And the beat does go on . . .

Not sure how to start this one. It's a mixed bag, so I'll just rummage through it.

1) Let this serve as a "thank you":


I've had no idea how tired I get of my own company. Not that I'm not a good friend to myself, mind you, but "variety is the spice of life". I'd really been missing just sitting at someone's table, learning about them, and sharing their wonderful cooking. Thank you Pat and Neal. Your phone call was better than a birthday present. :) 

And the same goes to my friends Jan and Duane, Nancy and Keith, Judy and Joe, Mel and Helen. I treasure those times. Immensely. It's been 20 months since I lost Ben, and people naturally fade from your picture, either because they think you're okay enough (and I am), or they get on with their own lives. Totally understandable. But look for me to bring you back into mine when you least expect it.  :)

2) I finally have company on my V.A. night shifts . . . Ben!


I was told to get them a photo of him for "Heroes Way", the walls of the hallway I walk at night. I finally got it done, and it's right across from the room he was in. It's the top photo. There are many others, but this guy is the best lookin' of them all!

3) I'll end with Mr. G., my whiteboard Navy man . . . 


My Pastor recently gave a sermon entitled "Have you ever played God?". Well, no. Maybe his assistant . . .


Mr. G. came in to the V.A. Hospice definitely wanting to pass through that proverbial "next" door. He had even pulled out his feeding tube to prove it. He hadn't seen his daughter and grandson in awhile, which added to his malaise. He was still in that state of mind when I came along with the whiteboard, but I knew none of the aforementioned. I only knew that he was hungry for the Bible, and couldn't talk, but he seemed to have good control of his hands. You know the rest from a previous post. But the moment he took the marker from me, a sleeping giant was apparently awakened . . . his Will To Live! His new-found ability to communicate opened long-closed doors for him. He was able to let people know that he wanted his daughter to come, and his feeding tube put back in. No one knew.


So here's the rest of the story:


Yesterday Mr. G. went home with his daughter and grandson for hopefully the rest of his days on Earth. He's a rare "graduate" from Hospice. And I have a humongous lump in my throat. When I went up for my shift last night, I really missed his presence, but I just smiled, stuck two thumbs up, and nodded at the doorway to his room.

Nothing better than a success story! Nothing!