When gratitude meets goodbye and still whispers thank you.
Forgive my absence. I took longer than intended even though the quiet space was necessary for reflection, and to settle the inner turmoil caused by a deeply felt need to fix and control. Especially when it is not my place to do either. I had to accept that the coming days would unfold exactly as they are meant to and have chosen to lean into the goodness and grace that I have been granted to bring me peace.
It began with setting aside a day to drive over to visit my dear friend Janet in her care facility. For a couple of weeks, I battled anxiety over stepping into the care facility but looked forward to seeing her. Somewhere deep inside there was a secret, hidden hope that her stay would be short, and she would be back home with her health restored. It ended with deeply felt gratitude that David took the time to go with me, because I was not prepared for the day to unfold as it did.
The drive was long and having arrived earlier than intended we chose to have a quick lunch at the first place we could find. We had conversation and laughs over a small burger joint that sold Hawaiian themed burgers and decor in the middle of Illinois farmland. It was oddly quaint. Walking into the place brought unwanted attention to the two of us as the workers and customers alike were calling each other by name. The burger was delicious, but the fries were perfect. They were flawless. The workers knew what they were doing, and I needed the pause before the visit to settle my anxiety. My husband earned major brownie points with me that day.
On the short drive to the care facility from our lunch spot, we passed a high school soccer field. After briefly commenting on it, I thought no more about it. Little did I know that I would have that soccer field burned into my brain. It was part of the view from Janet’s window and perfect for me to see from my seat on the side of her bed. Closer to the window were two bird feeders, a plastic owl that I assume scared away squirrels, and a short, oddly shaped tree. Janet commented that there were no birds because they forgot to fill the feeders. I wish they had not forgotten to fill them. It would have been much nicer to focus on birds instead of a soccer field as I processed her words and fought my tears. The tears won the battle even though I tried to hold them back. She said, “Do not cry for me. Be happy for me. I am not afraid because God will tell me when its time.” I know that her beloved Walter will be waiting for her too. I quickly responded with “the tears are because I love you” and she said, “I know.” She held my hand and let me process. Three hours I spend with her. Small stories, light laughter, tears, reassurances, and she shared her pain with me. She held my hand graciously and lovingly through it all. She made the goodbye sacred and she saved it for our visit. When I could not stay longer, and I knew she needed to rest, she said “you don’t want to leave, and I don’t want you to leave.” She was right. I did not want to leave. She asked for prayer. I promised her prayer. That is what she needed from me. Prayer and understanding that she would be leaving. It was her face-to-face goodbye.
I am immensely grateful for those hours with Janet. As I write, she is home on hospice with a loving caretaker and friend focused on her comfort. That brings me peace. It is comforting to know that she is comforted when she needs it most. Janet is a gift that will influence me long after the Lord calls her home. A woman of great character, a mentor, sister in Christ, a deeply understanding and supportive friend. She strengthened my faith.
Since our visit, I have been deeply reflecting on gratitude and thankfulness. Those moments with Janet were hard but I was grateful for them too. I meant it when I told her that “I want to be like her when I grow up.” Wisdom is what 78 years of life brings with it. We do not become wise overnight. Life offers us continual lessons in reflection. Gentle invitations into the deep intimacy of gratitude. What we truly need is not to collect more things, but more moments of thanks.
How differently might life feel if we learned to collect gratitude the way we collect memories?
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