Advent Day Four...The Long Goodbye

The old woman sits in silence with a shawl wrapped around her. She speaks not a word. The light in her eyes has grown dim, and she gazes off into a distance that only she can see. Her name is Annie. She is 83 years old. She’s been here in this nursing home for almost ten years now. She knows her name…sometimes. She doesn’t know where she is. But none of that is of any concern. Her thoughts are so disjointed now that none of it matters anymore.

She spends her time keeping herself company, locked away inside her own heart. Her family grew frustrated with not being able to communicate with her anymore, and they stopped coming. Oh, they stop by now and again. They pat her on the head, place a chocolate bar on her nightstand, and hurry out of the building, and on their merry way.

Annie spends her days sitting here alone, seeing things only she can see, sharing those moments with no one.

She lost her husband here four years ago. They came here together, when her memory first started slipping. It began with misplacing things around the house. Then came the irritability that she’d never demonstrated before. Then came the long periods of silence. That’s when they decided to sell the only home they’d ever known as a married couple and move here.

Robert was the love of her life. They’d met in high school and married just as soon as he returned from the European front in WWII. They’d raised four children, retired, and managed a cruise to Alaska before she took her turn and they came here.

Robert was the kindest, most gentle man she’d ever known. Until the day he died, he would hold her hand, and run his fingers through her hair like a teenager in love. One morning, he just didn’t wake up. Annie had already been slipping by then and she barely realized what was happening. But she realized that he wasn’t at dinner with her, and she would reach her hand slowly to her hair sometimes, as if to feel his fingers still playing softly.

After Robert passed, she stopped talking almost entirely. Sometimes the staff could coax a word or a smile out of her, but mostly she remained quiet. Maybe lost in thought. Maybe…simply lost.

Except for Christmas.

Three years ago, and young nurse’s assistant began showing some attention to Annie. She found out that Annie loved the Bible and so she’d read her a verse now and then. She’d massage Annie’s scalp, lovingly enough to get an occasional smile from the old woman. The young woman’s name is Elizabeth.

Yesterday morning, Elizabeth came on her shift and went about checking on her charges. She walked past the large community room where the Christmas tree had only the day before been set up and decorated. The residents spent the evening listening to a children’s choir from the local church, singing carols and passing out little handmade cards. Elizabeth caught Annie with a smile on her lips and saw her singing along silently to a few of the songs.

As she walked past the large room yesterday morning, Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. She recognized Annie, sitting in a chair with her back toward her. Annie was rocking very slowly, almost imperceptibly and she was singing. Singing so softly you could barely hear it…but Elizabeth heard it. She walked slowly toward her elderly friend, so as not to frighten her. She stopped just behind Annie and listened intently.

Annie was singing “Silent Night” softly and rocking gently, with her arms folded as if cradling a child.

Elizabeth touched her softly on her shoulder. Annie looked up at her friend with tears in her eyes. She continued singing for a few more seconds. The she reached out and took Elizabeth’s hand in her own. She smiled, and with the other hand pointed at the nativity scene she was seated directly in front of. She reached out for the baby in the manger and looking up at Elizabeth with tears in her eyes said only one word; “Jesus.”

Elizabeth realized that her friend was singing this song to the little baby in the straw bed of the manger.

She waited until Annie was ready to return to her room and she wheeled her in. At lunch, Elizabeth went out to the nearby Wal Mart and bought a small Nativity set for Annie’s room, thinking that it might encourage more communication. When afternoon activities were finished, she set it up on the nightstand next to Annie’s bed. Annie smiled again and held Elizabeth’s hand a long time.

As her shift was ending, Elizabeth walked into Annie’s room to say goodnight and found her, once again, singing softly, “Silent Night,” perhaps the gentlest Christmas song of all. Annie smiled at Elizabeth as she waved goodbye.

This morning, at 5:35 AM, Elizabeth was greeted at the door by the overnight staff. A tall, young doctor name Jack stopped her at the duty station. He placed his arm around her shoulder and cleared his throat… “Elizabeth,” he said, “It’s Annie…”

Elizabeth knew what was coming without needing to hear it. “When?” she asked. “Sometime overnight,” he answered, “The staff checked on her at 4:30 AM and she was gone.” Elizabeth looked at her watch, “It’s only 5:45, is she still here?” she asked. “Yes,” he responded, “We held off on calling the coroner until you got here. We knew you’d want to say goodbye.”

The young doctor took her hand, “I’ll go with you,” he said. They entered the room together, Annie lay in her bed, a peaceful smile played on her lips. Elizabeth walked to her bedside, blinking back tears. She reached out to pat the hand of her dear friend and noticed, still grasped lovingly in Annie’s left hand, was the porcelain baby Jesus from the nativity set Elizabeth had bought her only the day before.

Elizabeth let her breath out slowly. She leaned over and kissed Annie on her forehead, taking the figurine from her hands. She placed it carefully back in its tiny manger in the crèche on Annie’s nightstand, and whispered, “You are home now, Annie, and you are seeing Him face to face.”

Elizabeth turned toward the door, and walked out to the duty station, softly singing the words to “Silent Night.”