All About You FRIDAY – Counting Time

He hobbled in and hopped up on the treatment table. I’d known him since he was a young boy with a bright smile and a curiosity that matches mine. He is now 30, college-graduate, gainfully employed and a homeowner. It’s amazing how quickly the kids grow up.

“Did you get a new tattoo?” I asked noticing fresh ink on his right wrist, still with the protective tape on it.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about what I wanted to get since my mom died. It’s been four and a half years.” I knew his mother. She was the kind of person who, the minute you met her, you knew it was safe to go in for a hug. She was a loving wife and mother of two children and she worked in a daycare. She had a heart for everyone and we shared meaningful conversations every time she was on my treatment table. My heart sank the day I heard that she had been diagnosed with a blood cancer.

“I read 1 Corinthians 13:13 at her funeral,” he continued, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. I wanted to commemorate that,” he said.

“What are the numbers about?” I asked.

“That’s the number of days we spent on this earth together,” he replied. “It’s a reminder for me to cherish all the moments I get with someone I love.”

9,817 days.

In that moment, I realized how much like her he had grown to be. His compassion for his ailing grandma. His desire to help people in need. The smile he brings every time he steps into the clinic. She would be so proud of him.

It made me think of my mom.

18,851.

That’s my number. I got 51 years, 7 months and 11 days with a woman who loved me with all of her heart. And I knew it. I was one of the lucky ones.

She stood 4’11”, small in stature, but big in heart. She loved shopping. And her language of love was definitely gifts. If she found something on sale, she would buy it. Toaster ovens. Kitchen utensils. Home decor. Clothes. She kept a stockpile of things in our laundry room and whenever we had visitors, she would walk in there and grab a gift to hand to them. No special occasion needed.

She was a nurse. But not just any nurse. The kind of nurse that cared about the small details. She would make sure a patient’s face was washed and they were comfortable. I remember seeing her take a cotton swab to moisten my dad’s lips one time when he was in the hospital. I never would have thought to do that, I silently said in my mind.

She played the piano and though she could read music, she mostly played by ear. She played for the church and when she could hear that a hymn was uncomfortably high for the congregation to sing, she would transpose it down a key without missing a beat.

She used to line up our toothbrushes with toothpaste already on them so that when she called us up to go to bed, our nightly hygiene routine was ready to go. She always made sure we had vegetables to eat for dinner and when I complained that lima beans tasted like sand, she still made me eat them. She used to read devotionals to us as we ate our breakfast in the morning and said a prayer before we went off to school.

I remember a day my brother got in trouble and he knew he was going to get spanked. He took off running and my mother grabbed his ankle with lightning reflexes as he headed up the stairs and caught him. She wasn’t even that athletic but it was like she was superhuman in that moment. I towed the line after that.

She spent the last few years of her life bedridden, but even in that state, I knew she prayed for me every day. “Do you have a man in your life?” she asked once as I laid next to her in her bed.

“Not right now,” I replied. She was always worried that I would end up being alone, even though I told her I was more than capable of surviving.

“What happened to the last guy?” she asked

“He was nice,” I said, “But he just wasn’t that smart.”

“Oh, shucks,” she said. We shared a laugh. I don’t know why that conversation is still one of my favorites.

I wish she could have met Liz. I often wonder what her response would have been. But I can imagine it would have taken about two seconds before she wrapped her arms around her and treated her like one of her own. And she probably would have walked right into the laundry room and come out with a new toaster oven to welcome her to the familiy.

18,851 days. Time shared with one of the most generous, loving people I have known. And I called her mom.

My patient, once a boy and now a man, reminded me of one of life’s most important things. It’s amazing how quickly they grow up.

It’s been a long week. Don’t forget to celebrate and cherish the days.

Until next time…