Theresa finally passed away this past Monday. It was a good thing. Wait ’til you read what happened.

But first…

Last night, I stopped in to help a friend put together a table because her husband fell and broke his arm last week (on Christmas lights!), and I ended up staying for a yummy dinner with them. It was splendid.

One of the highlights of the evening was when my bestest friend, Peggy, shared a Christmas letter from a friend.  The humor in the man’s words was simple but you couldn’t help but smile and laugh out loud. She said it’s the only letter she reads each year because it’s so funny.

So that got me thinking, of course. What IS it that prompts someone to read something someone has written? And no, this certainly isn’t the first time I’ve contemplated this all-important question. I was thinking about it in terms of the holidays.

The world seems so busy right now, doing ‘holiday things’, and I’m not sure that the regular blog article is enticing enough to pull you away from what you’re doing long enough to make a difference or to touch you in some way.

But I’m going to try anyway!

Back to Theresa

If you’re just coming in on this story, let me set the stage for you. And even if you read the first blog about Theresa I did a while back, there’s probably tidbits here for you, too.

In 1992, I met Theresa, age 81, at a local health club where I was the Fitness Director (loved that job!). I started walking on the beach with her and we became great friends. I was 37. We were a very odd couple.

She’d come over with her husband, a master jeweler, and their young daughter, Gerda, on a boat from Germany. Oh, the story of that trip! What I remember was her being starved for fruit and vegetables those longs weeks between Germany and New York City, where they landed.

Those beach walks weren’t just walks. They were movies. Of the war. Of living through bombings. Of the pain of her husband dying too early. Of the struggles of coming to America, having a sponsor, finding a new place in a new culture, to call home.

At some point, I started visiting her at home, helping her with little things or just simply sitting and visiting. She took great pride in preparing lemonade or tea and some type of little sweet for us to share.

In the summer we sat on your well-manicured patio, full of flowers and scents and her handiwork. In the winter, we sat in her oddly arranged living room. Imagine a very old, yellowish couch with a long, cheap coffee table in front and too close to it and two single chairs in front of the couch flanking the coffee table.  You could barely get to the couch but it was always that way and unless her grandson has changed it since she died on Monday, it’s that way now.

I eventually started bringing my husband, John, on Sundays and well, it just got to be our Sunday thing. “When are we going to go see Theresa?” one of us would ask. We’d work it into the day, call her to let her know when we’d be there, and on we’d go.

Over the years, however, Theresa got more and more hostile towards America and humanity in general. She was critical of pretty much everything. I chalked it up to both her husband and daughter dying in their mid-50’s and the sheer weight of being alone for all of those years.

Nowadays, we have tools and support groups to help people to find purpose and pleasure again, but the mindset she brought with her from Germany and the culture she knew didn’t leave room for that. She was just angry inside. And this anger was seeping into me each time we visited.

Fast forward to 2002

With a divorce in the process, and Theresa becoming increasingly negative, I just didn’t have the tools yet to protect myself. The negativity I felt when I left her home on Sundays was far greater than the guilt I felt from not visiting her and I slowly stopped seeing her altogether. I NEVER stopped thinking about her, however, and each time I passed by her home, my heart wanted to stop. But I couldn’t…yet.

Wednesday, August 18th, 2010

I had an appointment a few miles from my house. One of my roommates dropped me off because I decided I wanted to walk home for exercise that day. This walk took me two blocks from Theresa’s home.

The knocking I couldn’t ignore

The thoughts of her had gotten stronger over the past few months and I could no longer neglect the tugging at my heart. I turned the corner, walked to her home, rang her door bell and was greeted by the biggest smile I think I’ve ever seen.

She invited me in, we chatted, she was grateful to have company. She was even lonelier than I remembered. I realized she was struggling with her memory a bit and had to remind her of things we’d done together before it all fell into place for her. I guess at 95 we’re entitled to forget a few things! She was ecstatic at the possibility of having company who cared about her again.

The reunion was sweet. I guess at 95 we’re entitled to forget a few things! The best part? She didn’t ask why I had stopped visiting. THAT was a blessing.

I explained that I was going to Oregon for three weeks and that I’d be home on Sept. 14th. I told her that as soon as I was home, I’d come by and help her with some projects and visit again.

NOTE: Between 2002 and 2010, she had had a second hip replacement, a couple of knee operations, fallen a few times and more. Her health was terrible and the once vibrant woman who walked miles, was using a walker to move about her world.

