It was day before Thanksgiving 2009.
Through one of my friends in a deeply spiritual conversation, I first heard about NODA. NODA stands for No One Dies Alone. When I heard about it I had to stop him and ask questions. The goose bumps covering my body were a sign I'd come to understand that what I was hearing was important. I took some notes to research at another time and then we continued on in our conversation.
No One Dies Alone is a program that was created by a nurse in Eugene, Oregon named Sandra Clarke. In 1986 a dying patient of Sandra's asked her to stay with him a while. She said she'd return after she checked on several other patients also in her care. When Sandra finally had a moment and returned, she found that the man had died. Sandra never forgot the experience and in 2001 she created No One Dies Alone.
NODA has spread to places all over the world. Volunteers from within the community or from the staff at a facility agree to sit with dying patients. There are countless reasons why a person might be in the final stages of their life and be alone. Some of the dying have outlived their family and friends, some have family, but the family needs to take breaks from their bedside vigil in order to care for themselves and others in their families and to work. Some of the dying find themselves in a health crisis far from home or perhaps far from family and friends.
Shortly after learning about it, I joined the volunteers of the Portland, OR chapter of NODA. The creator of the Portland Chapter and my volunteer coordinator at NODA is a kind and gentle man named Jim. At my NODA orientation Jim shared with the group that his mother had passed alone and that had haunted him for 20+ years. That's a long time to be haunted, but what really impressed me was the good that came from it.
My son David was home for the Thanksgiving break and he and I spent several afternoon hours down near Chinatown in Portland. David's a journalism major and was studying documentary creation and production in his sophomore year. He had an assignment due after break and for it, he really wanted to document how the current economy has impacted the homeless. We went downtown with his video camera borrowed from the U of O, and we were open to wherever God would lead us. I thought I was just there for moral support with a real interest in learning what my child cares about. It was such a different experience from what I anticipated it would be and eye-opening. I had no real plan in mind, but I was aware that going down there and being on the streets with the homeless was taking me completely out of my comfort zone. I think what I discovered was that if I really believe what I preach - and I do - then I cannot allow myself to feel any different from any other being when I choose to see at least a spark of God in everyone. What I found was a dark place in me that was terrified that the space between me and homelessness was a month or two of work. What I also understood that day is that homeless people have been stripped of nearly every shred of human dignity and that they only want to be seen. I heard it from several different voices that day, "I'm no different from you". In the end I was the giver and receiver of some really great hugs. I'm different today. Now I know that I need to do something with this new experience in my heart. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'm sure there is much more that will come to me.
As I was relaxing back in the warmth of our family room in front of a roaring fire, after our time outside on a sunny but crisp November afternoon, at about 4:30 Jim from NODA sent an email around asking for vigil volunteers. I was sitting with my laptop when the email from Jim came in. I was in the middle of 4 days off from work and could easily do a shift - as David was editing his video and Brian was at work and I'd pre-prepared much of the Thanksgiving meal we would share the next day. I replied to Jim right away and told him I could fill-in as early as right away or when he had a space he couldn't fill. I barely hit send when David pointed out that my phone was vibrating. I agreed to sit with 90-year old Edith who was dying potentially on a holiday, that evening at 6 - staying through 9.
On my drive to her, I slipped into sweet Edith's energy. Jim told me she was "in and out" but when I got into her energy, it was literally half out of her physical, earthly body. In this vision Edith showed me a kind of black and white film of her life. It was filled with much joy and some deep sorrow. I asked God what I was to do and He led us both to a party where everyone had gathered to say goodbye to Edith. As everyone said goodbye to her, she stood in the middle of the crowd unsure of her next move. I stepped in and told her it was okay to go, that her next step was into heaven and all of her loved ones who had passed before her, were waiting for her. I told her that everyone left behind here would be just fine and that God had told me that hers was a life well lived. I hugged her and kissed her cheek and she turned and stepped though a doorway behind her and was gone.
The next thing I knew I was pulling into the parking lot, signed my name in the guest book and then was walking toward the nurse's station. I told the nurse who I was, that I'd volunteered to sit with Edith until 9 and that this was my very first vigil and I admitted that I was a bit nervous about it. I told her that any advice she could give me would be very much appreciated. The nurse told me that Edith was mostly unresponsive. I told her that Jim had told me she liked music. The nurse said with a smile as she put her hand on my arm "Well, I hope so."
The nurse led the way into Edith's room and looking at Edith said "...Wait a minute...” Edith lay there in her bed, a pink stuffed animal between her hands, somewhat on her side with her mouth and eyes wide open. The nurse listened to Edith's chest with her stethoscope, checked her wrist with her fingers, put her hand close in front of Edith's mouth, and told me she'd be right back with someone else to check her. When the nurse was away I took Edith's hand and told her who I was and that she and I had met a little while ago at her goodbye party. I started singing to her softly. The song that came out of me was a lovely Welsh lullaby that I hadn't even thought of since my sons were small, "All through the night".
Upon their return to Edith's room, it took about 15-minutes for the two nurses to determine that she had passed away. An aide said that said it was only 5:30 when she had last checked on her, changed her gown and her linens and bathed her. I walked into Edith's room at 2 minutes before 6 PM. Sometime between 5:30 and 5:58 Edith stepped into heaven where those that had passed before her, were waiting for her.
Someday I hope to be able to tell Jim what I am able to do spiritually and energetically. I'd like to tell him that his mother was so very proud of him for how he'd taken his pain at her death and turned it into something so incredibly beautiful.
