I was observing a class that my upstairs assistant was
conducting and making mental notes on the group when a rather large man in a nice business suit just
outside the door caught my eye. He was pressed
against the wall of the TV room fidgeting with the change in his pocket unable
to hide his discomfort with being on the lockdown ward. By the looks of his
clothing and disposition he could have been a lawyer returning from closing
arguments or businessman buying up a trillion dollar parcel of land. His soft eyes
were fixed on our new resident who was seated in a wheelchair
picking at his shirt and roaming in and out
of his emotions with a heightened agitation. This resident had erupted twice with a
violent attack on two nurses and a maintenance man who were now consumed with
trying to restrain him. The last nurse was punched so hard that I thought he
knocked her out so I exited the room to take her place in the struggle to get him under control. It took 5 of us secure him the
wheelchair and almost an hour to wear down his resolve.
The large man in the nice suit walked up to our patient once he calmed down and tried to engage him in conversation, "Do you know who I am?" His voice swimming deep in uncertainty lined up that question again and again but each attempt was with a vacant drug induced stare falling limp with lethargy and exhaustion. The new resident pushed away from the man in annoyance. Unable to process what he should do the large man eased off the wall and walked closer. "It's me… Jim!" The man in the wheelchair was following his own thoughts and did not reply. "We've been best friends for twenty years, remember?" I drew a deep breath in empathy as I didn't mean to be riffling through a conversation that didn't belong to me but the safety of the patient and our staff kept me perched close enough to hear every word. My own thoughts wondered what must it feel like to share your life, love, secrets, beliefs and dreams with your best friend for twenty years and then to be wiped from their hearts in less than a second in a head on collision that killed his wife and left him brain damaged. To look into the same eyes that used to reach into your soul and drag out the very best of you buried under all your own doubts and wash you clean with the declaration "THIS is who I see in you!" And now those eyes fall blind in a mind that no longer lives.
The large man in the nice suit walked up to our patient once he calmed down and tried to engage him in conversation, "Do you know who I am?" His voice swimming deep in uncertainty lined up that question again and again but each attempt was with a vacant drug induced stare falling limp with lethargy and exhaustion. The new resident pushed away from the man in annoyance. Unable to process what he should do the large man eased off the wall and walked closer. "It's me… Jim!" The man in the wheelchair was following his own thoughts and did not reply. "We've been best friends for twenty years, remember?" I drew a deep breath in empathy as I didn't mean to be riffling through a conversation that didn't belong to me but the safety of the patient and our staff kept me perched close enough to hear every word. My own thoughts wondered what must it feel like to share your life, love, secrets, beliefs and dreams with your best friend for twenty years and then to be wiped from their hearts in less than a second in a head on collision that killed his wife and left him brain damaged. To look into the same eyes that used to reach into your soul and drag out the very best of you buried under all your own doubts and wash you clean with the declaration "THIS is who I see in you!" And now those eyes fall blind in a mind that no longer lives.
The man in the nice suit stayed and we both watched that afternoon
stretch into a hard 2 years. He left quite the impressions on me as I watched his love hoist his best
friend up onto the shoulders of their new one-sided relationship. His care continue uninterrupted and without reciprocity until his friend passed away.
How often are our relationships hinged on what we are receiving from others and not in what we have to offer them. This man redirected my life into one that selects friends very thoughtfully knowing that he has set the bar in my life for what I'm willing to do once I call you friend.
Mona McPherson
How often are our relationships hinged on what we are receiving from others and not in what we have to offer them. This man redirected my life into one that selects friends very thoughtfully knowing that he has set the bar in my life for what I'm willing to do once I call you friend.
Mona McPherson
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