Having been out of town on business on her actual birthday, I wanted to visit Mildred today, since it had been Valentine’s Day since I’d last visited. Each time for the past several years when I’ve visited her, Mildred has been sitting upright in her wheelchair, serenely, whether watching the endless loop of CNN News on the TV screen or in the community dining room of her senior residence here in Bryan.
All my life, beautiful songs of the cardinals floating through the air seemed to underscore my life’s journey. Whenever I look around during special times, I see the redbirds so fancied by many for the same reason. There’s legend or myth that says that the presence of a cardinal is akin to an angelic presence of a loved one around you, a sign of sorts that someone in Heaven is thinking of you.
About 10 years ago, Mildred told me she had a friend who wrote beautiful poems—loved, loved, loved—cardinals, and was a true friend of faith to her in a Women’s Bible Study group that Mildred attended across town at another church. Understand that Mildred didn’t drive after a certain age, but she never failed to have 10 or more people fighting over giving a ride to her, so there wasn’t any place she could not find her way to reach. Faithfully she attended the Bible Study, and it was there she made dear friends with “Redbird.”
However, lest you think it was devoted friendship at first sight—forget about that. Mildred was, and could be, the inspiration of terror and fear, if you thought anyone knew the Bible better than she did. Mildred knew the Bible better than some ministers, because she studied it a bazillion years, and the ministers took her corrections in good humor (most of the time). So, too, did her Bible Study partners.
One year, Mildred gifted me with a copy of a Christmas poem that Redbird had written, and it was so beautiful it moved me to tears. I thought, “Gosh, what a great writer and poet!” Mildred said, “One of these days I’ll introduce you to her.” That happened about two years later when our church had a “Candlelight to Bethlehem” function near Christmastime. Mildred hosted a table and invited “Redbird,” me, and five more friends. The two of us were not sitting directly next to each other so it was not then that we began talking. It was just the first introduction.
In fact, it would be another 10 years before another conversation. When Mildred’s health had reached the point that she was formally admitted to Hospice care, I called Redbird to let her know what I knew early, as the Methodists were not as prompt as the Baptists when it comes to sharing information as a caring community and reaching out so all can know, love, and pray. Twenty years ago, I’d have put our prayer chain calling group up against any church’s but almost all those former members of the prayer chain (save for Mildred and another best friend) have gone on to their Heavenly reward. So, I called to make sure she wasn't last to know.
In these past seven months that Mildred has lived in the state of Hospice care at her nursing home, her transition has been a graceful and gentle decline. In the past year, because I saw her every week of my life for so many years, I found it harder to get over there to visit her at her nursing facility. With a great internal argument about how hard it would be on me to see her “like that” it was easy to find four months flying by. Seems the fear of saying goodbye, even if she was over 100 and the logic that tells us her time would soon be ending, remained strong, I really had to talk myself into it hard, harder, hardest.
Of course, after I arrived, with lots of cupcakes or flowers for the staff and fellow residents in the dining room area, I just beamed to see her doing better than I’d ever envisioned—Christmas 2016 and Valentine’s 2017. But, I skipped St. Patrick’s Day and Easter this year, telling myself that I had too many things to do. I actually did have too many things to “say grace over,” but in my heart of hearts, I knew I was nothing but a big chicken and simply couldn’t face making time to see her because it could be “the last time.”
Time passed…until yesterday. On Mildred’s actual birthday, in an early morning stroll up a steep hill I was unfamiliar with, I found myself taking smaller steps and not going that fast as I made continued deliberate progress. My walking partner could have left me in her dust, but she kept pace with me and stopped when I stopped, all along the path, without calling attention to that fact. I looked up and said, “Sorry to be so pokey.” She said, “No, you go at your own pace. I’ll wait for you.” I smiled, rested, and got back on the path.
Last week, I’d checked in with Redbird a few days ago and we’d made plans for lunch today. It almost didn’t happen because of crazy schedules, but I had really hoped we’d keep the time as planned. As our lunch concluded today, I said I was heading over to see Mildred, asking if she’d like to come with me. She looked up and immediately, without realizing it, said, “Yes, I would, but I don’t know exactly where it is, and I’m dealing with a knee injury and not able to walk long distances without a cane right now.”
I said, “I know where she is, why don’t we go together?” Certain that she was facing the same level of mixed emotions at what visiting Mildred could be—for the last time—I said, “It will help me if we go together this time.” I meant it, plus I had really wanted to bring Mildred a special present—“Redbird.” It’s one of those instincts I had, can’t explain it, but I knew full well that the labyrinthine layout of the nursing/rehab/caregiving multiplex makes it a true barrier to want to go visit anyone there if it’s just you alone.
