Dressed for Eternity
I have recently had occasion to provide some assistance to an elderly gentleman with no family. He is 88 years old and deaf. I met him for the first time several months ago when his much younger friend and caretaker died leaving him alone. Being somewhat infirm, he was taken to a hospital the day his friend died, and then to a nursing home. He is a sweet, gentle man, who, over his lifetime, spent many untold hours helping others. As is often the case with folks who have no family, he is well fixed.
For the first month or so that I knew him, I was able to communicate with him through the use of tablets and a lot of ink. He would read what I wrote out loud, and then respond. We discussed religion, his past, and his friends. He corrected me on my spelling numerous times. Then, he suffered a small stroke. He ceased communicating with people, brushing their hands aside when they touched him and telling people to go away. He shut his eyes and refused to open them. He is still living, but is refusing all fluids and food. The wonderful, sweet man that I met several months ago, has shut himself off from the world and is waiting for God’s reward. Hospice has been called in.
One of the unpleasant tasks I have in these situations is to make sure that burial arrangements have been made in case the worst should happen. He was a good looking man when he was younger, and from the pictures that I have seen, very dapper. So when I met with the funeral director and his minister to finalize arrangements for a pre-paid funeral contract, I mentioned that he needed some clothes for the eventual burial. I knew that he had a new suit because the church had purchased one for him when his friend died. It was a spiffy navy blue number with a powder blue shirt and pretty tie. But at the nursing home, I could find only a tattered tan suit, and only the suit jacket to the brand new blue suit. I couldn’t find the matching slacks.
The funeral director said it really isn’t a problem because when the body is shown, you only see the upper portion of the body….and it gave me pause. The funeral director, not knowing the circumstances, was being very practical, trying to save the estate the cost of a new suit. I appreciated the thought, but the irony was too much to ignore. Here we were, a bunch of people who were strangers to this poor soul, determining whether or not he would spend eternity without slacks.
It is a funny story. I know that my first reaction was to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. But I insisted that my client be properly dressed for his eternal rest when his time came. And then I went home, and stopped laughing. Somebody once said everyone dies alone. I hope that isn’t the case. I hope that if ever I am in a nursing home, someone is there to trim my nose and ear hair, and give my face a shave. And when I die, there is someone there to make sure I am fully dressed, including the pants. Isn’t that most any of us can hope for? And that isn’t funny at all.
For the first month or so that I knew him, I was able to communicate with him through the use of tablets and a lot of ink. He would read what I wrote out loud, and then respond. We discussed religion, his past, and his friends. He corrected me on my spelling numerous times. Then, he suffered a small stroke. He ceased communicating with people, brushing their hands aside when they touched him and telling people to go away. He shut his eyes and refused to open them. He is still living, but is refusing all fluids and food. The wonderful, sweet man that I met several months ago, has shut himself off from the world and is waiting for God’s reward. Hospice has been called in.
One of the unpleasant tasks I have in these situations is to make sure that burial arrangements have been made in case the worst should happen. He was a good looking man when he was younger, and from the pictures that I have seen, very dapper. So when I met with the funeral director and his minister to finalize arrangements for a pre-paid funeral contract, I mentioned that he needed some clothes for the eventual burial. I knew that he had a new suit because the church had purchased one for him when his friend died. It was a spiffy navy blue number with a powder blue shirt and pretty tie. But at the nursing home, I could find only a tattered tan suit, and only the suit jacket to the brand new blue suit. I couldn’t find the matching slacks.
The funeral director said it really isn’t a problem because when the body is shown, you only see the upper portion of the body….and it gave me pause. The funeral director, not knowing the circumstances, was being very practical, trying to save the estate the cost of a new suit. I appreciated the thought, but the irony was too much to ignore. Here we were, a bunch of people who were strangers to this poor soul, determining whether or not he would spend eternity without slacks.
It is a funny story. I know that my first reaction was to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. But I insisted that my client be properly dressed for his eternal rest when his time came. And then I went home, and stopped laughing. Somebody once said everyone dies alone. I hope that isn’t the case. I hope that if ever I am in a nursing home, someone is there to trim my nose and ear hair, and give my face a shave. And when I die, there is someone there to make sure I am fully dressed, including the pants. Isn’t that most any of us can hope for? And that isn’t funny at all.
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