Recently my conscious is incessantly in deep reflection. I find myself searching for old selves while speeding forward through each hectic day.
A few days prior I faced a chilling pastime when I brought my cherished stethoscope into nursing fundamentals lab. You may ask, “Aren’t you ecstatic about beginning hands-on nursing practice?” And yes, I very much am. Simultaneously, I cannot veil feelings that previously I disregarded though amercing myself in my biology texts.
When I packed for school this year, I included among clothing, texts, and small trinkets, a 1’5” box containing a Littmann stethoscope. This very box had been concealed within the bottom drawer of my dresser ever since the untimely death of my Aunt Ada two years ago. With the sparse money she had to her name she had provided me with this essential piece of nursing equipment on the day of my high school graduation. It means everything to me. The night of July 4th 2006 she stole her own life.
In lab I was terribly defensive of my stethoscope and was ready to claw any who dared to approach it, like a mother bear with her offspring. I was so afraid of it breaking; I am not sure how I would handle it. My clinical supervisors and peers surely noticed my selfishness, but I had little desire to explain.
I can visualize so clearly the tears in each of our eyes when she gave me this gift. I can hear the minister’s sermon at her funeral who illustrated her generosity to others as a medical technician and her precious gift to me (I could not compose myself and cried desperately my body trembling uncontrollably). I do not deserve this gift. I see and hear these images as if a circuit in my brain were jammed on repeat.
As I now glance at the frayed box containing the last precious gift of her life, the very organ that I will use with my patients pulsates sorrowfully. I do not dare place my nose close to the fibers of the box, for fear of smelling the ominous sent of her exhaled cigarette smoke and the remnants of her living self.
I will need to learn how to avoid treating my stethoscope as my Aunt’s spirit or something of that manner, but have it evolve into an inspirational token.
Dear Aunt Ada, you have lived so brightly, you have altered everything.
1 comment:
Bev, you DO deserve Aunt Ada's gift. She knew that. And your treatment of its preciousness is your timeless and unending tribute to her. She knew that too. Every rhythm you detect from its mysterious function will echo with her spirit. One other thing she knew: things don't last forever, but love does. If it breaks, its value will not only not be lost to you, but will magnify just as Aunt Ada does.
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