I'm very grateful for my friend who was the willing messenger that told me about NODA. That day before Thanksgiving 2009, I faced two personal fears and came away from both instances a different Carley.
I think that any time we honestly open up and reach out for another; there is a blessing that comes to us - and it's way bigger than we could even imagine it to be.
Happy Thanksgiving to the guys down in Chinatown.
Happy Thanksgiving Edith.
Thank you all for that you've so freely given to me.
____________________________________
All Through the Night
An ancient Welsh folksong, the following English lyrics were translated by Harold Boulton.
"Sleep my child and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
I my loving vigil keeping
All through the night.
While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O'er they spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night.
Love, to thee my thoughts are turning
All through the night
All for thee my heart is yearning,
All through the night.
Though sad fate our lives may sever
Parting will not last forever,
There's a hope that leaves me never,
All through the night."
Friday, June 18, 2010
Monday, October 12, 2009
Leah
The call came a couple of days before Christmas 2004 informing me Leah had died. My brain took the news in very slowly even though I knew it was coming. I leaned back against the wall of the hallway just outside of my office, and as the phone dropped down in my extended arm, tears welled in my eyes as I remembered her last words to me, "I'll save a place for you in Heaven."
Leah worked for me unwillingly at first. She did court research in Parker County, TX. I had a client who asked if I could take on their work in this new county for us and I said what I always said, yes - and then scrambled to find someone that I could test quickly with a few names that we already knew had criminal records. If our tests came back to us with at least the expected information, I would be able to get the job done with the new researcher.
I usually contacted the Court Clerks and asked for recommendations of people that they knew who do research in their court on a daily basis. Instead of giving me some names and phone numbers as I expected she would, I was put through to Leah's desk, a court employee. Leah told me that she did court research and did so with her Clerks' blessing in her off time. She charged $5.00 per name and wouldn't go down to the $3.00 per name that I could offer her. We thanked each other and went on about our business - or at least I did. Leah called back in about 10 minutes saying, "Three dollars is better than no dollars. I'll do it." She also quietly asked me not to tell anyone that she'd gone under her $5.00 price.
As we went about our business of court research I had several opportunities to call Leah and when I did I never just asked her the question I had for her. We usually wound-up talking for far longer than I thought I had to talk, and it was through these conversations that Leah and I found a connection that neither of us understood but both were thankful for. We talked about all kinds of things... criminals and how when the search included the middle name "Dwayne" spelled in any possible way... that person was going to have a record. Or, if the person we were researching was born within 2 weeks of Christmas, they had a high likelihood of having a criminal record - the closer to Christmas Day the higher the likelihood. If they were born on Christmas Day - a criminal record was a near certainty. We also talked about kids, raising kids, what was important to us, our beliefs in God, how we were raised, mistakes our parents made, our ex-husbands, and our value systems. Nearly each conversation ended it with, "I'm so glad I found you." "I'm so glad you found me."
Leah called me one evening as I was trying to get out of the office and asked me if I had the time to talk. I didn't, but said that I did, as there was something in Leah's voice that told me this call was important. She apologized to me for the recent days when she wasn't available to do our research. Personally, I hadn't noticed. Most of Leah's work came back to us the same day we assigned it to her. Some came back the next day. By industry standards, she was outstanding in her field and even when she felt that she was being remiss, she was still exemplary. Then she said it. She just simply came out with it. Her words hit me in the stomach - Lung Cancer. She was not getting her work done as quickly as she wanted to because of the radiation treatments and chemo infusions. Leah had lung cancer. I don't remember much of the rest of the conversation, other than Leah told me she couldn't cry in front of her family, but that she could cry with me. We both cried.
I was raised Episcopalian, the adopted child of an alcoholic father and a Type 1 diabetic mother who was herself the product of an alcoholic mother. While I loved my mother, she abused me as a child both physically and verbally. She beat me with my father's leather belts. My mother believed in hitting, and washing out mouths with soap and in denying food, believing that time-out, then called being sent to your room, should also be accompanied by the punishment of no dinner and an early bedtime. My father's abuse was different. When my father was mad, sad, disappointed or simply displeased with me specifically... or with the world in general... he ignored me and withdrew his love. I became - at least for a period of time - nonexistent to him, even when we shared space in the same room.
My mother and father went to church each and every Sunday and sat in the 3rd row, bride's side on the isle. My mother didn't have a job outside of the house, instead she volunteered in what she called the D-house. The D stood for Diocesan and I frequently came home from school to an empty house. I was in the church choir for as far back as I can remember right up until I left home at 16. I also felt invisible to God and somehow concluded at an early age that I was truly insignificant. I knew that my mother somehow held the inside track to God, because she kept beating me, and no matter how hard I prayed, God didn't stop her.
It was May of 2004, and we really needed another set of hands in the office, when I placed an ad on Craigslist for another data entry person. We received several resume submissions with typos, spelling, and grammar errors, all of which got quick thanks anyway emails. The very best reply and resume came from a woman literally named 'Barbi'. I'm a single mom, a very practical woman who created a business and ran it against the odds in a good ol' boy network and made little time for chitchat and worked very, very hard. A woman who went by the name 'Barbi' on purpose, was less than worthy of my consideration on general principles. I mean she would be nearly 6' tall and blonde, right? The guys in my office were really hurting by the additional amount of work we were getting in, and guilted me into interviewing her. While I agreed reluctantly to do so, I also warned them that if she appeared at the door 6' tall and blonde it was going to be an extremely short interview. When I answered the door, I was encouraged to discover that she was shorter than me and had very dark hair. Her resume got her an interview. Her appearance got her in the door. Her amazing peace and confidence combined with her typing speed got her the job. I still hated her name.
