Nurses, Former Students, and Family
- “There are no random acts...We are all connected...You can no more separate one life from another than you can separate a breeze from the wind...”
- As a kid, I loved Christmas. My Great Grandmother Collins had a way of making a simple, inexpensive Christmas a lot of fun. She died when I was a sophomore in high school, and I struggled with Christmas for a long time after that. I had a small resurgence of really enjoying Christmas while our son was small, but now, he's outgrown all the fun things about Christmas, as well. Mom and Dad sort of stopped doing Christmas in any traditional sense in the last 10 years or so.
- In a way, that's been good for me. It's allowed me to focus on the faith reasons for the holiday instead of the commercial, gift based, "Silver Bells" sorts of reasons. But still- Christmas doesn't hold the child-like magic for me it once did.
- This year, however, Christmas sort of came and went in a blur.
- Mom was dealing with some long-term health issues, so we convinced her to come stay with us for a few days- including Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. The health issues started to get worse after we got her to our place, and we have had a couple of scares- both ending at the E.R. and then the hospital, and Mom never came home.
- This is, however, not a story about mom's health, or even the choices we face in the coming days. This is a story about the amazing way that people affect our lives- even for a brief moment. This is just about the people who cared for us at the hospital in those brief 4 days.
We encountered a different E.R. staff each time we were there. People- it was Christmas weekend. First, we came in late on Christmas Eve- after our Christmas Eve Service. Christmas day, we were there early afternoon. Both sets of E.R. staff were kind, empathetic, observant, listening, and proactive. My mom had great care.
More notably, though, the hospital was just covered up with former students of mine.
At the E.R. on Christmas Day, after we got Mom settled in the room, the nurse asked if I taught at the high school. This is a question a 30-year veteran speech and debate teacher answers with some trepidation. It's clearly a former student, and that is almost always either really good or really bad. This young lady debated. She looked familiar, and I definitely remembered the name, if not much else. I'd been teaching about 4-5 years when she was in my room, so I was still figuring things out. Again, this very much means it could go either way...
And whatever way it went back then, she's an amazing professional. Funny and empathetic. Kind and assertive. She's was great. Really, truly great. Because it was Christmas, we were in the E.R. for a long time waiting for a shift change in the hospital before Mom could be admitted. For what was a LOT longer than a patient should be in an E.R. room, that nurse treated my Mom with love, laser focused attention, and care. Mom was her patient, and she just took care of her.
That was just the beginning.
Every single shift in the E.R., on the hospital floor, and in the ICU had at least one former student on the staff. All of them were incredibly kind, understanding, and helpful. Some of the time Mom was not a great patient. In fact, it would be an understatement to say that she was impatient. She was sometimes difficult. And, even in that, they were incredible.
I don't know if Mom got more attention or better care than any other patient, but I FELT like they were caring deeply and well for my mother. People who no longer need to call me "Mr. Tidwell" continued to do so, and just let me ask questions, watch them work, and talked me through everything. One of the floor nurses, a former forensics student, looked at me the second night, and said, "Mr. Tidwell, I know this is hard, and I know you're worried about her, but I'm watching. I will take care of your Mom."
I don't know if Mom got more attention or better care than any other patient, but I FELT like they were caring deeply and well for my mother. People who no longer need to call me "Mr. Tidwell" continued to do so, and just let me ask questions, watch them work, and talked me through everything. One of the floor nurses, a former forensics student, looked at me the second night, and said, "Mr. Tidwell, I know this is hard, and I know you're worried about her, but I'm watching. I will take care of your Mom."
On the last night, as it was all coming to an end, one of the nurses on the ICU staff just looked familiar. I asked if she was a graduate of our high school. "Yes," she said, "you taught me Speech."
"I hope that was good..."
She smiled. "I learned a lot from you, it was good."
A few minutes later, as they were making Mom comfortable for what would be the end, I stood there watching, holding Mom's hand. The nurse looked at Mom, and looked at Debbie and I, and she asked, "was she a good Momma?"
