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It’s intimidating to be in the presence of heroes
I drove 12 hours from Hilton Head to Cincinnati to my cousin Laura’s house to visit my Aunt Esther last weekend. Go read that post first if you haven’t yet, so this post makes more sense.
Laura has three daughters: An eight-year-old, a five-year-old, and a six-month-old old (This essay may flow a little weird, since I don’t use the girls’ names – sorry about that.). And now Laura’s mother is dying of a brain tumor in her spare bedroom, on hospice. She gets agitated and scared and in pain, and Laura goes in and gives her Mother liquid morphine until her eyes flutter shut. But first, she must promise her Mother that this medicine will not prolong her life, just ease her suffering. Only then will Esther accept it, so Laura can give her the dose, then go cry in the bathroom so her daughters won’t see her.
I witnessed an extraordinary 15 minutes last Saturday. So extraordinary that I’ve thought of little else since then. It started when the 5-year-old came crying to Laura that her older sister wouldn’t let her play basketball. So Laura and I went out in the driveway to investigate. The 8-year-old was shooting basketball, and wouldn’t play with her sister because this was “basketball practice for big kids” – she had just recently started playing on a team and viewed basketball as serious business now. The way little kids do.
I noticed Laura’s head shift – she had heard her mom inside the house. I hadn’t heard anything. Laura has that magical “Mom sense.”
She quickly looked at me and said, “I’ll take 5-year-old inside to do some art. You stay here and shoot with 8-year-old Her dad will be home from work soon. I’ll check on Mom while I’m inside.”
I said, “Sure,” while I wondered how she kept so many plates spinning all at the same time without dropping any of them. I went to chase basketballs.
Laura went in, tried to calm her mom down, promised not to try to save her life, gave her enough Morphine to knock her out. Laura was praying that she would get to see her again in a few hours, despite her mom’s wishes to the contrary. Over her own crying, she heard her 6-month-old crying upstairs, the way little kids do.
A few minutes later, I looked in the window from the driveway basketball court and saw Laura breastfeeding her infant in a chair outside her mom’s room, so she could hear if her mom needed something. Presumably she was still breathing. The 5-year-old was at her feet, drawing pictures, showing them to her mom every 30 seconds, the way little kids do.
I stuck my head in the door from the driveway and asked Laura if there was anything I could do. She smiled ruefully through bloodshot eyes and said, “Figure out what I can make for dinner.”
I said, “Let me worry about that.”
So I closed the door, went back to catching basketballs before they bounced into the street, and got out my cell phone to order pizza. That’s my idea of cooking. Laura’s a brilliant cook. But I’m doing the best I can here.
Shutterstock. EB Adventure Photography. 1971108200
I find it inspiring to be around heroes, even though it’s intimidating. I feel so inadequate. My hero provides loving care for two elementary school girls while breastfeeding an infant and helping her own Mother die peacefully, and then worries about what to make for supper.
Until I ride in on my white horse and order pizza.
What else can I do?
I look back in the window. Laura’s not there. She was just there a second ago. She’s not there now. I wonder where she went? I wonder what she’s doing?
Whatever needs to be done, I suppose. For whoever needs it, at this moment. And whoever needs help is not Laura. Regardless. Everyone else’s needs matter. Not hers. Right now, that’s impossible. Her husband will be home from work soon. Pretty soon.
I’m staring in the window at Laura’s empty rocking chair, and a basketball nearly hits me in the head. I go pick it up, toss it to a smiling, beautiful 8-year-old girl, and I reach for my cell phone again, to order flowers.
Not that it will help. Heroes have bigger concerns than such banal gestures.
But what else can I do? When I end my visit, Laura’s world will still be an absolutely agonizing & exhausting hell. But at least she’ll have leftover pizza and some flowers. Thank goodness for me, huh?
* sigh *
It’s intimidating to be in the presence of heroes.
Inspiring. But intimidating.
********************
All this took place in the space of maybe 15 minutes. My head has been spinning ever since. I keep thinking that there must be some moral in there somewhere. Surely something that hit me this hard would teach me some sort of lesson, right?
But I don’t think so. The only lesson I see is that sometimes life sucks, and you’ve just got to do the best you can.
