January 11, 1991. I remember that date well. That was the saddest day of my life. I lost my daughter that day at Loma Linda Hospital in California. She had a rare birth defect called anencephaly. We had only a 1-week notice. That was not enough time to prepare for anything except for flights for my parents to be there for her birth, and also for her death, and time enough to get everything out of the nursery we had spent months decorating, painting, standing in and imaginnig our child sleeping and dreaming in. Odd as it sounds even to me this many years later, I didn't give much thought to how I would spend the short amount of time with Jacquelyn before we donated her body. But I remember very, very well the nurse who cared for her, and for me. Her name was Joanne. She took Jacquelyn's handprints and footprints for me. She cut locks of her hair for me, and she took photos. Because in the week prior to giving birth to my first child, I had been so pre-occupied with trying to grasp the fact that I would lose her the same day I would meet her, not even bringing a camera would be a thought to me. I thanked God that evening for my nurse, and have thanked Him for her ever since. I now have her photos, the delicate little locks of her hair, her handprints and footprints, her blanket and hat. All because of a nurse.
That very same evening, I would be comforted all night by a nurse named Cassandra who sat on the side of my bed and held Jacquelyn with me. She was very reassuring, very loving, and she brought me comfort that night that no one else could possibly have. In the morning, no one remembered her, not even my husband, but I know she was there. I can still remember her so clearly. And I can still very vividly see her holding my daughter close to her, ignoring the ugliness of the defect she had been born with. They told us the next day that there was no nurse named Cassandra who worked there. I don't try to make sense of this. I know she was there. So I like to think of Nurse Cassandra as an angel.
Many years later I would lose my father to a cancer that spread quickly to his brain. We transferred him to a hospice room before bringing him home for his last week wtih us. And when the nurse walked in, my Dad, who could charm anyone within 100 feet of him with his sweet smile and the twinkle in his eyes, winked at her. And she winked back. To Dad, her wink was reassuring. It was comforting, and loving, and I think that day it took away all of his fear. He knew something was wrong, he knew he was confused, but that wink........ It just changed everything for him. So I sat there, and I watched my father's demeanor completely change and a peace settle in on him from that nurse's wink.
I am embarrassed to say that I do not remember that nurse's name. I only remember that I knew that very day, when I saw what her wink did for my Dad, that I wanted to do what she did, that I wanted to make people feel the way that she made my dad feel. I was in my early 40's already, and I was in the middle of court reporting school. But that day, I closed my court reporting machine for good. Dad died 9 days later and a week after that I sold my court reporting machine and I applied to nursing school. I don't remember that nurse's name, but I HAVE tried to find her. I wanted her to know what her wink did, not just for my father, but for me. It literally changed the course of my life.
I graduated from nursing school a few years later. I had received a few scholarships to get through my nursing classes, and was asked to speak at different functions where scholarship donors to the nursing program at my college would be in attendance. I wanted to thank them, but from a single mother's perspective, how would they ever be able to grasp what they did for me? Would they ever be able to understand that because of them, I now get to hold hands of people as they pass away? How would they ever understand that their donations made it possible for me to thank veterans for their service who have never been thanked before? Or help family members to make difficult decisions? How would they ever understand that they made it possible for me to have the opportunity to reassure and comfort a Holocaust survivor while undergoing a painful procedure? So, I simply told the story of the nurse who winked at my father. I told them that one never knows the impact that can be had on someone's life by a simple gesture, such as a smile, or a wink. And I told them that I was sorry I was unable to locate the nurse who winked at my father, and would forever regret that. I ended my thank you speech by winking at my audience, the generous donors who made possible so many opportunities for me.
So this brings me to 48 hours ago, when my boss entered my patient's room as I was charting, to tell me that I was one of the Daisy Nurse Award recipients. At the time, I really didn't know much about the award. I simply understood this to be an award received based on the recommendations by my peers, and that means so much to me. But that night I researched its history, listened to some stories, and I knew that this was not just from my peers, but that it was my Dad's, and our heavenly Father's way of winking back at me. And since I have a passion for writing stories, I knew this one needed to be written. Intending to wait until my three 12-hour shifts were completed, I just began jotting down ideas in my journal. But last night as I was saying goodnight to my sweet little grandpa patient of mine, telling him I would see him in the morning, he did it. He winked at me. And then I knew, this story simply could not wait.
Whenver I glance at my Daisy pin, I will forever remember Joanne, Cassandra, the sweet nurse who winked at Dad, and my sweet patient who gave to me MY wink. None of them had any idea what they were teaching me, and how their small acts of kindness would forever be greatly meaningful in my life.
Colossians 3:23-24 says, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving."
I miss you, Dad! xo
Goosebumps! What a heartfelt story! Thank you for sharing !
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