Let It Be.

In three days, it will have been one month since Steve passed away.  It seems like it was just a few minutes ago...odd, how time stands so still and flies by so fast at the same time.

I had to step away from everybody for a couple of nights this week, to try and come to grips with the loss.  It's kind of hard to do that when you keep finding out things that make it seem as senseless as it was unreal.  Like he wouldn't let anyone call the rescue squad for him, saying he was just tired.  That he was taking Oxycontin and other drugs because he was in pain and wouldn't (couldn't) see a doctor about his health problems because he had no insurance.

Damn it all.  If he had let us, we would have helped him.

And then there are the unexplained things that kept happening after he passed.  The front door at his house opening by itself - it scrubbed on the carpet.  Patience and I saw that.  The garage door opening by itself.  His phone number on a sticky note jumping off of the refrigerator at Dad's house.  A message from beyond?  A spirit caught between earth and the Universe?  I don't know...my logical self tells me we're human and look for signs after a loved one has passed on, anything that would reassure us that death is not the absolute end.  And my emotional self tells me, he's still here...

Everyone was talking about how Steve had "visited" them.  With Dad, it was a dream that Steve came to him and said, I can breathe now.  With Patience, it was the candles blowing sideways and the doors opening.  With Mike, it was a warm hand on his shoulder as he was driving.

I can't for sure say that Steve has come to me, except for the song that popped into my head as I was going over and over all that had happened and questioning why.  Out of nowhere the lyrics came...Let It Be.  I remember nodding, as if to say, Okay, I understand.  But I didn't.  And then last Saturday I visited Patience, and she and I were talking.  She was having a really good day, but still, I broke down and cried.  And from the radio came the music...Paul McCartney singing Let It Be.

Is that what I wanted?  To let it be, to just accept it and to stop torturing myself with all the why's and what ifs?  Or was it a message, for me.  Was it my visit.

The middle of last week, I went to Steve's grave for the first time since the day after the funeral.  I had no idea why I was compelled to go there, but I had to.  For a while, I just stood there and stared down at that long rectangle of bare earth.  And then I started talking.  I told him I didn't understand why he refused help, why he didn't come to any of us.  Why he wouldn't let anyone call an ambulance - three people had tried.  I told him that maybe he didn't have to die, that if he had let somebody - anybody - help, maybe he might still be with us. And I told him I was so MAD at him, but that was because I do love him..not because I didn't.  That little monologue ended with my hope for him that wherever he might be that he was free from pain and that he didn't need anything of this world anymore.  And I left.

Driving down the road...with the radio on...still somewhere off in the distance, not really paying attention to anything except how I was feeling...the music came over the radio.  Paul McCartney singing Let It Be.  Maybe I really had had a visit from Steve.  Perhaps not.  But if letting it be is what has to be done, then that's what I'll do.

Namaste.

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.

Let it be, let it be, .....

And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

This morning

I have to take a little time for myself, to be alone and remember Steve in my own way.  I wish there were a way to make people really know him, because he was such a presence, and one that a person could not help but like or love.

Last night, a small group of my immediate family gathered in the back yard at Mom's and Dad's.  That was Steve's domain - he was the gardener, the king of the grill at cookouts, the one who filled the birdfeeders and prepared nectar for the hummingbirds.  He loved nature.

One memory very personal to me is the night Steve and I went spotlighting for deer.  We climbed into the pickp truck and he took me to the peach orchard.  We parked on a lane and he pulled out the spotlight from behind the seat.  "Now watch this," he told me, and the light he shone glinted off of eyes all over the place.  In a few minutes, the deer began running.  One leaped over the bed of the pickup truck and Steve just laughed...Would you look at that! 

Another is the night he called me from Atlanta.  It was 11:00, the phone rang, the operator asked me to accept the collect charges, and I - thinking the worst, of course - accepted.  GIRL!  He told me.  You won't believe what I just did!  He had been jamming with Bad Company.  That was one of the highlights of his life.

He was a musician who played with local rock bands.  I remember how he used to drive me crazy, playing those drums every single night and every single day..but after a while, I didn't even hear them anymore.  He was an incredible talent - taught himself to play guitar, drums - he had a voice that would stop me still in my tracks, so rich and beautiful.
His last big gig was with Roy Roberts, a blues musician.  He traveled up and down the East Coast with them, and the highlight of that gig was playing his drums on stage with Eddie Floyd, of Knock on Wood fame.

He was the only person my dog, Buddy, ever bit.  When he made his way home from being on the road once, he came to my house, came straight to my kitchen and hugged me.  That didn't set well with Buddy, who immediately went to Steve's ankle.  But Steve won Buddy over, too, just like every person he ever touched.

