Springfield is a bit of a drive...and, being new to the area, I have no idea where the hospital is in Springfield. I meant to go see Mike. I had dropped in on him when he had had a brief hospital stay here in town...but I didn't get around to it. I called to speak with his nurses. I asked if he had visitors...knowing he had no family and that his friends (neighbors) lived about an hour and a half from Springfield. He didn't. My heart was pricked. I needed to go see him. But, that weekend was so full. The next week was too late. He died. Alone. I heard God's whisper, but I hadn't had time.

Just before Christmas, Barb had lost most of her ability to taste (a side effect of her chemo treatments)...but, she mentioned to me one visit that pizza still tasted good. Grant, the kids and I were planning on going to Texas for Christmas. I was running so short on time. I didn't have my aunt's present finished yet (a blanket I was sewing with patches the kids had used fabric paint to draw on)...I didn't have our clothes packed...the house was a mess...and I heard that whisper...take Barbara a pizza. We put off our planned departure by one day so I could get things done...and I took a break in my frenzied sewing to call Barbara up and ask her if I could bring a pizza over. I didn't know her friend from KC was there with her. I brought my youngest daughter and two pizzas. Rayna played with the younger poodle while Barbara, her dear friend, and I visited over the pizza.

Today, when I called her friend to tell her I was so sorry for her loss, she ended our conversation reminiscing about our "pizza party". I never got to tell Mike good-bye...and I didn't know Barbara had died until several days after it had happened...but the two losses feel so differently in my heart. There is a sad peace in my heart this time, instead of that hollow regret. I want to live my life listening to the whispers...carried along by His whispers...