Friday Tears

The other day, I was visiting one of my hospice patients who had developed a cold. His extended family had recently come to see him after hearing about his declining condition. They wanted to love on him and support his adorable wife. More than 30 people showed up, ranging in age from just a few years old to nearly 100, like him and his wife.

It sounded like a beautiful gathering.

And, well… now he has a cold.

There I was hoping I hadn’t caught it too.

Sidebar: Many hospice patients have weakened immune systems, so please wash your hands and consider wearing a mask when you’re around them, especially if you’ve been sick or exposed to someone who has. Their bodies can’t always defend themselves or bounce back as quickly as ours can.

But I digress.

I was gathering my things after our visit. I’d spent some time giving tips on how he could feel a little better—or, more accurately, how his caregivers could help make him more comfortable while he recovered.

I truly love being a nurse. If I could, I would work independently and spend my days simply visiting people in their homes, the way doctors did years ago. Just going from house to house, caring for folks.

As I headed toward the door, his wife and I were saying our final goodbyes. I told her this would be my last week seeing them because their regular case manager was returning from maternity leave.

I turned around one last time to wave and see her pretty face.

She looked at me and said something completely unexpected.

“Kimberly, you are a wonderful woman.”

And she nodded as she said it, almost as if she needed me to understand that she meant it.

All I could say was, “Thank you.”

Then I walked to my car and cried.

When I’m feeling low, I try to believe things like that.

I try to remember the moments when I’m simply being myself in the world and somebody notices. Somebody appreciates it. Not publicly. No applause. No audience. Just two people standing in a room together, in real time, and one person saying to another: I see something good in you.

When depression and insecurity crack the door open, I think about the collection of thank-you cards, gifts, gift cards, invitations, hugs, and kind words I’ve received over the past 20 years of nursing.

I’ve literally taken inventory of my life and my skills before, just to remind myself that I am worthy.

More than once.

I think about my son, who shows me and tells me how grateful he is for me, and how deeply reciprocal that gratitude is. There is nothing quite like having a son you can genuinely relate to—someone you enjoy, someone who knows you, someone you know is in your corner.

But I especially appreciated what happened last Friday because I had been tender.

I had been missing a friend. Someone I loved deeply. Someone I may never speak to again.

Misunderstandings happen. Relationships change. Sometimes people who once loved each other have to go their separate ways. And even when you understand that, you can still miss them.

So maybe that’s why this woman’s words reached me the way they did.

“Kimberly, you are a wonderful woman.”

Her words gave me a little fuel to keep going. They gave me enough light to look around and see that my life doesn’t have to become stagnant just because something—or someone—I loved is no longer part of it.

There is still so much life to live.

More experiences to have.
More people to meet.
More food to try.
More clothes to wear.
More movies to watch.
More trees to touch.
More babies to pick up.
More parties to attend.
More boyfriends to have.
More homegirls to hang out and travel with.
More places to go.
More reasons to laugh until my stomach hurts.

More life.

And maybe that’s what I needed to remember.

I’m not just wonderful.

Life is wonderful.

Go live it.

Because one can’t exist without the other.