I LOVE LIVING

Fall trees at Dillon Nature Center, Hutchinson, Ks. 

We met that fall morning in the parking lot outside the hospital. She reached in her trunk to pull out a basket of scrape booking materials. "Would you like some help with the basket?" I asked.  

"No, I'm fine today. Thank you." With a heavy breathe she continued, "I may not feel this good after the treatment today. The days get really long for me."  

My heart took a double beat with her heavy sigh. Here she was smiling and looking at the sunlight. With a joyous expression on her face and a glisten in her eyes, she looked around at the hospital complex, of concrete, bricks, and asphalt, and then the sky. "I love living, Letty. I don't want to die." 

I LOVE LIVING

"So do I, Sue. I love living." But the words stayed on my tongue. I wasn't strong enough to repeat her words. I knew her cancer was more serious than we wanted to acknowledge, and I cried inside for her. For her zest for life. For her abundance of joy that she spread to all around her. For her family and selfishly, for me.

Prairie Dunes Country Club, Hutchinson, Kansas

It was a cold January and we were celebrating our sixtieth birthdays at Prairie Dunes. Sue was a friend who laughed like I did when it came to telling stories about plucking hair from our cheeks our round table of women took turns topping each others stories about aging, and asking over and over 'what next.' We laughed especially hard over the long black hairs that hung from our chins. Gads! you could see the look of agony as personal stories flashed through our minds of chin hairs. The next time it was the pitiful stories of shaving our mustaches for the first time.

Here we were at sixty trying to laugh out loud at our new 'old' bodies. Month by month we poked fun at our fragilities from puffy eye bags to sparse eyebrows; from wrinkles to 'wisdom spots' on our faces and arms.  

The friends all joined in the laughter with stories. "Ladies," one woman who confessed to being older than sixty placed her arm on the table, rolled up her blousy sleeve and continued, "This is why we wear long sleeve blouses all year long." Then she curiously rolled her skin back and forth using her index finger. She even went on to show us how she could pinch and pull up loose skin. We snorted we laughed so hard. I think it was after that story that the club gave us space to gather away from the lunch crowd. 

Perhaps we had shared a bottle of wine or beer at the luncheon that day. We seemed louder and funnier than ever, when Sue dropped her voice, gathered our attention and then pointed at her chin. "Look. Look at me." In silence we looked. "See."  She pointed to a camel colored mole, then she began to wisp two white hairs back and forth. Her cackle erupted, "I have become a HAG and I'll pull your little hairs out one by one."  Our table roared with laughter. We loved to be in her audience.

WE LOVE LIFE.

Months passed. Things happened.

I often arrived to sit with Sue on Wednesday afternoons for a couple of hours.  Sometimes I helped her paste things into her scrape book for her children. Other times we shared our joys, sorrows, funny moments we experienced from golfing with other women, all told with a desire to share our lives and love for living. We still played golf on warm summer days. We saw hope on the horizon.   

Prairie Dunes Country Club, Hutchinson, Ks. 

On a late spring day, I walked her to the car to say our evening good-byes. Tears I'd never seen before began to flow. Catching her breathe between sobs she said, "Here. I have to show you something." I watched closely as she put her basket in the car and pulled out a plastic sack. Shaking and crying she reached inside and pulled out an object that looked like a prop from a HALLOWEEN movie. It was a brownish toned mask with tiny holes along the forehead and down one side to the ear. 

It was my turn to gasp and catch my breathe. Holding the mask away from her like a dead animal she sobbed, "The cancer has metastasized in my brain. They told me that I now have to come back for radiation."  I reached for a hug. As she rested her head on my shoulder, she sobbed, "I don't want to wear that mask. It's dark. It's ugly. I don't want sting rays shooting through my head." We cried. 

At last she sobbed, "I just want to live. Doesn't God know that I LOVE LIVING?"

I don't remember being able to come up with words of encouragement. I do remember we continued to share what we loved best about living, to the point that we compared our crooked toes right there in the room full of patients all receiving chemo. 