"Yes. Yes she was," was all I could get out. "I can tell," said the nurse.
"Yes. Yes she was," was all I could get out. "I can tell," said the nurse.
That nurse took care of Mom, and she took care of us.
And that is humbling to me. I taught this kid 15 years ago, or more. I recognized her, but I didn't remember her. She wasn't even the nurse assigned to Mom that night, and, yet, she took care of all of us in what was a really awful moment.
I am also amazed by my family through all of this.
I have a dear friend who refers to my wife as "a saint." She is correct. Debbie is expressively loving and infinitely patient in a way that amazes me. She could get Mom to express things she when no one else could. She can handle the most indignity gutting situations without making them awkward. She loves as close to unconditionally as any person I've ever known. And she cared for Mom like a daughter, and, from the moment they met, Mom loved her like a daughter.
Our son was the one who got to Mom Christmas Eve after Church. He discovered she needed care. He and his girlfriend followed us to the E.R., and sat there with us for most of the first trip. When I told Mom I was calling 911 on Christmas Day, and the EMS folks showed up, she wanted her grandson. She was better when he got to the house. That young man is incredible with his Grandmother. He got away with telling her things nobody else could. Mom heard her grandson in a way she didn't always hear other people. It's a beautiful thing to watch.
Then, at the funeral, I watched my son move over and sit with my brother through a pretty tough moment. He has his Grandmother's tenacity and his Mother's empathy.
Probably one of the most poignant moments for me in all of this was the moment when I apologized to our son's girlfriend for this taking them away from her family's Christmas. Her response: "No, it's fine. You are family, too."
So, it was not the Christmas we wanted or expected. But I was honored by the people who found themselves interacting with us on those days. I am proud and humbled by my former students, friends, and my family.
Humbling. All of it. Humbling.
I'm not sure I'll ever really be "ready" for Christmas after this. But maybe time and distance and life will give me perspective to change that opinion.
Anyway, here is today's poem. If you're still reading this post, which I fully admit is totally self-serving, and probably a method of therapy, then I hope you enjoy it.
Watch Me
I made my mama cry once.
Well- more than once, I’m sure
But one specific time, I just went too far
“We have to go to the farm,” she said
Weary from a school trip, I didn’t want to go
“You have to tell me I’m not crazy.”
Another student had bought a bison
Put it in the center pen of the barn
I knew it was there.
I knew she needed someone to just confirm
There was a buffalo where a buffalo should not be.
So, I pretended it wasn’t there.
“Don’t you see that?” she pleaded.
“Mom, there is nothing there.”
It was funny.
Until she cried.
“I’ll get even, son”
“No you won’t, Mom”
“Watch me.”
My mom was a prankster in her own right.
She could give grief as well or better than anyone.
Little barbs that could stick right in your heart
Like her elbow could stick in your ribs
When you were too loud in church.
Funny. Smart. Creative.
And sarcastic.
There was NOTHING she could not do
When she put her mind to it
Anytime she was told she could not do a thing
She would simply say, “watch me!”
And she did
She was an amazing cook.
But she hated to cook and clean.
So she taught me to cook.
Bierocks, fried potatoes, spaghetti,
Taco Salad (the whitest taco salad ever)
Beans and ham, Roast, beef stew, macaroni and tomatoes
And on,
And on…
She created.
Sure- my brother and I were created from her,
But she painted- gorgeous folk art painings
She Quilted- and it took over an entire room.
She sewed and she crocheted-
Massive crocheted blankets.
When I was a kid,
She played an old, awful, plywood guitar
And sang- a voice like an angel.
At every step of every new thing-
“Watch me!”
She loved her boys:
Her husband, my father, until and after he died
Her sons-my brother and I
She kept keepsakes from our lives
Pictures of their adventures
A flag flown in Afghanistan with my brother
An article about a teaching award for me
Pictures and cards and letters and pictures
And her grandsons- oh how she loved her grandsons
I never saw more joy in her eyes
I never saw her more alive
Than when she was with her grandsons
And our boys are better for her love for them
It was as if someone said
She couldn’t be better
As grandparent than parent
And she responded
“Watch me.”