It turned out that Barbi was a Christian. Not the type of Christian that I thought I was - the kind that was baptized, confirmed and who went to church to please my father on both Easter and Christmas. Barbi was a born-again Christian. I learned that born-again meant that when a person openly and willingly accepts Jesus Christ as their personal Savior they discover the person they were before that act of acceptance is gone, and the person they become is very different. Who they become is now based on the choices they make as a follower of Jesus Christ. This concept was mind-blowing to me and seemed naive. But there was something about Barbi, how she really dug into her work, how she told me that she'd prayed to God for the perfect job, and that she felt He had answered her with the job I offered her. And, how over time I found that I could pose any question to her about God or the Bible and she educated me as slowly as I chose to be educated in her view of faith. I was intrigued. She talked about human frailty, about how forgiveness was given to everyone regardless of the sin as long as they asked God for forgiveness and repented.
Complete forgiveness was a crazy concept to me and I got caught-up on why lead a good life, while any convicted criminal could also be forgiven, and granted access to heaven if he accepted Christ just before he was executed. Barbi left me to stew with that thought. I really stewed. As I stewed Barbi asked gently if the boys and I would be her guests at her church and see for ourselves how it was. We didn't for the longest time, but then one day mostly because I'd grown to love Barbi, we went.
This church was held in the auditorium of a high school. The Pastor gave his sermon directly to my heart. It was actually very uncomfortable for me. How did he know the things about me that he seemed to know? I was the true product of an alcoholic and his enabler wife, and even long after my mother's death I continued to live in shame and denial. This coping mechanism was the only one I had at the time. Nobody knew the things about me that the Pastor seemed to know, as I had told no one.
Barbi offered to guide an intimate Bible study in our home. The five students were comprised of my family and two other students we knew from our new high school church. We met after work once a week. It wasn't long after we finished the Bible study when the boys and I decided to accept Christ, and our lives really did begin anew.
When Leah told me that she had lung cancer, I knew that I had to physically meet her. Up to then our friendship was only over the phone and in faxed letters back and forth as Leah never had email. I made contact with one of Leah's daughters that I knew worked in the same court, and with all the stealth of a cat burglar, my boys and I arrived in DFW on New Year's Day 2004, got into our rented car and found our way into Leah's driveway. I can tell you that the tearful hug that Leah and I shared that day was among the best hugs I'd ever been a part of. We talked for hours sitting in her kitchen, drinking coffee. The boys played with her dogs, watched TV and played video games with Leah's grandson.
I discovered that the Dallas Stars played that night at home in Dallas. Both my boys were huge hockey fans, and were bored in this strange and smoke-filled home so I offered to get tickets to the game for Leah's daughter's family, along with my boys, so I could thank them for all of their help in sneaking us in on New Year's Day. It was a way to create a wonderful memory for my boys. Their hockey adventure left Leah and me alone for several more hours to continue our already day-long talk.
Leah had been diagnosed with lung cancer, and yet she would turn off her oxygen and then light a cigarette. Her son with whom Leah lived also smoked. It made me wonder at some length about the power of addiction, and about the ability of the human mind to rationalize away literally anything. It certainly wasn't for me to judge as I had smoked for years. I quit smoking for the last time on a day I was driving my children home from school. I looked into my rear view mirror, at them buckled in the back seat, to find they both had tears streaming down their faces. In school that very day they had learned about the hazards of smoking... and that it was a slow and steady killer. Almost simultaneously, they both blurted out in tear-choked voices, that they didn't want me to die and leave them all alone. They actually begged me to quit smoking.
I pulled the car over on the shoulder of the road and got out, opened the back door and held them both in my arms, all of us crying. I assured them that I wasn't going to go anywhere. I quit smoking that day - for good. I've never looked back. I am so grateful every day that it didn't take cancer to make me quit. Even Leah's cancer didn't make Leah or her son... and one of her two daughters, quit. Mind you, my own health wasn't reason enough for me to quit smoking either. However, I had vowed years before I was even married that I would never be the kind of parent that my parents were. I never got behind the wheel when I was drunk as I had chosen to not drink, or when I might go into an insulin shock but I was not diabetic, but the second I realized that my sons were terrified that I would leave them based on a different, albeit destructive choice that I made, I was disgusted in myself for causing in them the kind of fear that I knew all too well.
The next day escorted by Leah with her walker, and both of her daughters, her daughter-in-law and all of their kids, we drove across town to a flea market. I had never actually been to a flea market before or since that day. It didn't matter to me what we were going to do, although I did appreciate the fresh air. I just wanted to spend as much time as I could with Leah during our three days in Weatherford, TX.
In our conversations for the few months previous I had mentioned to her that I'd been researching dogs. My oldest son David was an avid hockey player and since our arrival from Buffalo, New York to Portland, Oregon he'd been dubbed the goalie from back East. To my significant surprise, he lived up to and frankly surpassed all the hoopla. He was really good. As David got older he got exponentially better, but then puberty hit and the workouts got much more difficult, and he discovered what muscle pain was. I knew that in order to keep his edge on other goalies in his age bracket, he needed to train additionally outside of the arena. I could have run with him, but I have never been a runner, and I had Brian, his younger brother at home. David and I agreed completely that running alone was no fun. I researched breeds of dogs who not only could run five miles per day, but who would love to run five miles per day. The breed I found was the all too cool and incredibly smart Jack Russell Terrier.