Sue Wagler

January 23, 1948 - September 03, 2010

Surprise Lilies by night 

Dear Sue, 

I hear your words "I love to Live. I love living," ringing in my head these days. I noticed out my window that a few bulbs are reaching up through the cold mantle of earth. Our perennials. Sue, you are my shining example of a Perennial. I pray that I may never forget how much joy living brings us. Did I ever tell you that I LOVE LIVING, too?

A View of Life as a Perennial

Click on this link to read another story about living and loving life as a Perennial. 

The Answered Prayer

The drive from her home of sixty years was only a few blocks to her new apartment at the assisted living community, but it felt like time was holding our breath and would not release it.  I could see the tears run down my ninety-one year old mother-in-law's face. For months we'd all prayed for God's help in caring for her.   "Alleen, we only want the best for you.  You are lonely and scared in your home and afraid to cook.  Please give this a chance.  You might really like your new apartment."  I pleaded.  "I don't see how I can." Then she put out her bottom lip and dropped her head in resignation. My heart sank even lower, and I asked myself, "Whatever have we done?"

It was a long slow walk down the hallway, as Alleen pushed her walker with her two sons Jack and John beside her, and me walking behind carrying a few bags of household items. Unbeknownst to her, Jack and I had already moved in a new dusty rose colored love seat, an end table, a small table with two chairs, wall mounted TV, a new twin bed, with bedspread and drapes in shades of watery blues and muted rose, and shower curtain of soft rose tones with raised flowers decorated in pearls and lace adding dimension to the curtain.  Now we carried pictures and wall hangings from home, some kitchen ware, lamps, and shelving to call it home.  

When she at last looked up after walking into the apartment, her eyes saw the new turquoise watery blue drapes with the winter sun flashing through the shades, then her eyes saw the new rose colored love seat.  She looked no more and pushed the walker to the love seat and plopped down.  I didn't know whether she'd smile or cry.

One by one her sons carried in framed family pictures, painted artwork from her kids, a prized picture of bears photographed by Art Wolfe, and a few what nots.  Alleen is never without words, so when she caught her breath she began, "You shouldn't have.  You shouldn't have.  This is so pretty.  I had no idea you would buy pretty things for my apartment.  That's a new dresser isn't it?  Now I can open a drawer, and it won't fall out on my foot.  Everything I have at home is old and broken."  She paused to smile, "I don't deserve this.  I've just been a cry baby for months now and made your lives miserable.  Why did you do this?"  Before we could even speak she continued, "Is this all mine?"  

A collective sigh of relief spread throughout the room as John, Jack and I smiled and reassured her how much we loved her.  One by one the boxes and sacks were emptied, with Alleen orchestrating the final set up on her new apartment.  I unwrapped a twelve inch pale white stone statue of Mary on a donkey holding the baby Jesus with Joseph walking beside them.  It had been hidden on a shelf back in Jeannie's old bedroom, but when I discovered it, while packing, it seemed it needed to go to the new apartment. I held it and asked where she'd like placed or if she even wanted it.  

She smiled and took a deep breath.  "I want it right there on that shelf."  She pointed to the half wall shelf dividing the living room and bedroom. "Where did you find that?"  Her breathing suddenly became labored, and we all stopped. With her hand on her heart she continued, "I haven't seen it in years.  You gave it to me a long time ago, and I just loved it.  I worried that we had broken it or lost it somewhere." 

I looked again at the statue.  I did love its humble beauty. "Are you sure I gave it to you?" "Oh, yes.  One year when you lived in Kansas you bought it," she replied.  I studied it again, and then recalled how I enjoyed shopping at Stutzman's Nursery at Christmas time when the greenhouse was filled with poinsettias, and the gift shop sparkled with ornaments and Christian decor. We both smiled at the recognition.  "You're right Alleen, I did buy this. I'm so glad you remembered."  

She smiled and dropped her head down at a sideways bow. "Thank you.  Thank you."  She began.  "We can leave it there all year to watch over me."  

She seemed happy and relaxed for the first time in months and months.  I quietly reflected, God does amazing work in our answered prayers.   

If you'd like to read the prequel to The Answered Prayer click on the link below to read "The Move."
One Woman's Day story