HEARTFELT MEMORY

It is one of the best but most bittersweet memories I have. It was the witnessing of the sharing of two hearts. Two people giving pieces of that vital organ of theirs to each other just when it was most needed. When this recollection surfaces, it still causes my heart to melt and my eyes to brim over with tears.

When Daddy's brain aneurysm ruptured and surgery was required, my daughter was in the fourth grade. Still too young to fully understand the ramifications of such a drastic procedure, but completely aware of the fragile status of his condition.

 

He was in Neuro ICU. A private room. He had been taken off of the respirator, but he was not able to speak. He slept most of the day. His right hand was still balled up and unresponsive. Part of his head had been shaven, and the enormous incision was harshly visible.

 

We spent countless hours with him, day and night. His condition fluctuated from day to day...hour to hour, actually. Our children were not allowed to visit him yet. Hospital rules.

 

It was on a sunny day that brought bright light through the large window into his room that one of our favorite nurses told us she felt it would be good for Daddy to have his grandchildren visit him. One at a time. Stagger the visits. Were any of our children out in the waiting room, she asked. My daughter was. I had brought her with me to the hospital, so I could see Daddy for a short time before returning there later in the evening by myself. This nurse asked me if I thought my daughter could handle seeing her grandfather like "this." I was unsure, but I said I would ask her. My fear was that she would be horrified by the scar on his head and his inability to speak and that she might cry, which would upset him. I went to the waiting room and asked her. She wanted very much to see him. I told her what to expect. She still wanted to see him.

 

My mother, two of my sisters, and the nurse were in the room when I brought in my daughter. I led her to the side of Daddy's bed. The side of his which had the "good" hand. And the light in the room seemed to embrace both of them. Daddy's eyes filled with tears and a smile curved his lips. My daughter's smile was radiant. And then he slowly and with much effort lifted his hand, reaching up to her. He tenderly cupped the side of her face in his beautiful, large hand. Time truly stood still. Their eyes met and held while we all stood there transfixed by the sight. The nurse began to weep and quietly exited the room. His hand returned to the bed, and he lay there. We all swallowed the lumps in our throat and made some small talk. Then, he reached up yet again to press his hand against her cheek and held it there. My daughter's glowing smile continued to shine on him. His misty eyes sparkling into hers.

 

Within a few minutes, his eyes drifted closed. I instructed my daughter to wait outside of the door while I went over a few things with my mother and sisters. During our hushed conversation, we thought of a question we wanted to ask the nurse. My sister stepped out of the room to find her. And huddled against the wall was my daughter. She was sobbing uncontrollably. My sister stuck her head in the room and motioned for me to come out. I sunk to my knees and hugged my little girl, telling her she had been so brave and so strong for Papa. I told her how much he loved her, and how her visit was like the best medicine for him in the whole wide world. And she calmed down.

 

What great effort she put forth to refrain from showing her pain during her visit with her beloved Papa. And what strong effort he put into letting her know how very much he loved her. They both gave each other pieces of their hearts that day.

 

And I was blessed to have witnessed it.

 

"The heart that truly loves never forgets." ~Proverb