SECOND NOTE: Sometime around 2001, her grandson (the son her daughter had given up for adoption), had arrived upon the scene because the daughter had gone in search of him before she died. I think the grandson did his best to take care of a grandmother he never really knew, but the bond that she had hoped so desperately to develop, according to her, never did. I don’t blame him for this…she is one hard woman to get close to and deal with. I can only imagine what the last many years have been like for him.

On with the story

I came home from my trip and it took me a few days to get my life together after being away so long. The following Sunday, my girlfriend, Marilyn, and I went to visit Theresa. And that’s where the current story began, and ended, on Monday.

We found Theresa, after some work on our parts, with a gaping wound in her leg that needed emergency care. Our planned visit turned into hours in the hospital. I could never have known what the fateful Sunday would entail for Theresa or myself. Who could have known that that would be the last time she saw her kitty, Ricky, or the home that she loved so dearly.

She spent a week in the hospital and then moved to a skilled nursing facility. It was clear to all of us that her body was never going to heal.

She constantly said she wanted to die. I encouraged her to stop taking her medicine but you know what? It’s one thing to SAY you want to die (translation: I don’t want to wake up tomorrow) but something entirely different to take steps towards that end. She knew it. I knew it. We talked about it openly.

Before I left for Baltimore last weekend, I had a fateful visit with her lovely doctor, Eric. We talked opening about what she wanted. He suggested hospice and I eagerly agreed. I gave him the grandson’s phone number and he called, suggesting hospice as the next step. Every part of my body was crossed! I knew it was the next right step in Theresa’s journey.

End of the story…sort of

While I was in Baltimore last weekend, I got the call. She would be moved into Serenity House here in Santa Barbara, on Friday. I was thrilled and my heart leaped with relief. Marilyn was visiting her while I was away and kept telling Theresa I would be back on Monday. I would be back on Monday. I would be back on Monday. Thoughts of her dominated every recess of my mind while I was away.

A Monday I will never forget

I got home too exhausted to visit (though I will always wish I had) on Sunday. I called Monday morning and Karen told me she was close. I told her I had two appointments and I’d be there as quickly as I was able and to please tell Theresa I was coming. I kept saying out loud, “Theresa, wait…just a few hours.”

After my appointments, at about 2 pm, I hightailed it to Serenity House. About a mile from the facility, I had the strangest experience. My whole body took a deep breath…and I wasn’t the one who did it.

Sidebar…I don’t speed or drive in a hurry. But after that deep breath, I couldn’t get there fast enough.

I parked. I walked in and told them who I was. She hurried me to Theresa’s room. (I had been here before with my golf teacher years ago so it was quite familiar.)

I did what I always did when I saw Theresa. I put my right hand on her left cheek and cupped it to caress her cheek. She wasn’t in a state that any of us would call cognizant, but she was still alive…and then she wasn’t.

As the gal walked me over the other side of her bed and got me a chair so that I could hold her hand, we both realized she had taken her last breath when I had touched her.

She had waited for me.

Tears of joy. Tears of sadness. Tears of regret at having had to go to Baltimore THAT weekend. Tears of knowing that life is so precious. Tears of every sort of emotion and color and experience seemingly possible streamed from my eyes on and off for some time, and still do.

Why this story now?

Because Christmas and Hanukkah are filled with the idea of gifts. Theresa, and spending almost every day for the past three months with her, was the most unexpected gift I could have ever imagined, or asked for. I’m still unwrapping them and I have a feeling the unwrapping will continue for quite some time.

What I really learned

I know that the only thing that really fills MY heart is when I help someone fill theirs. This is not a new lesson, mind you. It’s the SAME lesson we all learn and the sooner we learn it, the more peace and joy we seem to experience while we’re alive.

I’m thankful to have learned it long ago and grateful to continually have the opportunity to practice the lesson. I’m always so in awe of how many ways this lesson manifests itself in our lives.

Reflection

At this moment, sipping some decaf coffee at 7 am in the morning, writing this story for you to enjoy, I can look down and see the wedding ring that Theresa wore for close to 75 years. Her husband had crafted the ring for her at some point but I don’t recall how old the ring actually is. All I know is that I want to wear it forever…as a reminder to go visit some other old person who finds my smiles and touch as much of a blessing, and comfort, as Theresa did the past three months.

I told her once that I never visited her out of obligation…I only came to see her because I wanted to. She smiled and always thanked me for visiting. I’m actually the only one she would spend any amount of time with. Once she said to me, “If I didn’t have you, I wouldn’t have anyone.” If THAT doesn’t entice you to continue visiting someone in need, what would?

So…Happy Holidays to you and everyone YOU smile at and touch on a regular basis. Just remember, it’s not the gifts you buy in a store with money that count. It’s the gift of yourself that you give to others that really matters.