That was as far as I'd gone with it, just research. In the car on the way to the flea market Leah said with a grin on her face, that flea markets in Texas were probably different than they were in other parts. They had all kinds of things for sale, old tools, books as well as dishes, comic books, and even animals from kittens to the farm variety. I had never planned to find Jackson that day. I never actually planned to get a dog that soon. I was still in the toying with it stage.
We went down the isle with all the animals - rabbits, chickens, roosters, and then the dogs. There was only one Jack Russell Terrier in the flea market that day. He was in a cage all by himself and he was shivering. I was drawn to him as a magnet to steel. I'd actually walked away from the crowd we were in and asked the lady with this single dog for sale if I could hold him. I took one look at this half dark, half white face divided right down the middle, and I knew that he was our dog. I turned around with Jackson in my arms, holding him snugly to my chest to help ease his shivers, and said to David, "I found our dog."
It wasn't until we got back to Leah's that I thought about how I'd get him home on the plane. It turns out that if you get the dog checked-out by a Vet, get a clean bill of health slip, and pay $85.00 you could bring a dog on a plane in a carrier and slide it right under the seat in front of you. Accompanied by Jackson, we arrived back in Portland during a freak ice storm. Jackson's first act was to pee outside the airport on its concrete apron as he claimed his new home. I was head-over-heels in love with this new furry child.
The months in 2004 flew by, as all the months do in every year, one month blurring into the next. It was just after Thanksgiving when Leah called me and told me that she had been sent home from the hospital under the care of Hospice. We talked for hours on the phone as often as we could, especially after her family had gone out or gone into their collective rooms, and left her alone to talk openly with me. She told me she was scared and was afraid to die. I bought tickets on December 6th, 2004 and flew out to see her the next day.
I had many second thoughts about spending that kind of money right before Christmas, about taking those days off from work, and how much I would miss my kids and Jack and his new adopted sister, Jasmine. Pairs we found work well with dogs, as they do with children. By grace, somehow, I got a reduced price on the airline ticket with one of those last minute fares. At the car rental place they upgraded me at no additional cost from the subcompact I was going to rent to a small SUV. Leah offered to let me stay with them in her room. They were living in a different house than we'd visited before and the sunroom was now converted to a room just for Leah.
Before I left Portland I begged Barbi to write down the Sinner’s Prayer, the one we said aloud as we accepted Christ and confessed our sins. I'd said it less than two weeks before when I had accepted Christ myself, but I couldn't remember it for the life of me. I tucked Barbi's hand-written prayer into my Bible and off I went to Texas.
Leah and I reunited as though we'd not been apart for nearly a year. She was very thin and looked much older than her 60-some years. She was weak and frail and I cried openly as I sat on the edge of her bed and held her hands. I had seen her with my own eyes and knew without any doubt that I would soon lose my friend.
I tried to do all I could to help the family. Leah slept a great deal of the time and tried, I'm sure for my sake, to cut back on her pain medication, but even so, I had many hours on my own in her house. I forget all the ways I found to be useful, but I remember cleaning and organizing the kitchen cupboards as the family had only just moved into this house in order to give Leah the care she needed. They hadn't had the time to clean before they moved in. I put up their Christmas tree and decorated it in a space that Leah could see from her bed in the sunroom as no one was really in the Christmas spirit in that house.
It was all very sad and somber, accompanied by the hushed voices one usually reserves for the dying. I realized by my headache at the end of the first day that I couldn't sleep in that same room with Leah or in that house. The smoke from everyone that lived there, and from those that visited, was really getting to me, even though I sat outside in the back yard, endlessly throwing a ball for one of the dogs while Leah slept, or while she was visited by a Hospice nurse.
With a bit of luck, I found the hotel where the boys and I stayed on our first trip to Weatherford. While I wanted desperately to spend every second I could with Leah, I knew that she was exhausted by my presence. In the morning I drove to the only big store in town, a Walmart, and prayed to God in the parking lot to show me what it was I was supposed to do here. I kept humming this Christian song that played again and again in my head, "Speak to Me" by Oregonian Dave Lubben. Part of the lyrics went, "I'm listening Lord, speak to me".
In fiddling with the rental car's radio looking for some inspiration before driving the few miles to Leah's house, I came across a sermon on Christian radio. His words still ring clearly to me today. He was saying that if you prayed to God to help you find a job, He would. He continued to say that you would never find the job that God had answered your prayer with by sitting on your sofa. He spoke loudly and with verve, "You have to get off your butt and get out there and knock on a few doors! God will always help you, but you still have to do the leg work!"
I sat in my rented car outside that Walmart laughing at the truth in the sermon, turned off the car's engine and headed into Walmart to find something to take Leah and their family for breakfast. She'd mentioned once how she loved donuts. Inside, early on a Sunday morning, I found Krispy Kreme donuts. With a smile I bought a couple of boxes and headed over to Leah's. I sat at the dining room table with Leah and her son enjoying the fresh pastries. Everyone gasped as Leah swallowed her last bite. This was the first bit of food in weeks that she'd eaten every bite. Leah smiled broadly and said in her most perfect Southern drawl "That was Goooood!" I asked her right away to close her eyes, and to burn into her brain how good it felt right there in that moment. I wanted her to have a memory of something good in case the days ahead left her feeling less than good. She always did everything I asked of her.
