THE WISDOM OF AGE

While working at a hospice a few years back, I also volunteered as Eucharistic Minister to bring Holy Communion to dying patients, their families and friends. Because of that interaction with patients I became privileged to be a part of their final journey and to be blessed to know so many wonderful people and their stories. This story is about one woman in particular who is etched in my heart forever.

Rebecca was a tiny ... but feisty ... woman of 85 years. Her wit and wisdom had soon made her a favorite of the In-Patient Unit staff. I always looked forward to my visits with her because I always walked away enriched by a funny phrase ... or tidbit of wisdom.

Each day, I would visit for a few minutes, give her Communion, kiss her on the forehead, say "I love you," and then leave her alone so she could pray silently. One day, after I had told her I loved her (and she always responded back in kind), Rebecca remarked how sad it must be for people who are not able to love. "I always pray for those people who can't find it in their hearts to love ... or feel loved. How awful that must be!"

Another time I stopped in again and found Rebecca looking "sheepish." In fact, she looked like she'd gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "Okay, Rebecca, what did you do this time?" I asked of her.

"Oh, Sue, I dropped a glass and it just shattered all over the place. And if that wasn't bad enough, I said some horrible words." She was totally guilt ridden. When I found out one of her horrible words had been "dammit," I couldn't help but laugh. But Rebecca wasn't laughing ... and she wasn't sure that she should receive Communion. "Do you really think God would be bothered about that?" I asked. “No,” she said, “I guess not. I know He loves all of us even me - and I suspect He's probably heard worse."

Rebecca was such a delight ... and I enjoyed spending time with her. I would not only give her Communion, but also bring her coffee, look at family pictures and hear about the latest soap opera episode. I always carried her, "I love you, Sue," with me as I walked out the door.

Not long before her death, when I stopped in for my usual visit, I was surprised to see her lying in bed, facing the window, with her back to me. When I tapped on the door and said her name, she didn’t acknowledge me. I went around the bed to find Rebecca with tears trickling down her cheeks. "What's the matter, Rebecca?" I asked softly, taking her hand.

"I've done something that you will never forgive me for," she said and closed her eyes.

"Rebecca, there is nothing you could ever do that would cause me not to forgive you," I assured her.

"It's horrible," she said.

I pleaded with her to tell me. I could see how much she was struggling and my heart broke for her. "Please tell me, Rebecca." I said again.

In broken sentences and with the tears still streaming, Rebecca told me about a time when she was younger. "I left the Church, Sue, for a man who was married."

I listened as she painfully talked about how wrong that relationship had been. "I finally left him ... but couldn't bring myself to go back to Church." I had been gone for so long, she continued, I turned my back on God.”

I stroked her forehead, kissed her cheek and told her how much I loved her ... even more than before. "How can that be?" Rebecca asked.

"You trusted me ... that's a real blessing for me," I replied. "And you don't need my forgiveness ... there's nothing for me to forgive. And, Rebecca, you already have God's forgiveness. Maybe what you need to do is forgive yourself."

Rebecca wasn't real sure about what I'd said ... and still seemed a little skeptical. I asked her if she would like me to have our priest chaplain visit. She agreed that this was a good idea. She did receive Communion that day after I convinced her that God wants to be with her even more so now. The chaplain visited Rebecca the next day and stayed with her for over an hour.

Not long afterwards, Rebecca's health started to deteriorate rapidly. Her bits of wisdom and wit diminished, but her peace and belief in love and God remained steadfast. There were times when she wouldn’t be awake and I would just stand over her and say a prayer. Communion was no longer taken but every now and then I would witness a twinkle in her eye when I whispered her name and asked her to say ‘hi’ to God for me.

I am convinced that Rebecca died believing she was forgiven ... not by me ... or anyone else. She died forgiven by Rebecca ... a wisdom she gave to herself.

By Susan Handle Terbay