We had started making plans for her new “normal”
She didn’t want to move, even if she knew it was time
“No. Not yet,” she said to me in mid-December
“Mom, I’m not sure you can live alone much longer”
“Watch me.”
We brought her home to spend Christmas with us
And to look at new places to live
She was weaker than I’d ever seen her.
She was tired, and needed rest
And she didn’t feel great
And it got worse.
So we spent Christmas Eve in the ER
And then Christmas in the hospital
The doctor told her she could not get up
“Watch me.”
We sat with her and tried to keep her down.
“You can’t get up mom”
“Watch me”
Then, in the middle of the night
In an ICU room, we were with her
We sang to her
We prayed with her
We told her she could go be with Dad
We told her we’d be ok
We told her she could rest
We said, goodbye
And she left us- peacefully
Surrounded by love
As we watched her
Russ Tidwell- January 17, 2024
I made my mama cry once.
Well- more than once, I’m sure
But one specific time, I just went too far
“We have to go to the farm,” she said
Weary from a school trip, I didn’t want to go
“You have to tell me I’m not crazy.”
Another student had bought a bison
Put it in the center pen of the barn
I knew it was there.
I knew she needed someone to just confirm
There was a buffalo where a buffalo should not be.
So, I pretended it wasn’t there.
“Don’t you see that?” she pleaded.
“Mom, there is nothing there.”
It was funny.
Until she cried.
“I’ll get even, son”
“No you won’t, Mom”
“Watch me.”
My mom was a prankster in her own right.
She could give grief as well or better than anyone.
Little barbs that could stick right in your heart
Like her elbow could stick in your ribs
When you were too loud in church.
Funny. Smart. Creative.
And sarcastic.
There was NOTHING she could not do
When she put her mind to it
Anytime she was told she could not do a thing
She would simply say, “watch me!”
And she did
She was an amazing cook.
But she hated to cook and clean.
So she taught me to cook.
Bierocks, fried potatoes, spaghetti,
Taco Salad (the whitest taco salad ever)
Beans and ham, Roast, beef stew, macaroni and tomatoes
And on,
And on…
She created.
Sure- my brother and I were created from her,
But she painted- gorgeous folk art painings
She Quilted- and it took over an entire room.
She sewed and she crocheted-
Massive crocheted blankets.
When I was a kid,
She played an old, awful, plywood guitar
And sang- a voice like an angel.
At every step of every new thing-
“Watch me!”
She loved her boys:
Her husband, my father, until and after he died
Her sons-my brother and I
She kept keepsakes from our lives
Pictures of their adventures
A flag flown in Afghanistan with my brother
An article about a teaching award for me
Pictures and cards and letters and pictures
And her grandsons- oh how she loved her grandsons
I never saw more joy in her eyes
I never saw her more alive
Than when she was with her grandsons
And our boys are better for her love for them
It was as if someone said
She couldn’t be better
As grandparent than parent
And she responded
“Watch me.”
We had started making plans for her new “normal”
She didn’t want to move, even if she knew it was time
“No. Not yet,” she said to me in mid-December
“Mom, I’m not sure you can live alone much longer”
“Watch me.”
We brought her home to spend Christmas with us
And to look at new places to live
She was weaker than I’d ever seen her.
She was tired, and needed rest
And she didn’t feel great
And it got worse.
So we spent Christmas Eve in the ER
And then Christmas in the hospital
The doctor told her she could not get up
“Watch me.”
We sat with her and tried to keep her down.
“You can’t get up mom”
“Watch me”
Then, in the middle of the night
In an ICU room, we were with her
We sang to her
We prayed with her
We told her she could go be with Dad
We told her we’d be ok
We told her she could rest
We said, goodbye
And she left us- peacefully
Surrounded by love
As we watched her
Russ Tidwell- January 17, 2024
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