Da Nang, Vietnam…A young Marine private waits on the beach during Marine landing. Wikimedia Commons
Maybe that’s why I’m so intimidated by heroes. Because I know they’re not genetically superior, like Superman or something. They’re just normal people, doing the best they can, in impossible circumstances. And that’s it.
It would be less intimidating if they were made better than everyone else. That would take the pressure off.
But they’re just like me. They’re just handling very difficult circumstances much, MUCH better than I’m handling regular day-to-day life.
Talk about intimidating. Yikes.
*****************
It’s good to be home.
I keep meaning to go check on my neighbor – he’s been sick – I really should swing by. See if he needs anything.
Eh, I’m tired. Maybe I’ll do it tomorrow.
I wonder how Laura’s doing, up in Cincinnati? Still leaping over tall buildings in a single bound, I presume.
Or maybe she’s just handling her impossible circumstances better than I’m handling a regular day.
Talk about intimidating.
Man, I could really use some bourbon. Just one glass won’t hurt me. In fact, hopefully I’ll hurt less.
Ah, that’s so much better. Whew…
* sigh *
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Bless your cousin’s heart. I know she’s exhausted, but she will be glad she could be there for her mother and her kids. Good for you to be there, too. She appreciated what you did for her. Every little bit helps. Praying your aunt passes peacefully.
I don’t know about a lesson for you but what you experienced is love given and received and grace experienced in real time. It is as powerful as you express and felt. Laura will always know that she was able to give her mother what she wanted and needed, without hesitation or hope for some other way. Her mother knows Laura is giving her what no one else can give. Love and acceptance and trust gives them both the chance to let go of fear.
God’s peace to them all.
I think many areas have places where you can order family-size trays of lasagna, spaghetti and meatballs, etc. Maybe some of that, to avoid cooking?
In fact, many pizza places offer those too.
And Mac n cheese – every 8 and 5 love Mac n cheese. With carrots and dip.
And it is helpful for the heroes that each person who was there for them was, well, there.
I don’t know whether a god exists who hears our prayers. Nevertheless, I say God bless Cousin Laura.
Caregivers like Laura are the glue that holds the entire healthcare system together. When I was helping my mom, I met quite a few in the many doctors’ offices I happened to be in. It was interesting to me that they were kind to everyone in whatever setting they were in, including the doctors and their staffs and the other patients and caregivers in the room. Caregivers understand how ridiculously important it is to be kind and patient. For them, it is a way of life.
I have so much respect for people who do this.
We each do the job in front of us in the circumstances in which we find ourselves. Including playing basketball with a child and ordering dinner so others can do their job.
Prayers for Laura and her family . . .
I had to get old before realizing that heroism is mostly about showing up, being present and doing what needs doing in grossly imperfect, painful, messy, even dangerous circumstances. The hero brings love, loyalty, duty, honor, compassion or some other combo of virtues into action that makes a statement on behalf of humanity that we are bigger than the pain or immediate danger.
Heroes show that we can live meanings that are bigger than obstacles and afflictions.. Heroism produces a uniquely human shared satisfaction in moments in which pain and death are too stupid to know that they did not win.
I’ve read your essay several times before I decided to comment. I took care of my dad who was suffering from dementia for about a year. I did not have to care for anyone like children during that time, but it was difficult and towards the end of that year caring for him became a 24 hour a day job.
Laura’s story brings back memories of acting as a caregiver, some good and some not so good, hence my delay in commenting on your essay. All I can say is that I do understand what Laura’s going through and she has my deepest respect.
The photo of the marine in Da Nang is a perfect visual to illustrate your point.
Hero, indeed… I’m praying for Laura’s continued strength and for your whole family.
Sometimes such illnesses take more strength out of the caregiver than the patient. Caregivers like her are angels. Then impact of such stress doesn’t always show up until after the pressure ends. Then their body collapses a little. She will need prayers even after Aunt Esther passes. She has earned them.
Wow, there are some people who just step up to meet life’s challenges, and never complain. They are to be lauded. I kind of feel like you with my nephew probably dying in the hospital while his wife, two sisters (one of which travels from 500 miles away) and mother hover over him. I can order a pizza too, not much more, other than emotional support.