He was the primary care giver for Mom and Dad.  His days of CNA work with group homes prepared him well for giving shots and taking care of feeding tubes during my father's cancer treatment.  And Steve never complained.  All his life, he wanted a place in Mom's and Dad's lives - an important spot.  He had no idea that spot was already his because he was Steve.  Stevie Poo. 

He had a personality that would not quit.  He could make you laugh, want to smack him and want to kiss him all in the same instant.  And if you dared lock in a battle of wit with him, you could count yourself out before the first words left your mouth.  He was quick and creative.  A bubble of laughter waiting to burst.

A few years ago, he met a lady - a real lady - from Canada, via the internet.  Their friendship grew and somehow turned into love.  He proposed to her first on the internet - and when Patience laughed at him and said it wasn't a real proposal, he told her - if you want the real one, get down here.  She did, and he proposed.  They were one of the happiest couples I have ever seen.  They loved each other immensely.

I take a lot of comfort in knowing that she was with him at the end.  He had not felt well for a few days and had come home from work early.  He asked her to take a nap with him.  She did, had her arm across his chest.  She kept a check on him because she was worried...and then fell asleep with him.  She told us she was not sure what woke her.  The first thing she noticed was that his chest was not rising and falling.  She couldn't wake him.  He died with her arms around him, peacefully, in his sleep. 

Oh, my baby brother...if it had to happen so soon, too soon, I'm glad it was this way, with your love beside you and with peace. 

I will never, ever forget your caring, your heart, your love for so many.

The house has been full of people since Monday night, and I know the church will be overflowing.  The aisle between the family pews and the friends pews might as well be erased, because everyone you touched considered you their family.  Rest well, brother.  I love you.

coming down to earth

It seems longer than five years ago that I accepted a position at another unit.  I loathed leaving the hospital and the warmth of the people there.  It was almost a family atmosphere with the folks who had been there under human resources before it became a prison hospital.  But leave, I must, if I wanted a permanent position complete with benefits and retirement.  So I went...

to a place that was gray and concrete.  It had clanging doors that custody had to open for you - everything was locked - and on the mental health side, Christ roamed the halls and Satan was locked up in seg, my boss despised me and made no bones about it.  But I was trapped - it was stay or quit, and I couldn't afford to quit, with a sick husband at home who was depending on my health coverage to pay his hospital and physician's bills.

So I sucked it up.  I was a nervous wreck that first year.  The job itself was as huge a responsibility as the sick husband who became psychotic on his medications. I stayed - and worked damned hard because I had something to prove and a reason to be there.  But, oh, how I missed my former workplace and the atmosphere there, and vowed to go back if I could.

And then something happened.  I met an old man at the prison - a psychologist - who was very kind to me.  We became fast friends, and when things became overwhelming, I'd trip down the hall to his office to borrow a cup of his calm.  And then something else happened.  Somewhere between south unit and central, I made friends with the custody staff.  They gave me something that I whole-heartedly returned - respect.  I looked out for them the best my job would allow, and they did the same for me.  I was one of them.

And then other things happened - my boss decided I was a pretty-good-okay secretary after all, and our relationship became one of mutual respect.  I met a nurse from Trinidad - "the islands", as she put it.  And she was my charge nurse who depended on me and called me elephant brain because I knew the patients and their ailments as well as she did and she depended on me to know.

Then came the opportunity I had prayed for the first year of my employement - a position at my old unit.  I took it, though I loathed to leave my other team.  But I was tired and had taken an emotional beating over the past few years.  For a while, my time was split betweenboth locations - mornings were spent at the hospital and afternoons were spent as secretary to the nurses.  I didnt mind, actually.  And when that ended, I was full-time hospital medical records girl.

The place had changed.  All who had been there under human resources had left.  There was no responsibility, none of the adrenaline I had become used to - and addicted to.  Our office had become a gathering place for gripefests and the discontent among the employees under a new regime was loud and battering.  And there was no respect.  None.  There were loud arguments between my boss and the social worker, and on more than one occasion, I had to "testify" in an investigation.  Oh, how I longed for the place I had left and the old man's cup of calm.  For the respect.  For the team I had left behind.

And I vowed that one day, I would go back there.  I vowed it every time one of the officers from that unit came over and asked if I was ready to come back to them yet.  Every time they jokingly called me a traitor.  I would block out the sights that had driven me away and made me cringe every time someone mentioned the word "shower." 

And on occasion, I would see the old man in town and he would say - We miss you.  It feels like something is missing.  And I didn't tell him that there was something missing in my days, too, but I thought it, and hoped that the old man would still be there when I made my way back.