On my last night with Leah, I was sitting with her in the sunroom in a chair at the side of her bed. On the other side of the room were a chair and an ottoman. Earlier I left my bible out on the ottoman, uncomfortable with my very limited knowledge of the Bible, and yet feeling that I needed it near me just in case. I had just finished showing Leah pictures of Jackson and Jasmine playing in our back yard. I also took pictures with me of the boys and Leah loved each and every one, soaking in every detail. It was late, about 10:30 and we were still talking about everything under the sun, when Leah stopped me and took my hand in hers and said, "I'm so afraid."
You see, we'd talked long and hard about everything except the white elephant in the room, except about Leah and the fact that she was dying. Ours was the only light on in the house. There was no one else awake. It was December and there was a nip in the air, so there were no open windows. The fan was still. The night was truly hushed and from the instant of Leah's declaration, the house was pin-drop silent.
I had absolutely no idea what to say to her. I heard the song in my head again, "I'm listening Lord, speak to me." Just then, before I could think of a single word to utter, in the still, stagnant, smoky air, my Bible on the ottoman across the room fell to the floor with a thump. The hand-written Sinner's Prayer that Barbi had hastily written for me right before I left the office fluttered gracefully to the floor. With Leah still clutching my hand, I asked if she'd be interested in life-everlasting. If I knew of a way that would guarantee she would be allowed home into Heaven - with just the saying of a simple prayer, a request for the forgiveness of all her sins from God - would she be willing to do that with me, right there, in the quiet of that night?
I had never seen a broader smile on her face than I did in that moment. Tears began to roll down her face as I read Barbi's prayer out loud. Leah took over the prayer at the perfect spot. She asked for the forgiveness of her specific sins and then for the sins she must have committed unintentionally too. She openly accepted Jesus Christ as her personal Savior and together we hugged and cried and felt blessed. As Leah fell to sleep later that night, I turned off her light and made my way in the dark past the Christmas tree to the front door. I looked back to her as she lay in the bed in the middle of the sun room. I whispered "Thank you God". There was a bit of a moon that night and its light spilled into the room and across Leah's face. She was smiling in her sleep, and had such a contented peaceful look that I closed my eyes wanting to remember it in the coming days. It would be something good to buffer me against the days that were sure to come.
The next afternoon I said goodbye to Leah. I asked God to give me strength and to help me be there for everyone, especially Leah. I told Him I could cry all the way to the airport instead. In the end, it was Leah who consoled me. She asked me not to worry about her, because today she finally had peace. She said that I had given her that peace and acceptance about her impending death. I gently told her that I had no idea what I was doing, but that God and Barbi had done it all. As I kissed Leah's hand and told her that I didn't want to say goodbye, I couldn't hold the tears back any longer. She took my chin in her hand and said "It's not goodbye, it's see ya later. I'll save a place for you in Heaven."
As posted in the Weatherford Democrat, kindness of Judy at the paper:
"Leah Bennett Gordon
Leah Bennett Gordon, 64, died Thursday, Dec. 23, 2004, in Weatherford.
Mrs. Gordon was a devoted mother, grandmother, sister, amazing aunt and friend to everyone she met. She was a member of the Rock of Helps Church and a former records management clerk for the Parker County district clerk's office."
Leah worked for me unwillingly at first. She did court research in Parker County, TX. I had a client who asked if I could take on their work in this new county for us and I said what I always said, yes - and then scrambled to find someone that I could test quickly with a few names that we already knew had criminal records. If our tests came back to us with at least the expected information, I would be able to get the job done with the new researcher.
I usually contacted the Court Clerks and asked for recommendations of people that they knew who do research in their court on a daily basis. Instead of giving me some names and phone numbers as I expected she would, I was put through to Leah's desk, a court employee. Leah told me that she did court research and did so with her Clerks' blessing in her off time. She charged $5.00 per name and wouldn't go down to the $3.00 per name that I could offer her. We thanked each other and went on about our business - or at least I did. Leah called back in about 10 minutes saying, "Three dollars is better than no dollars. I'll do it." She also quietly asked me not to tell anyone that she'd gone under her $5.00 price.
As we went about our business of court research I had several opportunities to call Leah and when I did I never just asked her the question I had for her. We usually wound-up talking for far longer than I thought I had to talk, and it was through these conversations that Leah and I found a connection that neither of us understood but both were thankful for. We talked about all kinds of things... criminals and how when the search included the middle name "Dwayne" spelled in any possible way... that person was going to have a record. Or, if the person we were researching was born within 2 weeks of Christmas, they had a high likelihood of having a criminal record - the closer to Christmas Day the higher the likelihood. If they were born on Christmas Day - a criminal record was a near certainty. We also talked about kids, raising kids, what was important to us, our beliefs in God, how we were raised, mistakes our parents made, our ex-husbands, and our value systems. Nearly each conversation ended it with, "I'm so glad I found you." "I'm so glad you found me."
Leah called me one evening as I was trying to get out of the office and asked me if I had the time to talk. I didn't, but said that I did, as there was something in Leah's voice that told me this call was important. She apologized to me for the recent days when she wasn't available to do our research. Personally, I hadn't noticed. Most of Leah's work came back to us the same day we assigned it to her. Some came back the next day. By industry standards, she was outstanding in her field and even when she felt that she was being remiss, she was still exemplary. Then she said it. She just simply came out with it. Her words hit me in the stomach - Lung Cancer. She was not getting her work done as quickly as she wanted to because of the radiation treatments and chemo infusions. Leah had lung cancer. I don't remember much of the rest of the conversation, other than Leah told me she couldn't cry in front of her family, but that she could cry with me. We both cried.
