Red like Braveheart

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven.

Summer was the season of softness and sorrow.
Seven longterm care clients who had been on service for years (some decades) died. We were all a little blue.

Like a deck being reshuffled we had ten new admissions the same season.
Rushing around meeting the new group getting new routines up and stable kept us busy.
A group of ten of us were "invited" to an in-home training session for a new client with equipment we all required "instruction" in. (workers compensation rules and so on)
We use this same item every single day in other homes but should there be a mishap, it would bode ill for whomsoever was at the helm, technically untrained in that home.

Alot of us sleepwalk through parts of these sessions. Could it be me?
I can multitask. I try to look for something else to concentrate on as whoever it is doing the instructing drones on and on. Not that they are not interesting and capable trainers.
Well, some of them are anyway. That day was an exception.

We moved from the living area into where a man lay resting.
By the bedside, a copy of "The Hobbit" dogearred and well worn.
Naturally I perked up immediatly.
I looked to the client and staring back at me was this man with the reddest of hair on his head, closely shaven, and eyes bright as the glacier waters of Lake Louise.
His chest was exposed in his open pajama top and swirling curls red- red like Pippi Longstocking-red like raggety andy -red like braveheart matched.
He was smirking at me.

I did not take it in for a minute as I was still trying to pay attention to the session in case I was first at bat. Good intution that!

I heard my name and ascertained the Trainer was asking for me to hook our client up and demonstrate. I think she knew I was elseworlds in my mind.
The man in the bed winked at me and to my horror I blushed hard.
Now I have very pale white skin so when I blush it is pink most obvious.
Not even an introduction and already I was in trouble.
Uh-oh.

Red in the bed was a delightful person to spend time with.
He called me Periwinkle. I called him Braveheart.

"Didn't Braveheart have black hair? Or brown, Peri?"

"Not in this case."

"I am sure it was dark brown."

"Details. Details."

He was a 2 person assignment.
He would speak engagingly to me, chattering happily about yuppie life in the City, my City,
and the 2nd person would always look at me slightly questioningly. Overly personal remarks are frowned on.

He would question me on Bands and Clubs, events and fundraisers, wannabes and neverwas's
and the 2nd workers would gape. He tried to catch me out in all sorts of things.
Never successfully. We had gone the same routes done the same things and never met.

"I was married then."
"Hey me too."

"Once or twice?"
"Twice."
"Hey, me too!"

The 2nd person sometimes would leave the room and roll their eyes.
I took no notice.
He just seemed so familiar.

"Peri I think I knew you in another life."

"No, we established that."

"No I mean really another life. Another lifeTIME."
Perhaps.

Braveheart was one year younger than me.
He had undergone brain surgery to remove a tumour at the age of 20 and after a year of recovery had resumed a full life. He was very accomplished and held a high position in a firm of reknown when one day after a business lunch he had passed out in an elevator.

He had tundergone a brain scan which found a new tumour had become resident in his brain.
Surgery had been fast-tracked. He had no fear as he underwent the knife.
He woke up to 100% loss of function on one side of his body.
His speech and will were unimpaired.

"It was quite a blow Peri. They couldn't do anything. They just closed me up."
What can you say to that?
He told me the worst part was loosing his hair for nothing.

Braveheart had been given a 2 month prognosis.
His parents had come from the other side of the country to be with him.
Everyone was staying in the home of his brother.
Everyone was painfully aware as the of the sands of time rushed fast.

I had a call, prior to my Monday start to inform me he had declined drastically overnight.
When we entered, his eyes were shut and he was moaning quietly, although he looked otherwise, exactly the same. It was maddening. The tumour was beginning to press hard against key nerve centres in his brain. His antispasmotics had been increased to no avail.
He was not having seizures but neither was he able to move at all.
Soon his organs would shut down.

I knew he could hear us.
His eyes were flickering as we worked.
My co-worker held a different viewpoint.

"He can't hear us."

"I think he can."

"You are an optimist."

"No, I am a realist."

I had a call to add him for mid-morning.
Just me. No assist. He was not going anywhere.

I went in and did my work.
He was moaning still.

"You going to open those eyes Braveheart?"

His eyelids were very active.
And then, one word.

"No."

I asked: "Will you open them for me tomorrow?"

--- nothing.


I pushed a little: :"Just one more glimpse of those baby blues?"

He nodded very slightly.
I gave his bedding a little tuck and said goodbye.

He said more loudly: "Thank you."

My heart was putty.
Part of me thought I had imagined it, but no, he had spoken.
I had to stand in the doorway for a few minutes collecting myself before I could turn around and face the family.
Then I quietly let myself out.

The next morning my co-worker and I came in.
Both his Mother and his sister had bloodshot eyes.
I saw that a chair was beside the bed where Mom had been stationed all night.

"He has been unconscious since yesterday suppertime. He hasn't spoken clearly all night but he has been very restless."

Mom was shakey.

We did our stuff and as we finished my co-worker said very charitably:
"I will give you some privacy to say good bye. You knew him best."

It was so hard to see this beautiful person laying there.
Perfect, except for one thing.
So hard to imagine why God would do this to anyone.
Wasn't it enough he had lived through it once?

I am not God nor do I wish to be.
Praying for forgiveness for my questioning mind and my impudence, I asked God to make his death easy.
Please God. Easy and without lingering.

"Braveheart you promised to open those eyes again. Come on now."

I always speak to my unconscious clients.
I do not expect nor anticipate response but I truly believe most people retain their hearing and some degree of cognitivity to the end. They just cannot show it.

I stood watching him. Suddenly his eyelids moved.
They were flickering.
He struggled for at least a minute and then, miraculously his eyes opened.
The amount of effort and energy that action cost him was staggering.
He was so weak that he could not lift his head.

I crouched myself down into his line of vision, saw those large brillliant blue eyes clearly staring at me. Into me. He could not do anything more than that, but God forgive me, how it hurt.
I cried out.

"No, no!" I was horrified at my selffishness.

" Save this for your family.
"But thank you......... so so very much. Thank you for being so gracious and kind to me. God bless you Braveheart."

I kissed his forehead and turned around.
His mother and his sister came back to their places by the bed.
I hugged his Mother and walked to the door.

"Goodbye."

I took a step to the hall.
There were two gasps from the bedroom and I turned to see his mother looking at me.

"He said "Goodbye." "

I had to take the following day off and I just let myself cry for awhile.


"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding."
Proverbs 3:5 (NIV)