It was more than two years before the chance presented itself.  I pulled up the OSP jobs website one Tuesday morning an audibly gasped.  An opening there!  How very rare.  I spent the morning typing out my application and faxed it in that very day.  For  two weeks, I held my breath, wondering if they would even consider me for an interview after I left them.

And then they called me.  I had the interview.  I was so nervous I botched it - I wasn't professional at all, I was simply me, earnest with my answers to people who had once been my team.  I shook their hands as I prepared to leave and told them it was good to see them again.

And I heard nothing for two more weeks.  I had given up - if you have the job, usually, you know within a few days, and I knew nothing.  Then one night while I was laying in bed between sleep and waking, the small voice spoke to me from nowhere.  It said - You got the job. And I said - Aww, get outta here, dismissed it and fell asleep.

Two days later, my boss was reading her email and said - Did you know about this?  When were you going to tell me?  I was puzzled.  Know about what, I asked her.  She read the email aloud.  It said - We have just received approval for Ms. Broadaway to assume the position and would like for her to start as soon as possible.  Is March 17th all right with you?

I almost fainted.  I rose from my chair with the phone in my hand and told the person on the other end - I GOT THE JOB!!!!

In a building just down the road from the hospital, there is a lieutenant who will undoubtedly grin and say - what did i tell you? Now don't leave us again.  And there is a new supervisor and section head who have a faith in me that amazes me.  They chose me for a position they plan to expand.  They told me the job is a good place to start with their department, and that tells me they have plans for my future.  More importantly, there is an old man in that building who is waiting for me to come back to share a cup of calm, some laughs and a little philosophical conversation. 

I'm coming, Dr. H.  I'll be there soon.

test

this

obsessing

our office is very high traffic because we have our own copier and fax machine.  there is a string of people in and out all day.  the problem there is countless interruptions, and because out boss is such a social creature, our office has become the dumping ground for all the negativity against the workplace and also the break room.  we can't even have a department meeting without someone coming in, plopping down in the middle of it and starting a conversation about something totally irrelevant, and the boss's way of handling it is to allow it.

a while back, roberta and i tried again to talk to her about the disruptions and were attempting to explain to her that it affects our job performance when in walks monika and boss's full attention turned to her.  roberta and i threw up our hands and decided we would just have to deal with it.

until yesterday, when i blew.

my transcription desk is in one of the file rooms, put there because the outer office had way too much traffic and the former transcriptionist there finally threw a hissy fit, yanked off her earphones and said - will y'all just SHUT UP!  we recently archived all the records in the outer file room, and the boss has decorated it nicely for christmas.  it's very pretty, and we have enjoyed it immensely.

well, someone suggested that it be turned into a break room...and then they brought all their lunch goodies - pies, cakes, etc and laid them out on the table back there.  and during lunch yesterday, when they said they had claimed it as their lunch/break area, i politely said - well, except between 1 and 4:30.  that's when i'm transcribing. and i explained to them that between 3 different foreign accents, background noise on the tape and the intercom system in the building that it took some concentration to decipher the word esophagogoduedenoscopy spoken in korean and whatever language egyptians and afghanistani's speak.

around 2 when i was transcribing the psych clinic, monika started creeping around the table.  i don't mind that.  then she started bringing people in and their conversations began.

i'm all for laughter and gaeity, but i had asked...

and it was the final straw.  i went out, grabbed my purse and was headed for home. what was the point in staying, anyway?  and then roberta stopped me.  it made no sense to quit, right?

and so we gathered up the food an moved itto my OTHER desk in the outer office.  monika said, did we disturb you?  and that's when i really blew.  i told her - i asked you not to do that, and you felt compelled to do it anyway.  i need you to respect my work area.

what did the boss do?  nothing.  in the workplace, there has to be a boundaries.  there has to be.  i'm not really looking forward to going in today, but the saving grace is, i'm on vacation for the next 7.

Lahoma.

I got an email from Kim today, telling about Lahoma.  I had no idea.  Somehow, I had lost track, wasn't getting journal entry alerts and assumed she had stopped journaling, or made a private one.

Lahoma was the first to make me feel at home in aol journals.  She always stopped by, had interesting emails, the most interesting stories.  She had a hard life, but she didn't let it get her down.  When I first read her, she was going to school and had already battled cancer twice.

Ah, I do believe I told her a time or two how inspiring she is, but that seems so small, now. I wish I hadn't lost track of her.  She was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia, and Kim's letter said she had maybe 48 hours to live.

I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Lahoma, and am glad you had the support of the journalers here, because I know how priceless that is. 

And I don't understand why these things happen, just that they do.  Every prayer I have is with you.