I was raised Episcopalian, the adopted child of an alcoholic father and a Type 1 diabetic mother who was herself the product of an alcoholic mother. While I loved my mother, she abused me as a child both physically and verbally. She beat me with my father's leather belts. My mother believed in hitting, and washing out mouths with soap and in denying food, believing that time-out, then called being sent to your room, should also be accompanied by the punishment of no dinner and an early bedtime. My father's abuse was different. When my father was mad, sad, disappointed or simply displeased with me specifically... or with the world in general... he ignored me and withdrew his love. I became - at least for a period of time - nonexistent to him, even when we shared space in the same room.
My mother and father went to church each and every Sunday and sat in the 3rd row, bride's side on the isle. My mother didn't have a job outside of the house, instead she volunteered in what she called the D-house. The D stood for Diocesan and I frequently came home from school to an empty house. I was in the church choir for as far back as I can remember right up until I left home at 16. I also felt invisible to God and somehow concluded at an early age that I was truly insignificant. I knew that my mother somehow held the inside track to God, because she kept beating me, and no matter how hard I prayed, God didn't stop her.
It was May of 2004, and we really needed another set of hands in the office, when I placed an ad on Craigslist for another data entry person. We received several resume submissions with typos, spelling, and grammar errors, all of which got quick thanks anyway emails. The very best reply and resume came from a woman literally named 'Barbi'. I'm a single mom, a very practical woman who created a business and ran it against the odds in a good ol' boy network and made little time for chitchat and worked very, very hard. A woman who went by the name 'Barbi' on purpose, was less than worthy of my consideration on general principles. I mean she would be nearly 6' tall and blonde, right? The guys in my office were really hurting by the additional amount of work we were getting in, and guilted me into interviewing her. While I agreed reluctantly to do so, I also warned them that if she appeared at the door 6' tall and blonde it was going to be an extremely short interview. When I answered the door, I was encouraged to discover that she was shorter than me and had very dark hair. Her resume got her an interview. Her appearance got her in the door. Her amazing peace and confidence combined with her typing speed got her the job. I still hated her name.
It turned out that Barbi was a Christian. Not the type of Christian that I thought I was - the kind that was baptized, confirmed and who went to church to please my father on both Easter and Christmas. Barbi was a born-again Christian. I learned that born-again meant that when a person openly and willingly accepts Jesus Christ as their personal Savior they discover the person they were before that act of acceptance is gone, and the person they become is very different. Who they become is now based on the choices they make as a follower of Jesus Christ. This concept was mind-blowing to me and seemed naive. But there was something about Barbi, how she really dug into her work, how she told me that she'd prayed to God for the perfect job, and that she felt He had answered her with the job I offered her. And, how over time I found that I could pose any question to her about God or the Bible and she educated me as slowly as I chose to be educated in her view of faith. I was intrigued. She talked about human frailty, about how forgiveness was given to everyone regardless of the sin as long as they asked God for forgiveness and repented.
Complete forgiveness was a crazy concept to me and I got caught-up on why lead a good life, while any convicted criminal could also be forgiven, and granted access to heaven if he accepted Christ just before he was executed. Barbi left me to stew with that thought. I really stewed. As I stewed Barbi asked gently if the boys and I would be her guests at her church and see for ourselves how it was. We didn't for the longest time, but then one day mostly because I'd grown to love Barbi, we went.
This church was held in the auditorium of a high school. The Pastor gave his sermon directly to my heart. It was actually very uncomfortable for me. How did he know the things about me that he seemed to know? I was the true product of an alcoholic and his enabler wife, and even long after my mother's death I continued to live in shame and denial. This coping mechanism was the only one I had at the time. Nobody knew the things about me that the Pastor seemed to know, as I had told no one.
Barbi offered to guide an intimate Bible study in our home. The five students were comprised of my family and two other students we knew from our new high school church. We met after work once a week. It wasn't long after we finished the Bible study when the boys and I decided to accept Christ, and our lives really did begin anew.
When Leah told me that she had lung cancer, I knew that I had to physically meet her. Up to then our friendship was only over the phone and in faxed letters back and forth as Leah never had email. I made contact with one of Leah's daughters that I knew worked in the same court, and with all the stealth of a cat burglar, my boys and I arrived in DFW on New Year's Day 2004, got into our rented car and found our way into Leah's driveway. I can tell you that the tearful hug that Leah and I shared that day was among the best hugs I'd ever been a part of. We talked for hours sitting in her kitchen, drinking coffee. The boys played with her dogs, watched TV and played video games with Leah's grandson.
I discovered that the Dallas Stars played that night at home in Dallas. Both my boys were huge hockey fans, and were bored in this strange and smoke-filled home so I offered to get tickets to the game for Leah's daughter's family, along with my boys, so I could thank them for all of their help in sneaking us in on New Year's Day. It was a way to create a wonderful memory for my boys. Their hockey adventure left Leah and me alone for several more hours to continue our already day-long talk.
