Do you remember your first experience with a revolving door?
I do.
And I was terrified.
I don’t recall where I encountered it, probably somewhere in downtown Ogden on an errand with my mother, but as a small girl that rotating X scared the soup out of me. The fact that my little arms and legs might not have enough strength to push my way through the entire process, fed the fear of getting stuck between the entrance and the exit in a small vestibule of suffocating glass. I’m sure this fear had a great deal to do with the claustrophobia I had acquired from being barricaded inside the kitchen pantry by my loving older brothers (jerks) more than questioning my own strength. I was a tomboy with 3 older brothers, I was tough enough.
But worse than getting stuck and having a panic attack where everyone can see, was the fear of getting caught between the rotating X and the wall as you entered its circular movement, especially if someone else was coming through from the other side and doing so at a mighty fast speed. If your timing wasn’t right, you were in trouble; having the correct timing was imperative. If it wasn’t fairly precise you would risk severing an arm, leg, or even your body- right in two! Well… at least, that is what my kid mind told me would happen.
But I did it. Somewhere I found the courage (probably from a mother’s soothing encouragement) and pushed my way through. And I am pleased to report that I have done so on many occasions since without the loss of life or limb.
There is a point to me writing about this, I promise; just bear with me.
After a recent phone conversation with my mother, I started to reflect on some important events that happened 11 years ago this month. As I thought about these events and their importance to me, I could only think of them in the analogy of a revolving door, of sorts. A revolving door between the entrance and the exit of this the world we know and the world we once knew, and one day, will know again.
Death & birth.
A revolving door.
One of which I was terrified.
I often questioned my choice of professions because of this fear. I worked with a mainly geriatric population, of which many suffered from terminal diseases. I lost many of my dear friends, but none while they were under my care or while I was present. For this I was very grateful. I just couldn’t deal with facing
it and the unknown surrounding
it.
It was a cold, unwelcome, violent thief that stole loved ones and I wanted nothing to do with
it.
I was also in nursing school experiencing my labor and delivery clinicals while expecting my first child. Giving birth was something I was never sure I wanted to do. I wanted kids. And I wanted to be a mother. I just wasn’t sure about the whole process in accomplishing that.
First of all, pain is not my favorite sensation (shocking, I know). Second of all, I was what you could call a
private person and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on “display”- even for a medical staff audience. I had seen enough births to know that there was plenty of both involved to put me totally out of my comfort zone. Now 4 kids later, delivered in 4 different hospitals, by 4 different doctors, and one of which was a natural birth (thank you, Canada and your socialized medicine), I can say that I have sufficiently overcome this fear. But facing
it for the first time, I was not exactly confident in my ability to do
it.
At this same time, Richard and I had the opportunity of caring for my 92 year old great aunt Annie in our home following the death of my great uncle Albert (86) to a self inflicted gunshot wound. In the midst of all our discussion of whether this was the right thing for us to do at that point of our lives and marriage, my biggest concern was –What if she passes away while she’s living here?
Irrational?
Maybe, considering all the other things like school, work, and the arrival of a baby in the near future that seemed to be more pertinent, but I couldn’t help it, that was the worry that weighed on my mind.
Caring for Annie was an adventure. I say “adventure” because like most adventures it was not easy, but it was one of the most fulfilling things I have ever done. But two months after Annie’s arrival, her health declined significantly and since our baby was due any day, we along with my mom and her brothers, made arrangements for Annie to be placed in the hospice wing of the local rest home where she could be taken care of until her time came to go.
It was a Saturday and all the arrangements were finalized, we were to take Annie that afternoon to the rest home. I went into her room in our little two room mobile home to give her a bed bath, get her dressed, and ready to go, but as I rolled her onto her side to wash her back I stopped.
I knew Annie was going somewhere soon, just not the place we had intended on sending her.
Her body had started to shutdown and the signs of it showed in the “mottling” that had appeared on her back and undersides of her extremities. I called my mother, a licensed RN, to come in and confirm my suspicions and she did.
The arrangements with the rest home were cancelled, it was finalized and my worst fear was realized- Annie would spend her last hours in our home.
As Annie’s last hours ticked away so did the daylight and nighttime was quickly approaching. I was scared; I didn’t feel ready to face
it yet. My mother agreed to stay the night in case
it happened in the middle of the night she would be there with us and Annie.
In the early morning hours on Sunday, January 10th, 1999 I awoke to a noise on the baby monitor and directly headed to Annie’s room. There in the early morning light I was
privileged to watch as Annie took her last breath.
There was nothing cold, unwelcome, or violent about it. The emptiness I expected was filled with peaceful, warmth.
Two weeks later to the day of Annie’s exit from this world into the next, 11 years ago today; I was also
privileged to watch Ashton Ted Parke take his first breath as he made his entrance through the revolving door from that world into ours.
The pain and uncertainty were lost in an indescribable and exhausted joy.
I did it.
Somehow I found the courage (probably with the soothing encouragement of a wise and loving Father) and pushed my way through the fear and the claustrophobia of my own naiveté’ and found that I was strong enough; despite what my childlike mind when ruled by fear told me- I was ready.
As for the timing…that incredibly impeccable timing…all credit there rests with the
Doorman.
Maybe it was just the spiked hair he sported yesterday...Or his incredible brown eyes...Or his killer smile (not shown in this pic.)
