There was something special in the balmy and nippy air about this pre-dawn autumn
morning. It is the first time since that September Friday that I feel "normal." It began
last night when, for the first time in six weeks, I had a glass of wine with Susan during
our "special time." It continued this morning. I arose from my first deep, long,
uninterrupted sleep, weaned off my heavy meds, feeling no pressure or ache in my head.
I've been telling everyone that the fact I almost cashed in my chips six weeks ago is
becoming increasingly surreal. Not having any physical or mental effects of the
hemorrhage, with almost no clear memory of that week's events, it's becoming harder and
harder to believe I came within a hare's breath of dying six weeks ago yesterday. But,
Susan's uncompromising list of "can'ts," small continuing doses of Motrin and Tylonol, and
being scheduled for a CTA scan and a talk with the neurosurgeon next Thursday all tell me
the truth of that harrowing week. That's important, for knowing and remembering that it
did happen has made my love of living so intense I can hear the blades of grass talking to
each other. Each day, all my senses are enveloped by a surrounding power of life that
seeps deep inside me. It is as intuitive, awe-inspiring, magical, mystical, and as any
deep meditation or engrossing prayer. Each day I lose myself in the adoration of and
concentration on life's beauty, goodness, truth, and love. It's almost like everything I
see, feel, hear, and touch kindles a spirit of these fused feelings inside my heart and
soul that I carry back outside me. Right now, I feel good about living. That may not
change the world, but it will effect what I do from moment to moment; it will change my
world. It's really so simple. The life I most feel like living is the life I will find
myself most experiencing.
A co-survivor wrote me that is how it should be. Travails such as having a near
death cerebral hemorrahage should get us to go deep and reflect about purpose and meaning
of what we do and how we live, about what tracks we leave behind, about legacy. So, as I
reflected these past weeks on my purposeful "why" that guides the feeling, thinking, and
doing of my "how" and "what," I am struck by the fact that death so rarely is
predictable. Aside from suicide, you can't enter it in your appointment book. At the
same time, most of us banish the idea of "live as if it was your last day" to the attic of
impotent cliché because we humans fear that we actually may be doing something for the
last time as I almost was. So, most of us probably won't have a chance to deliver the
legacy of our final words. Our only testament probably will be the way we have lived our
life, the choices we have made, and our daily words and actions. I've always said that my
credo, my vision, my "why," the purpose and meaning of what I do--developed over the past
fifteen years or so--is that I want to be that person who is there to help another person
help her/himself become the person she or he is capable of becoming. It's another way of
saying that I want to be a spark that helps someone rekindle or kindle her or his flame
that had dimmed or gone out within. So, here I was this morning, with a cup of coffee,
sitting by the fish pond, listening to the water fall before the sun rose about how
yesterday I was suddenly and unexpectedly hit right smack in my face by all this.
It was one of those in the strangest place at the strangest time things about
which you don't ask. Susan and I were in the grocery store shopping for dinner. Not one
of my favorite experiences, but hunting for stuff to stir fry was something to get me out
of the house where I'm being to get stir crazy. As I slowly walked at a "ho-hum" pace,
drowsily pushing the cart, not paying any particular attention, I turned an aisle corner
and literally bumped into one of my past students. I have to admit that while I instantly
recognized her face, I no longer remembered her name.
"Hey, Dr. Schmier. Remember me?" she happily asked.
"Your face, but not your name. Help me," I honestly replied.
"Lacy,"
She was in a first year class with me a couple of years ago. We chit-chatted. I
naturally told her about my hemorrahage and being off campus on medical leave. She told
me that she no longer was a business major, which her parents continue to insist she be.
She is now a nursing major, which she always wanted to be. Then, from out of left field,
she interrupted herself and said with an excited tingle in her voice and a blinding, teary
gleam in her eyes (don't hold me to every word), "Oh, while I have you and am thinking
about it, it's your 'fault' I'm going to be a nurse. I want you to know that now I know
what you meant when you told me 'You are your own solution.' Just like you told me to do,
I have had those words taped on my bathroom mirror for over a year now so that every
morning and night without fail I read them and consciously think about how I need to live
that day and if I lived up to what I needed to do. I think of you each day because those
words are a reminder of what you helped me learn what to do each day to try to live my
life to its fullest. I take that back. I know, there is no try, only do. Yoda. Right?
It took me a while to understand what you meant, and then to get the strength and courage
start doing it. Actually, I finally faced up to fact that I was afraid to understand
because it was easier to blame others than accept my responsibility. But, now I know that
the only person who was stopping me now from being the skilled and compassionate nurse I
wanted to be and being just who I can be as a person was me....It wasn't anyone else, not
my parents saying I had to become a CPA in my father's business or my ex- knocking me
around and always demanding sex as a sign I loved him or my supposed friends who wanted me
to only drink or smoke or party. No one but me! And, I figured out that being a nurse
and a person is one and the same. They're just part of one life and how you live one is
how you really live the other....Once I decided to believe in myself, I stopped listening
to others and began to listen to me, and I stopped letting them do things to me and I
stopped not believing; I started liking myself and started being confident in my own
abilities. No more going along to get along and not be alone. It was so releasing, so
strengthening, so exciting once it hit me. I am now my own person and every day I dictate
my own attitude towards things and people to myself, and decide how I am going to feel. I
now decide who I'm going to hang with, the kind of life I'm going to live, what my
priorities are, and all that stuff.... I love me and I love nursing. I tell everyone I
know who comes to me with troubles exactly what you once told me and what I learned to
tell myself every day, 'Stop being a slave to someone else. Stop letting others make you
in someone they want you to be who you don't want to be. You'll never be happy. Be
yourself. Be real. Look inside. No one can do anything to you unless you allow them to
do it. You're doing it to yourself. You are your own problem. You are your own
solution....' God, I sound like a list of all those "Words for the Day" that you wrote on
the board at the beginning of each class.....I'm glad I bumped into you. It was meant to
be. I just want to thank you for helping me to help myself, to be so happy. So, thanks
for everything, for being a candle that helped me see my way out of my darkness."
I just stood there stunned. In the strangest place at the strangest time. As I
stared into her eyes I didn't know what to say. Then a quiet peace came over me. It was
like one open heart dancing with another. There was nothing to be said. I smiled and
quietly offered a simple but profoundly thankful, "Thank you very much. I really
appreciate what you just said. It especially means a lot right now. You're the most
powerful medicine I've had in the last six weeks."
She smiled and nodded. "Get better," she whispered in my ear as we hugged. As she
strolled off, I grabbed a pen I luckily had in my pocket, plopped down on the floor, and
furiously scribbled her words on the back of Susan's grocery list before I forgot them.
In the strangest place at the strangest time. Don't knock the little things. One
day you may be shown by your Lacy how big they really were. Though I have to admit that I
still don't remember the situation about which Lacy talked, I do know what my legacy is.
It's Lacy.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier http://therandomthoughts.edublogs.org/
Department of History http://www.newforums.com/Auth_L_Schmier.asp
Valdosta State University www. halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
(229-333-5947) /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__/\ \/\
/ \/ \_ \/ / \/ /\/
\ /\
//\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\ \_/__\
/\"If you want to climb mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole hills" -
|
