December 14, 2017

Another Look: Breakfast

Note from CM: I have an extraordinarily busy week since I’m covering for our other chaplain’s caseload as well as my own. So, on Mon-Wed I’m re-posting some of my favorite stories and reflections from my work as a hospice chaplain. If I don’t get to clear comments that get held right away, please be patient. I’ll do my best.

• • •

Breakfast. Photo by Emily Maiden

He sits across the table from me as we enjoy our biscuits and gravy. A good ol’ boy, a true Hoosier. He had been a pretty good baseball player when he first met her. But he was rough around the edges and she thought him uncouth. He didn’t know how to eat properly, she said. Still somehow, they fell in love, and she took him in and converted him into a presentable-enough gentleman.

Not that he ever became a white collar guy. He worked for a trucking company his whole life. He tells me he learned a cuss word or three on the job. Now that she is gone, he’s been talking to her and the Lord about that, to see if he could get some help cleaning up his language. A few other things needed forgiving too, though he doesn’t tell me what. He does make a point to say that this time, he wants to say grace before we eat (last time, we got to talking and forgot).

She had been the picture of dignity. Always took care of herself and looked good. She was what they used to call a real “lady.” Talented too. Worked in an executive’s office and kept it running. Played the organ in church and had fine taste in music. Made sure the two of them worked hard and kept a spotless home, a well-groomed lawn and gardens.

But with all her natural strength and grace, she was never snobbish. She too was an Midwest girl, rooted and grounded in the common sense soil of the heartland. She married a ballplayer, a blue-collar guy, linked her life to his and they became inseparable partners. He loved classic cars and they traveled all around the country putting on car shows and hanging out with gearheads. She became an avid sports fan and cheered as loudly and fanatically as he did when they went to games their teams were playing. They traveled around together and camped with the family and went to the casinos and enjoyed a life as regular and down-to-earth as could be.

He and I are having breakfast because now she’s gone. He finds it hard to eat at home without her. After nearly sixty years of sharing every day together, he’s experiencing “alone” for the first time.

“What do you have going today?” I ask him.

He laughs. “Just you,” he says.

So we eat our biscuits and gravy, drink our coffee, and talk about whether the Hoosiers are going to have a good basketball season this year. I console him about the Dodgers, his favorite baseball team, losing in the playoffs. Our banter is mostly sports talk, but I also ask after his children, their families, and he shares bits and pieces of the dramas that are taking place in their lives. They live in other states, but call him every day. He tells me about going to the doctor and other errands he’s been running. A story or two from the past sneaks out every now and again.

At various points in our conversation, things get quiet, and when they do he always comes back to her.

“You know, I talk to her. Every day. That’s not crazy, is it?”

“I’m spending a lot of time working out in the yard. The house is too quiet without her there.”

“I used to cook for her when she worked, and I got pretty good. So I cooked for her when she got sick, but you know, the last while there she just couldn’t eat. I couldn’t either. I’ve lost 30 pounds you know.”

Breakfast in America. Photo by pixishared

He mentions the funeral service at least a half dozen times. I officiated it, and he can’t say “thank you” enough. He talks about how after they went to make arrangements the first time, she changed her mind and said she didn’t like the casket they picked out. But then she got too sick to go back, so the kids eventually picked out one they knew she’d like, and damn the cost. He tells me about people he wished could have been there at the service, but he remembers the flowers they sent, the cards they wrote, the phone calls they made. It’s clear that day made a real impression on him. It’s etched on his mind like some farewell scene in a movie. He’s been out to the grave a few times, but he doesn’t say much about it.

Somehow, we clear our plates and it’s time to go, me to my work, him to . . . what? I don’t know, and he may not either. The server brings our check and we fight over who’s going to pay, but he grabs it.

“You don’t have to do this with me if you’re too busy,” he says.

“No, I enjoy it. I’ll call you next week,” I reply.

“That would be great. You know, breakfast, lunch, a cup of coffee. I’m free now for most anything.”

“You know I’m praying for you, right?”

“Yeah, I need that.”

“And keep talking to her, okay? She’s not far away.”

“Okay. Thanks. Call me next week?”

“Call you next week.”

• • •

Photo 1 by Emily Maiden at Flickr. Creative Commons License

Photo 2 by pixishared at Flickr. Creative Commons License

Comments

  1. Susan Dumbrell says:

    Hi Early Morning IMonkers.

    Please pray for me today. As I said, I will see my Clinical Psychologist later today.
    I have so much to ‘confess’ and come out the other side.
    Each day I think will be better than yesterday.
    Yes, I put CHRIST at the top of the slate but I get sidetracked.

    I need food. Aussie lamb and salad, I am off to cook.

    Bless you all, early risers. Susan

  2. Headless Unicorn Guy says:

    This is Real.

    “God lives in the real world.”
    — Rich Buhler

  3. Christiane says:

    “And keep talking to her, okay? She’s not far away.”

    Body of Christ . . . . . . death cannot break the bond, nor time, nor distance, or place

  4. I believe I saw this one before if not it sure has a familiar tone to it. Met with a man who empty a clip into his wife as he was bipolar and still is probably. It’s difficult but murder has different degrees. Somehow he got ten years being it was not premeditated. I’m not a lawyer so I’m sure what it all means. He tried to hang himself in prison only the rope broke. A father from the Catholic faith picked him up and became a mentor. He became a model inmate and began taking others under his wing. See he was clean and sober when this happened. He even said I would be sharing in the 12 step rooms after year or so and the old timers would say loud enough you’re full of ****.

    Bottom line after so long people would leave gifts on his bunk anonymously Here in the state prison close by called Camp Hill. Used to be whit hill and farmed when I was young. Guards would say I haven’t seen you eat lately to him but the gifts were usually food so he would say I’m okay. I only know that because others that were there have told me. My sponsor……never even called me and would only ever say I knew where you were every time we talked. He would say either you will do the program or you will do church. Right now I do neither but then again we don’t talk much anymore. Why…. He has about 30 men he has to attend to who have way worse than me issues. He always says I just try to love them that’s it like Christ has loved me.

    One time at breakfast he said you don’t understand what I’ve done. Well I didn’t know about his history when I asked him to be my sponsor because I only asked because he seemed real and no bullsh** . I said well I do know some things and I’m sure you won’t be standing alone when the time comes some one will be standing beside you. I’m not your judge nor would I be. Given my life I was given plenty of grace and I could easily be you.

    Your writing Chap in this fellow is the opposite of what I just wrote but this man was given so much. The man I wrote about was too. He helps the hardest cases in the county. He is called when no one else will take them. He says to me I don’t sponsor just anyone. I say to him I don’t ask just anyone. He always says God brings them to me and it isn’t just for them it blesses me and there is where the story I wrote and what you wrote seem to be the same……..Was wondering don’t ya think

  5. Thank you CM, for sharing. This is beautiful. This is real life. This is faith, hope and love for those of us who need it most, which is all of us at one time or another. This looks a lot like Jesus.

  6. I see a theme in the last 2 posts. Being present with and listening to folks who would otherwise be ignored. So simple yet so important.