The large sign on Eddie's door this morning read: "When do I go home?" Another, again in his handwriting, hangs in his room: "You try living here for a month." The picture he's drawn shows a boy in a jail cell.
This is how my Thanksgiving began today; Eddie in his own words confronting me--and all who come to doctor him in the ICU--with the reality of his situation. The suffering. The heartache. The pain. The awful waiting for a life that does not yet come.
After reading that first sign, I had to collect myself before knocking on the sliding glass door of his room; I know that Kori is absolute that people do not cry in front of Eddie. I stood for a moment, willing the tears to go away. She's right. Eddie deserves joy. The energy I bring with me into that place should be positive, and hopeful, and life-giving. So I waited for the grief to pass, and knocked.
We visited together, the three of us, for nearly 2 hours. The mood there was upbeat, and bright, and light. Eddie is, as you can see here, in rough shape. He's unable to speak. But for all the suffering (Kori told me of the awful day they had yesterday, as doctors poked Eddie over and over in vain attempts to find his port), there was palpable Love in that room. And I could see--as I sat with Kori and Eddie--that the Love was breathing life into them, even as the ventilator clicks away. Kori suctioned his tracheotomy so many times I lost count; she was constantly at his side, scratching his itchy skin, adjusting leads, suctioning, pushing buttons, administering medications. I helped when I could--surely one of the benefits of being so often in the hospital is this, that I am not intimidated by the beeps and the machines and the wires, and know my way around them a bit. But mostly I watched, and talked with them, and cheered them on in any way I could, with words, and a book to read, and hugs, and cards, and high-fives. And a picture Moriah had colored that I brought for Eddie. That got a smile.
What do you do when the suffering is so large, so awful, that it threatens to destroy us all, leaving us scrambling for meaning, and some semblance of control, and even a reason to live?
If I were to ask Kori this question, I know what she would tell me. Gratitude. She is, honestly, one of the most grateful people I've ever met in my life. If Eddie's not breathing well, she's likely to say she's grateful for the vent. If Eddie's itchy, she's likely to be grateful for the nurse who brings Benadryl. If she has to wait in line to take a shower in a whole other part of the hospital (which she does), she talks about how grateful it makes her for her very own shower at home. If they are in the hospital on yet another holiday (as they are today), she's grateful that someone is bringing a turkey dinner to her house. She is absolutely resolute in her gratitude.
I used to think this sort of gratitude was pithy. I mean, really?! How can a person faced with so much awfulness be so positive? But then you reach a new low, and you realize: It's what you have. It's the only choice you have. Life is not going to necessarily go the way you want. The future is really, really unclear. What can you do today about it? Give thanks anyway. Choose kindness. Summon God's energy and live in a room in the ICU with peace and joy.
Kori was effusive in her thanks today--for my visit, sure, but for all of you. For all you've done. For the funds you've raised and donated. For the meals feeding Marshall, meals she's often bringing as leftovers to the hospital. For gift cards you've sent, letters you've mailed. As she puts it, she doesn't know what she would do without Eddie's Fund. She told me that again today.
But here's what I want to say to Kori, who will surely read these words soon: We don't know what we'd do without you. You are lighting a path for all of us. And today, even with all the burdens we each carry, all the forms of craziness with which we all contend, we learn from you, and we choose to give thanks. You are teaching us that. You are a light showing us the way to Love.
Happy Thanksgiving to one of my favorite families, ever. I love you guys more than I can possibly say and am so grateful for time with you both this morning.
Melissa
No comments:
Post a Comment