Many of my parishioners are quite elderly. And while they span the gamut of health and activity, most of them are quite mentally sharp and not the least bit shy about sharing their opinion with “pastor.” After all, a young thing like me, only in her fourth decade, can always benefit from their accumulated wisdom. And they are quite right.
They are all exceptional folks, each in his or her way. But occasionally, I am blown away by just how exceptional they are. Follow me below the squiggle of gobsmackitude for a brief anecdote.
Maybelle is an absolute doll. She is 96 years old, completely blind, and lives on her own, in her own home. Always gracious and happy to have company, she is humble and kind. And she has been one of my biggest boosters from the first day I arrived at my churches. SHE never had an issue with a female pastor and cannot, for the life of her, imagine why anyone would.
She is not in the best of health, as one would expect, but does not have any home health assistance at her own insistance. Two of her four children live nearby and ensure that she has plenty to eat, her house is clean and free of obstructions, her medications are in order, and her lawn and the flowers she can no longer see are in apple pie order. She goes to her physician for her regular check-ups, or when her kids talk her into to going for various ailments she is prone to. But she is somewhat stubborn, as is her right and privilege to be.
I call her every week. Last week, as we were chatting, she brought up the fact that she had had a heart attack the week before. I was surprised, first of all, that I wasn’t called and second of all, that she wasn’t still in the hospital. That’s when she told me that she just took some aspirin and never called the ambulance. The pain was pretty bad, but she managed. Her kids made her go in for a check-up, and tests indicated that she did, indeed, have a heart attack. The doctor is baffled that she is still drawing air. The damage was pretty severe. But Maybelle, bless her heart, assures me that she’s fine now, just a little worn out.
Yes, I had to pick up my jaw off the floor. I’ve witnessed several heart attacks. They can hurt like all hell. They can make you sick. They can knock you down. Maybelle confirmed that she had all the symptoms. If I had experienced this, I’d have busted the door off the hinges to get to an ambulance.
Maybelle, my blind, frail, 96 year old iron woman, took some damn aspirin.
When I asked WHY, for the love of God, she did not call an ambulance, she replied that she was afraid they wouldn’t let her go back home. Sweet Maybelle is determined to die at home. She knows it won’t be much longer now, and doesn’t want to take any chances that she will be admitted and die in a hospital. Nothing against medicine, per se. She just wants to die in the little house she loves and has lived in for over 70 years. Her family knows this and defers to her decision. Her doctor knows this and is basically supplying basic, quality of life care.
Now I know this. And I will remember and honor her decision. She says that she’s tired and ready to go anytime God calls her home. In fact, she often hints that she’d be best pleased if God would get a move on. So when I pray with her, I urge God to get a move on. This tickles her. I’ve known for a long time that she is ready to die, but now I know that she is going to throw nothing at the Grim Reaper but some aspirin. And I cannot tell you how much I am in awe of her, how much I respect her dignity, how much I love her.
I’ve met many strong, faithful people in this world. Maybelle is one of the strongest, most precious I’ve ever known. I’m privileged and honored to serve her. If I’m fortunate enough to be with her when the time comes, I’ll hand her the aspirin, hold her delicate hands, and celebrate a beautiful life in thanksgiving and joy.
What would we do without Maybelles in this old world, I ask you.