Leah had been diagnosed with lung cancer, and yet she would turn off her oxygen and then light a cigarette. Her son with whom Leah lived also smoked. It made me wonder at some length about the power of addiction, and about the ability of the human mind to rationalize away literally anything. It certainly wasn't for me to judge as I had smoked for years. I quit smoking for the last time on a day I was driving my children home from school. I looked into my rear view mirror, at them buckled in the back seat, to find they both had tears streaming down their faces. In school that very day they had learned about the hazards of smoking... and that it was a slow and steady killer. Almost simultaneously, they both blurted out in tear-choked voices, that they didn't want me to die and leave them all alone. They actually begged me to quit smoking.
I pulled the car over on the shoulder of the road and got out, opened the back door and held them both in my arms, all of us crying. I assured them that I wasn't going to go anywhere. I quit smoking that day - for good. I've never looked back. I am so grateful every day that it didn't take cancer to make me quit. Even Leah's cancer didn't make Leah or her son... and one of her two daughters, quit. Mind you, my own health wasn't reason enough for me to quit smoking either. However, I had vowed years before I was even married that I would never be the kind of parent that my parents were. I never got behind the wheel when I was drunk as I had chosen to not drink, or when I might go into an insulin shock but I was not diabetic, but the second I realized that my sons were terrified that I would leave them based on a different, albeit destructive choice that I made, I was disgusted in myself for causing in them the kind of fear that I knew all too well.
The next day escorted by Leah with her walker, and both of her daughters, her daughter-in-law and all of their kids, we drove across town to a flea market. I had never actually been to a flea market before or since that day. It didn't matter to me what we were going to do, although I did appreciate the fresh air. I just wanted to spend as much time as I could with Leah during our three days in Weatherford, TX.
In our conversations for the few months previous I had mentioned to her that I'd been researching dogs. My oldest son David was an avid hockey player and since our arrival from Buffalo, New York to Portland, Oregon he'd been dubbed the goalie from back East. To my significant surprise, he lived up to and frankly surpassed all the hoopla. He was really good. As David got older he got exponentially better, but then puberty hit and the workouts got much more difficult, and he discovered what muscle pain was. I knew that in order to keep his edge on other goalies in his age bracket, he needed to train additionally outside of the arena. I could have run with him, but I have never been a runner, and I had Brian, his younger brother at home. David and I agreed completely that running alone was no fun. I researched breeds of dogs who not only could run five miles per day, but who would love to run five miles per day. The breed I found was the all too cool and incredibly smart Jack Russell Terrier.
That was as far as I'd gone with it, just research. In the car on the way to the flea market Leah said with a grin on her face, that flea markets in Texas were probably different than they were in other parts. They had all kinds of things for sale, old tools, books as well as dishes, comic books, and even animals from kittens to the farm variety. I had never planned to find Jackson that day. I never actually planned to get a dog that soon. I was still in the toying with it stage.
We went down the isle with all the animals - rabbits, chickens, roosters, and then the dogs. There was only one Jack Russell Terrier in the flea market that day. He was in a cage all by himself and he was shivering. I was drawn to him as a magnet to steel. I'd actually walked away from the crowd we were in and asked the lady with this single dog for sale if I could hold him. I took one look at this half dark, half white face divided right down the middle, and I knew that he was our dog. I turned around with Jackson in my arms, holding him snugly to my chest to help ease his shivers, and said to David, "I found our dog."
It wasn't until we got back to Leah's that I thought about how I'd get him home on the plane. It turns out that if you get the dog checked-out by a Vet, get a clean bill of health slip, and pay $85.00 you could bring a dog on a plane in a carrier and slide it right under the seat in front of you. Accompanied by Jackson, we arrived back in Portland during a freak ice storm. Jackson's first act was to pee outside the airport on its concrete apron as he claimed his new home. I was head-over-heels in love with this new furry child.
The months in 2004 flew by, as all the months do in every year, one month blurring into the next. It was just after Thanksgiving when Leah called me and told me that she had been sent home from the hospital under the care of Hospice. We talked for hours on the phone as often as we could, especially after her family had gone out or gone into their collective rooms, and left her alone to talk openly with me. She told me she was scared and was afraid to die. I bought tickets on December 6th, 2004 and flew out to see her the next day.
I had many second thoughts about spending that kind of money right before Christmas, about taking those days off from work, and how much I would miss my kids and Jack and his new adopted sister, Jasmine. Pairs we found work well with dogs, as they do with children. By grace, somehow, I got a reduced price on the airline ticket with one of those last minute fares. At the car rental place they upgraded me at no additional cost from the subcompact I was going to rent to a small SUV. Leah offered to let me stay with them in her room. They were living in a different house than we'd visited before and the sunroom was now converted to a room just for Leah.
Before I left Portland I begged Barbi to write down the Sinner’s Prayer, the one we said aloud as we accepted Christ and confessed our sins. I'd said it less than two weeks before when I had accepted Christ myself, but I couldn't remember it for the life of me. I tucked Barbi's hand-written prayer into my Bible and off I went to Texas.
Leah and I reunited as though we'd not been apart for nearly a year. She was very thin and looked much older than her 60-some years. She was weak and frail and I cried openly as I sat on the edge of her bed and held her hands. I had seen her with my own eyes and knew without any doubt that I would soon lose my friend.
I tried to do all I could to help the family. Leah slept a great deal of the time and tried, I'm sure for my sake, to cut back on her pain medication, but even so, I had many hours on my own in her house. I forget all the ways I found to be useful, but I remember cleaning and organizing the kitchen cupboards as the family had only just moved into this house in order to give Leah the care she needed. They hadn't had the time to clean before they moved in. I put up their Christmas tree and decorated it in a space that Leah could see from her bed in the sunroom as no one was really in the Christmas spirit in that house.
