The family called hospice. It was the right choice to make. We have always been of the opinion that we would reach out at the very end. Those who have been in the same place that we are in said, “Call and understand your options. We wished we would have made that decision earlier. Yesterday wasn’t soon enough.”
This week we’ve had nurses and case workers come in and tell us what they can do along the way to help in the next transition. No hurry; if it’s three months or a year, we will be better prepared. No deadlines. They will monitor as we go.
Living 12 miles out of town, the most comforting news is if my Sweet Al fell, we have their number and one of three nurses are on call 24/7. They will be here to take care of the situation. No more taking him to the doctor or hospital, nurses will be by to check on him every week. They will deliver his prescriptions.
As I’ve told others that they should look into hospice, they weren’t sold on the idea. No one wants to think they are hurrying their loved ones away. Talking about it feels like we are hastening the time. We’re just trying to be smart.
Al and I have been on this journey and in this relationship for more than 60 years. As the Lord has opened my eyes to the reality of where we are and where we are going, we are OK with the next step.
We didn’t chase money or fame. We pursued the Christian life and raised our family in that light. In that, we have riches of great worth, which can’t be counted by dollars and cents.
Al and I made certain choices and committed to them when we were young. We are now coming into another life changing situation, and we are seeing the fruition of our choices. Every day there is more sight into the spiritual world around us and in us.
Someone asked me how I was going to handle the change since Al and I have been together all these years. I would hope that my faith is strong enough to give me the substance I need to continue. I’ve carried a very large megaphone all these years telling others about Jesus. Now the rubber is hitting the road. Al will be taking off what he’s worn and putting on new clothes.
This morning I received these words from Natalie Olsen, who has read my writings and reminded me that we change into different clothes along the way. Once in big flowery long skirt, a denim shirt with rolled-up-sleeves, a gigantic floppy hat and an extra-large canvas bag for all my art supplies, I looked like an artist. I was an artist.
I wore oil paint under my fingernails and big costume jewelry around my neck. I roared, “I’m an artist, hear my ideas.” I sucked up the room with all my brilliant creations. Art galleries, museums and art supply stores were my haunts.
Later in life, I became a subdued writer, wore comfortable shoes and looked like an old-maid librarian. I dropped the jewelry and wore gray and black. Slung over my shoulder was a slender book bag with my latest released book for book signings, ready for writers’ conferences.
Then came the computer age, internet, websites, social media, Amazon. A new world opened to me. Zoom meetings, a writers’ group and the “Artist’s Lane” column became my best friends. This is where I connected with all of you.
You have reached out and encouraged me, sought me to share time and have a cup of coffee. You supported me, read my articles even when I disclaimed my writing skills. Pagosa grew up with me and, for the past 18 years as I learned to write, I’ve met you every week in the newspaper.
Natalie continued to write, “I recently spent time on your website and with your latest release, and I have to say, the way you describe your journey stopped me. You spent forty-five years as an artist before starting a column called The Artist’s Lane in the Pagosa SUN Newspaper at age sixty-five. Then at seventy, you wrote your first book and published it. You fell in love with writing.
“You shared a beautiful Spanish proverb, ‘Cada cabeza es un mundo,’ in every head is a world. You and your best friend put your heads together and accomplished more than you thought possible over thirty years. You also said that the risk of keeping the lid on is more painful than to throw off the encumbrances and let the world see the flaws and your heart. That is not just a bio.”
Al said this week, “I don’t think I’ll make it.” When the nurse asked him if he knew what year it was, he said, “In the Year of our Lord, it’s 4004.” I giggled. She said, “Close enough.”
He has worked to stay alive. He has lost weight, down to 133 pounds, struggling to keep food down. He turned over the keys to the car.
Final brushstroke: He will be wearing something different, but hopefully not too soon. Through it all, there is a world in each head. We’ve lived in our world and made choices. We have enjoyed this life and lived it with all the gusto we could muster up. My sweet Al has been faithful. We’ve traveled these dirt country roads together, hopefully with more faith, insight and wisdom. All we know is to continue on.
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Views expressed do not necessarily represent those of The SUN.
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