Listen

 

Yesterday was infusion day.  

It takes me about 90 minutes and the infusion center has recliners for six people.

So far I have been the youngest  one there.   

I had brought along the book I was reading, and was looking forward to escaping for the next hour.

An elderly gentleman ( I would learn he is about to turn 79) was seated next to me and said hello.

I gave him a polite nod hello and opened my book. Soon I was transported to Denmark in World War II watching the heroine use her position at a university to help protect Jewish friends and neighbors.

But then my neighbor spoke up again and asked me about my treatment.

I inwardly sighed and turned my book over and gave him a quick answer before preparing to return to my reading.

"Put the book away!"

The voice in my head was loud, clear and demanding.

So I closed my book and returned it to my bag.  I looked up at the man and asked him

about his treatments.

He told me about his battle with rheumatoid arthritis.  And his son in the navy.  

He told me about each of his five children and grand children.

And he told me of his wife.  And I gently touched his arm as tears ran down his cheeks and he spoke of her with such love and longing.  She's been gone for three years now.

It was especially difficult to accept and process her passing because it occurred weeks before the covid shutdown leaving him to be supported by phone calls, but very little human contact.

He spoke of loneliness and how it makes it hard to even take each new breath.  

And I cried with him.

His infusion ended before mine, but he stayed and kept talking.

We laughed together about his escapades when he borrowed a friend's roommate's ID to visit and eat in the cafeteria and attend a few lectures so he could experience a bit of college even though it wasn't his path.

And smiled at how his wife got countless drivers permits but could never pass the drivers test due to anxiety but he decided that was okay because it just meant more time they would have together.  ❤️

As the final drops of medication dripped into my IV, my new friend Donald shared that he had seen an awful lot in his 80 years but  that the one lesson he would most like to leave is the importance of hard work.  And that it's the source for our dignity, our self-worth and how we learn through experience.  

"How can we expect to learn anything if we are just sitting around?" 

I thanked him for his knowledge and expressed my condolences for the loss of his dear companion.

And then he shook my hand and simply said, "Thanks for listening.  It helped pass the time and made me feel a little less alone."

The nurses explained he has come in weekly for nearly a decade and the first two years after his wife passed and no longer sat beside him he simply sat there and sobbed.

They thanked me for showing kindness.  

How grateful I was for the Holy Spirit calling me out of my comfort.  

And knowing not only what Donald needed, but what I did. 

In a Conference Address titled "Love Extends Beyond Convenience",  J Richard Clarke shared a similar incident in which humorist Erma Bombeck had to choose between a novel and a chatty neighbor on an airplane.  In that instance she started out much like I had with her focus on her book and emotionless, short answers.  By the time she found out that she was a widow with her husband's body on the plane it was too late.

Erma said, “I don’t think I have ever detested myself more than I did at that moment. Another human being was screaming to be heard and in desperation had turned to a cold stranger who was more interested in a novel than in the real-life drama at her elbow.

“All she needed was a listener—no advice, wisdom, experience, money, assistance, expertise or even compassion—but just a minute or two to listen. …

“She talked numbly and steadily until we boarded the plane, [and] then found her seat in another section. As I hung up my coat, I heard her plaintive voice say to her seat companion, ‘I’ll bet it’s cold in Chicago.’

“I prayed, ‘Please, God, let her listen.’”

It's my new prayer this week.  "Please, God, let me listen."