It was all very sad and somber, accompanied by the hushed voices one usually reserves for the dying. I realized by my headache at the end of the first day that I couldn't sleep in that same room with Leah or in that house. The smoke from everyone that lived there, and from those that visited, was really getting to me, even though I sat outside in the back yard, endlessly throwing a ball for one of the dogs while Leah slept, or while she was visited by a Hospice nurse.
With a bit of luck, I found the hotel where the boys and I stayed on our first trip to Weatherford. While I wanted desperately to spend every second I could with Leah, I knew that she was exhausted by my presence. In the morning I drove to the only big store in town, a Walmart, and prayed to God in the parking lot to show me what it was I was supposed to do here. I kept humming this Christian song that played again and again in my head, "Speak to Me" by Oregonian Dave Lubben. Part of the lyrics went, "I'm listening Lord, speak to me".
In fiddling with the rental car's radio looking for some inspiration before driving the few miles to Leah's house, I came across a sermon on Christian radio. His words still ring clearly to me today. He was saying that if you prayed to God to help you find a job, He would. He continued to say that you would never find the job that God had answered your prayer with by sitting on your sofa. He spoke loudly and with verve, "You have to get off your butt and get out there and knock on a few doors! God will always help you, but you still have to do the leg work!"
I sat in my rented car outside that Walmart laughing at the truth in the sermon, turned off the car's engine and headed into Walmart to find something to take Leah and their family for breakfast. She'd mentioned once how she loved donuts. Inside, early on a Sunday morning, I found Krispy Kreme donuts. With a smile I bought a couple of boxes and headed over to Leah's. I sat at the dining room table with Leah and her son enjoying the fresh pastries. Everyone gasped as Leah swallowed her last bite. This was the first bit of food in weeks that she'd eaten every bite. Leah smiled broadly and said in her most perfect Southern drawl "That was Goooood!" I asked her right away to close her eyes, and to burn into her brain how good it felt right there in that moment. I wanted her to have a memory of something good in case the days ahead left her feeling less than good. She always did everything I asked of her.
On my last night with Leah, I was sitting with her in the sunroom in a chair at the side of her bed. On the other side of the room were a chair and an ottoman. Earlier I left my bible out on the ottoman, uncomfortable with my very limited knowledge of the Bible, and yet feeling that I needed it near me just in case. I had just finished showing Leah pictures of Jackson and Jasmine playing in our back yard. I also took pictures with me of the boys and Leah loved each and every one, soaking in every detail. It was late, about 10:30 and we were still talking about everything under the sun, when Leah stopped me and took my hand in hers and said, "I'm so afraid."
You see, we'd talked long and hard about everything except the white elephant in the room, except about Leah and the fact that she was dying. Ours was the only light on in the house. There was no one else awake. It was December and there was a nip in the air, so there were no open windows. The fan was still. The night was truly hushed and from the instant of Leah's declaration, the house was pin-drop silent.
I had absolutely no idea what to say to her. I heard the song in my head again, "I'm listening Lord, speak to me." Just then, before I could think of a single word to utter, in the still, stagnant, smoky air, my Bible on the ottoman across the room fell to the floor with a thump. The hand-written Sinner's Prayer that Barbi had hastily written for me right before I left the office fluttered gracefully to the floor. With Leah still clutching my hand, I asked if she'd be interested in life-everlasting. If I knew of a way that would guarantee she would be allowed home into Heaven - with just the saying of a simple prayer, a request for the forgiveness of all her sins from God - would she be willing to do that with me, right there, in the quiet of that night?
I had never seen a broader smile on her face than I did in that moment. Tears began to roll down her face as I read Barbi's prayer out loud. Leah took over the prayer at the perfect spot. She asked for the forgiveness of her specific sins and then for the sins she must have committed unintentionally too. She openly accepted Jesus Christ as her personal Savior and together we hugged and cried and felt blessed. As Leah fell to sleep later that night, I turned off her light and made my way in the dark past the Christmas tree to the front door. I looked back to her as she lay in the bed in the middle of the sun room. I whispered "Thank you God". There was a bit of a moon that night and its light spilled into the room and across Leah's face. She was smiling in her sleep, and had such a contented peaceful look that I closed my eyes wanting to remember it in the coming days. It would be something good to buffer me against the days that were sure to come.
The next afternoon I said goodbye to Leah. I asked God to give me strength and to help me be there for everyone, especially Leah. I told Him I could cry all the way to the airport instead. In the end, it was Leah who consoled me. She asked me not to worry about her, because today she finally had peace. She said that I had given her that peace and acceptance about her impending death. I gently told her that I had no idea what I was doing, but that God and Barbi had done it all. As I kissed Leah's hand and told her that I didn't want to say goodbye, I couldn't hold the tears back any longer. She took my chin in her hand and said "It's not goodbye, it's see ya later. I'll save a place for you in Heaven."
As posted in the Weatherford Democrat, kindness of Judy at the paper:
"Leah Bennett Gordon
Leah Bennett Gordon, 64, died Thursday, Dec. 23, 2004, in Weatherford.
Mrs. Gordon was a devoted mother, grandmother, sister, amazing aunt and friend to everyone she met. She was a member of the Rock of Helps Church and a former records management clerk for the Parker County district clerk's office."
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