2020 – for most of us, it’s a blur, more dark than light for a variety of reasons. History books, or logs, will tell of riots and politics and Covid-19. What a tangled trinity that has been.
In my corner of the universe, it was all about staying in my corner (we all had to stay in our corners), focusing on infrastructure work for Silent Blessings, and membership in my host’s household.
He had a stroke in early March, just two weeks before the world shut down. I was managing a cold & keeping my cooties to myself, so the 1-hour response window was firmly closed by the time I found him resting against the commode tank. The rest of the year was a roller coaster of getting better & hoping to return home, while Covid protocols prevented the home visits that might have given him a better quality of life. To say his family and I got to know each other more is a bit of an understatement. We spent many weeks going through cabinets and stray papers to find what was needed for his care, and we filled the garage twice moving clutter and furniture out to make safe paths for his walker.
Part of his health progress (and regress) was measured in his ability to meet me at his window in the rehab facility. Cell phones, white boards, and a progression of cat-management strategies came into play. Our daily visits revolved around a weather report and singing a few songs – usually hymns, sometimes silly songs from his younger days. My high school choir director taught us songs older than we and he combined, and 40 years later they were recalled to bless a friend. You never know what old tools you might dig up and appreciate long after you acquire them. We also played games, Yahtzee and Sorry! with vertical modifications, tic-tac-toe, and perhaps one round of hangman. (Word games weren’t his favorite – Sorry! was.)
Mostly, we sang. The old hymns were a way to connect, to worship, and encourage. Great is Thy Faithfulness, How Great Thou Art, Because He Lives, Learning to Lean, Victory in Jesus, and often, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus. We both rested in the memorized lyrics because we could share without the frustrating inability to hear, understand, or remember more current details on other topics.
Toward the end of the year, he was diagnosed with Covid, but it became a disguised blessing. The timing of his quarantine and recovery allowed him to leave the facility for his birthday. We served cake and dixie-cups of ice cream to friends who stopped by to visit on the porch. And with some of those friends, we sang, enthusiastically.
We then learned that he could come home for longer visits, and during those visits we learned that we couldn’t sustain the level of care he needed if we were to bring him home permanently. We knew that we tried – better than being unsure of whether we’d done our best. But, he enjoyed being among his family for Thanksgiving and pre-Christmas before being resigned to only window visits again.
In January, the facility agreed that his cat could visit inside – no more sitting on a stone window ledge peering through glass at a lap she couldn’t curl up in. His health declined, but his outlook improved for 6-8 weeks. Then, a year after this journey began, he was back in the hospital. The cat was barred after one stowaway visit, but his family was welcome. For one week, we visited without windows, then we sang him Home.
We understand I Corinthians 13:12 better after this year – now we see as through a glass, darkly, but then we will see face to face.