The Widow Next Door

She sat in a chair at our kitchen bar as Katie and I cooked lunch. From the moment she entered the door she had not stopped talking; recounting how life was the past week, her exercise routine, grandkids, and then delving into more serious topics such as the struggle of loosing her husband.

Katie had met her a few weeks prior when she was moving out of our apartment building into a one across the way and decided we should invite her over for lunch. I LOVED the idea and was very excited to meet this mystery woman. I just love older people.

Well here she was in the flesh; a widow who obviously just wanted someone to talk to.

As we ate lunch I noticed she pushed her food around, taking an occasional bite. I figured it was just because she was telling us all about her life with her husband; a topic she obviously could talk for days about and brought her such joy.

It was hard to hold the tears back as she explained to us that her husband had been diagnosed with brain bleeds six years ago. With a grim diagnosis, she would become the caretaker of the strong independent man that had taken care of her for forty some years. She told how at the age of 59 she had to go get a driver's license because she did not have one and he would not be able to drive to and from doctors appointments. She explained the agony of watching the man she loved deteriorate before her very eyes. Her best friend, the love of her life, the father of her children was dying before her very eyes a slow and painful death and there was nothing she could do about it. Her vow of "in sickness and in health" was living itself out as she cared for the man who was becoming "someone [she] hadn't married."

She started crying as she told of a day when he said something nasty to her. Though she could not remember what the words I could tell they broke her heart. "He would never have said those things to me and that is when I knew it wouldn't be long. The bleeding in the brain was too much."

...fast forward to last week....


I was assigned a geriatrics paper where I had to interview an older adult on their life. I knew from the beginning I was going to interview her. Plus I had not seen her in a few weeks so I knew this was the perfect opportunity to check-in on her.


She agreed and she began to tell her life story to me again as I feverishly wrote down all the details. With the one year anniversary of his death approaching and the holidays I could tell the subject of her husband's death was not going to go over well. When it hit 2004 in the story telling she began to sob.


My heart ached for this woman.


She kept apologizing and I reassured her it was ok to cry. By this time I was a blubbery mess myself (is that any surprise?).


I reached out to hold her hand and in my heart I knew I shouldn't push the subject so we moved on.


The next section to my project was the health history. So I asked. I was not prepared for what was about to come next.


"You're a nurse" (well not really but most people don't see a huge difference between nurse and student when it comes to discussing issues so I let her continue) "so I feel like I can tell you this because it's been a heavy burden for me to carry by myself. I can't bare to tell my girls because they have been through so much the last few years. In 2004 before my husband was diagnosed with his brain disorder I was diagnosed with Parkinson's."


She continued to tell me that the diagnosis was put on the back burner because she needed to focus on her husband. Well six years have past and the symptoms have begun to rear their ugly face. She flat out told me she was still in denial. The fear of a disease with no cure, watching her husband deteriorate from a brain disorder, the family history of brain tumors, and not being a fan of medicine has paralyzed her from seeking help.


I sat there as she held out her arm that shook violently (no wonder she always held it close to her body). She told me how she found herself tiring easily, being dizzy quite often, struggling to carry her groceries in the house, forgetting simple things (and not the occasional we all have lost our heads and forgotten something, she has to write things on 3x5 cards so she does not forget), sleeping problems and body stiffness. Then the most concerning of all symptoms "lately I have had to face the fact that this is getting worse because I am having trouble swallowing." Remember how I said she pushed her food around her plate? We packed her food up for her that day because she said she wasn't hungry at the moment but would eat it later. The truth was she has to cut her food up into tiny pieces and eat slowly so she doesn't choke but she did not want to have to tell anyone that.


As I sat there offering up a few suggestions and the little bit of education I knew from classes I encouraged her to seek medical treatment and to tell her girls.


Here sat a woman who is ill but won't tell her girls because she is afraid of the burden it will put on them.  She needs help with simple things like carrying in her groceries but she won't ask for help. She's still grieving the loss of her husband and adjusting to life without someone to talk to at the end of the day when everyone else is with their families. She's lonely and scared yet she fondly and openly talks about her Jesus who has and is carrying her through the tough moments. A devote woman of prayer she told me that she is "living life like she is dying. If I got to heaven tonight at least I will be with my Jesus and my husband and I can't think of a better place."


I went home crying. Not just because of the sad story but because God was breaking my heart that day.


How many times have I gotten caught up in the busyness of my life or flat out ignored the prompting of the Holy Spirit to talk to someone that God has brought into my path? More than I would like to say. 


Those are divine appointments.


If Katie had not stopped to talk to her as she was moving out we would not have gotten to know her. I wouldn't have done my project on her and I would not have realized there are a lot more things going on here than the surface would let on. Now I know to watch for when she brings groceries home so I can help. I know to leave encouraging messages on her door. I know to stop by every once in a while just to make sure she is doing ok.


Granted nursing opens a door to privy information but what I learned that day is I need to open my mouth, invest in people, and love others the way Jesus calls us to. (Luke 10:27)


I am reading a devotion book on 52 women of the Bible and I think God is trying to drill home a point because my most recent woman was Dorcas. Her story is in Acts 9:32-43. In verse 36 she is introduced as a believer who "was always doing kind things for others and helping the poor." Well Dorcas dies and the widows of the town all come to mourn her death. They are distraught because she was the one that took care of them, providing homemade cloths for them. Those who knew her heard that Peter was in town, he had been healing people in Lydda, and went to get him because they knew that he could bring her back. Peter comes, he prays, and helps Dorcas up from the bed where she had been laid. News spread and God got all the glory. It is said that "many believed in the Lord (v.42)." 


God has really been working on my heart lately about what kind of ministry I will have when I finally am living in a place for more than a few months at a time (yeah for graduation!). While I still don't know what it is or will look like God is gently molding my heart for what is to come. This story has caused me to think. Will I be known first of all as a believer? Will my actions reflect those of Christ (i.e loving the unlovable, taking care of the "forgotten" or lonely, etc...)? Does the way I live push others to Christ? 


I am very thankful that my mother did not decide to name me Dorcas but I want my life to look like hers. How do you want your life to look?