No You Didn't

Have you ever had a moment when everything seems to fall perfectly in place, and it gives you a sliver of understanding about your purpose in life. Last Wednesday was that day for me.

When I opened my eyes, Mary was sleeping beside me and splinters of golden light were shining through the blinds. Easing out of bed, I stepped quietly to the window and inhaled a chestful of the cool desert air. You can't help but give God the glory on such a day.

I was snapped out of my reverie by the BlackBerry vibrating on the dresser. The clinic where I work nights was calling to see if I could come in and help out. The day shift Tech had called out sick.

"Give me twenty minutes, and I'll be in," I said.

Helping people is the main reason I entered the healthcare field. You will never get rich financially, but it's one of the most rewarding careers you can find.

The clinic is located in downtown Tucson, and I always enjoy the scenery during the ten minute drive. Pink clouds were clinging to the summit of the Catalina Mountains. Tucson is a splendid place to live, and admire the wonders of God's creation.

Walking into the clinic, I observed two men and one woman seated in the waiting area. Shelly Rivers, the RN on duty was drawing blood from a young man in the triage room. She waved me over.

"Morning Alan," she said, and smiled. "There's one patient in with the doctor, and Mr. Silver is next." She nodded toward the young man while grabbing a blue top tube. "Thanks for coming in," she added.

"Where do you want me to start?" I asked. Working years on the night shift, I was unfamiliar with the daytime routine.

Shelly pointed toward the woman in the waiting area. "Start getting that woman's info, and we will go from there."

I had a clear view of the waiting area from the triage room. The woman who I was going to interview had not taken her eyes off me since I entered the clinic.

"Good morning," I said, while holding out my hand. "My name's Alan, and I'm one of the Medical Technicians. If you will follow me to the exam room, I have some questions to ask you."

"You seem like a nice young man," she said, while struggling to rise from the low sofa. "My name is Helen Oliver."

After helping Mrs. Oliver up, I grasped her arm and guided her into the exam room adjacent to the triage room. I estimated her age to be late seventies, and she seemed to be ambulating without difficulty. She appeared frail as a feather, but there was nothing fragile about her piercing blue eyes, and they remain fixed on me as I helped her sit on the exam table.

"Thank you dear," she said.

"You're welcome," I replied. "I'm going to ask you for some basic information, and then you will see the nurse or doctor."

"What ever you decide dear."

It turned out that Mrs Oliver was eighty-nine years old. After filling out the required information on the nursing form, I was finally able to ask the important question.

"What brings you into the clinic today?"

Her sparkling blue eyes searched my face, and she reached out to grab my hand. Her fingers were ice cold, and the translucent skin on the back of her hand revealed the gnarled veins.

"I was next door at the Wal-Mart looking for a pot holder, and somehow I ended up in the sporting goods aisle," she explained. "My husband Arthur loved to fish, and seeing the poles brought back so many memories."

Her eyes were brimming with tears, but she continued to hold my gaze. I was concerned that she might be disoriented.

"Are you feeling weak or dizzy?" I asked, while taking her blood pressure and pulse. Both were within normal ranges.

"Oh no, I'm just fine sitting here talking to you," she replied. "You look like my husband when he was young. Arthur died five months ago, and now he's with Jesus."

"I'm sorry," I said, even as I realized how inadequate my statement was.

She clutched my hand with remarkable strength.

"I get so lonely," she continued. "Arthur and I never had any children, and sometimes you just need to talk with somebody. I saw the clinic, and thought it might be a safe place."

"You aren't feeling ill?" I asked.

"Heavens no dear. Thinking about Arthur just made me wish I had a friend to talk with. You have been very kind listening to an old woman's troubles."

It turned out there was nothing physically wrong with Mrs. Oliver. I had Shelly check her out, and she agreed. The poor woman just needed someone to talk to. You never know when God may call upon you to be a source of comfort.

I walked Mrs. Oliver to her car, and gave her my phone number.

Last Friday, Mary and I took Mrs. Oliver out for coffee. We spent a wonderful hour listening to her acquired wisdom. Seeing Helen Oliver smile left me with the best feeling I have had in a long time. We agreed to get together every Friday at the café.

This morning, Mary handed me the newspaper folded open to the obituary page. I knew we would never again meet Mrs. Oliver at the café even before her name exploded off the page.

I only met Helen Oliver twice, but those two moments will forever be a blessing to me. I'm really going to miss her. Mrs. Oliver has joined her husband with Jesus.