Delighted at her acceptance, we made our way over there and after one false start, located Mildred in the room she shared. She was fast asleep. Redbird said, “Don’t wake her up, let her sleep” and I said, “Nope, just give her a second, she’ll sense we’re here and as we speak a little, she’ll hear our voices.”
Bravely, Redbird said, “Mildred, it’s ‘Redbird,’ your Bible study friend,” and that was all it took. Mildred’s eyes opened, she turned her head left (and I was on the other side) and smiled when she saw a friend smiling back at her. She couldn’t speak in words, but her eyes spoke volumes. Redbird continued, “I’m here with Dawn, another of your friends; we’re here to tell you Happy Birthday!”
As Mildred continued looking left, I got up and said, “I’ll come over so you only have one place to look.” Gently, Redbird reached over and touched Mildred’s shoulder gently. She gently shared with Mildred many of the fun, wonderful memories of Bible Study together and reminded her of all of the verses that Mildred had given her through the years. “I’ve marked my Bible “MK” with each of the verses you’ve given me.” I didn’t add it but I remembered the wonderful volumes of faith that she’s gifted me with through the years.
We searched her walls to see what was on display, looking specifically for pictures of angels that Mildred loved and collected. There weren’t many, perhaps a likely indication of her inability to recognize and appreciate their significance, although there are at least two there on her corkboard frame. Redbird added, “I remember how much you love your angels.”
On the table nearest the end of the bed was a beautiful bouquet of flowers with red roses included. There was also an unlikely faux-jeweled crown, fit for a princess, on the table next to the vase of flowers. No doubt a souvenir of a formal celebration yesterday on her “real” birthday.
The one-way conversation continued between Redbird and Mildred. Soothing tones, sweet words, and lots of love and caring in the emotions that flew by in just a few moments. Suddenly I announced, “I brought you Redbird as your present, Mildred, so let’s sing you Happy Birthday!” Without missing a beat, we broke into song and Mildred paid careful attention, and we also found a snippet of another song to sing her. Deciding to take our show on the road, or, leave Mildred to rest, we concluded our visit. I snapped a few photos and am only sharing one, preserving Redbird’s love of privacy yet showing the look of love in Mildred’s eyes. I was delighted that I found the perfect birthday present to take Mildred, literally.
Then we said our final goodbyes, knowing that in fact and for certain that it would likely be our final goodbyes. There being no outward sign of that forecast, it was just a sense of finality that overwhelmed me as we left the room she shared (separated by curtains) with two other women).
The joke of the day was on us, however, and that was the fact that whomever designed this healthcare metroplex was either a blooper or purposeful to prevent easy escape for the residents; either way, it was a complex design of architectural mystery. You enter the building, walk a little, get on the elevator, go up one floor, then you go down the hall a little way, then ‘round the corner and…that was just to get in. However, to leave, there’s a problem if you don’t retrace your steps exactly. We didn’t. That was the problem.
No one felt worse than I did when I realized that we were in a state of “lost” that would require 15 minutes and the guidance of at least five employees helping us find our way. There are at least two-and-a-half entrances over there. But recall, my friend Redbird was nursing a recovering knee injury and walking long distances is not on her “to-do” list for recuperation.
As we walked hopefully down hallway after hallway, she’d pause and say, “I need to stop for a minute,” yet she was the best trooper. Rather than giving me “what-for” not knowing the way out, she was regretting slowing me down. I said, “There is no need to apologize, as I really understand the need to find your own pace. Believe me!”
Just 24 hours earlier, I was on the other end of my fading strength, being encouraged and uplifted by a trusted friend saying I could do it. Eventually we made it to the car, cranked up the AC to combat the 95% humidity that was classic Texas style. I really admired my new friend for persevering beyond her knee pain to share her love with Mildred.
Lessons from the day, then, were numerous. First, whenever we face a difficult task, one we fear, such as saying a potential final farewell to a dear, dear friend, we need not be alone when we do it. The presence of a trusted friend, whether brand new or longtime BFF, gives you the strength you need when you need it most.
Second, never fear saying goodbye. Instead, say “I love you” and don’t worry about how much time a person you love has left on Earth. Don’t project the “We only have X more years left on the planet.” Instead, just show love every day and the rest will take care of itself.
Third, there is no better present one friend can give to another than time. Fact. No Neiman-Marcus box or Tiffany bow carries the value outside that a loving heart of a faithful friend carries inside. It’s true that one day, Mildred won’t be among us anymore. That’s a fact, too. But, in the meantime, it’s a good thing to remember that we, on this side of the labyrinth of life, still have the freedom to navigate (successfully or otherwise) on “this” side of the small bed reined in by sliding curtain and drywall with a corkboard frame on the wall.
And yet, without a word today, Mildred was a living lesson in faith to two friends who’d come to sing her into her 102nd year. Gosh, she’s good! Then again, never underestimate the power of love.
