Making Plans

The events of the past couple of weeks have been nothing short of amazing. It is as if God said, “This girl needs my help” and started making things happen.

One evening at work about the first of February, we had a nice female security guard watching an unpredictable young female patient. I complimented the guard on the way she was handling the patient and then, as women do, we got into a conversation with one thing quickly leading to another. She told me that almost a year ago, she and her husband had moved here from Tampa and now they are ready to get out of their apartment. I told her I was planning on retiring this spring, that we would be moving to Wilmington, and my home would be for sale. She talked about what they wanted in a house and as it turned out, mine had all those qualities. I gave her my address and phone number and suggested they ride by, and if they liked the location and the exterior look, we could go on from there.

Long story short, they love the house, as I have, and came by yesterday with papers showing they have been approved for the loan. They took pictures and talked about what they plan for certain areas. I saw that in their minds, it is theirs already.

The timing is working out perfectly. I had wanted to be in Wilmington around May and so far it is looking as if that will happen. On our trip this weekend, as I rode along the riverfront, passed the downtown churches that still look like they did when I was a child and the old houses one of which was my great-great-great grandparents, and saw the swaying Spanish moss on the pines, and felt the Wilmington air, my heart felt right at home. I know being there is the right thing.

We met with a realtor, one whom I had selected on the internet but didn’t want to bother too soon, and of all the realtors in town, is the one I was “randomly” assigned to when I hurriedly called Prudential, a familiar agency. Still we have not found a house. Choosing one is the next big thing, and I believe it is there, still undiscovered.

There is much ahead of us, but the transition is starting perfectly with God’s blessing and leadership. I look expectantly to life in the lovely Port City.

...and further

As I think over stories I can tell about my hospital experiences, they all seem to sound gruesome, like psychological dramas, murder and mayhem that are on A&E that I click quickly past. About ten years ago, I typed twelve pages of my work memories and mailed them to my mother to read. She was aghast at what I was around in my daily work. Everyone who works in a hospital sees people at their worst and also sometimes at their best. We see life as it begins with hope and ends in suffering. We see families torn by opinion and shame and individuals who struggle with how to cope with the most difficult of situations. We do not have the time to give the attention we desire to give, and we are faced daily with ethical dilemmas. It has been the most interesting of professions. I have learned to see work as an honorable word and not something demeaning born from necessity. It has caused me to grow up and learn to adjust and adapt and to expand my capacity for love.

It's been good

For a year or so I have been thinking mostly of my retirement. What the word actually will mean for me will unfold. It is a thrilling time, like being a senior in high school facing graduation, but doubly so because I have worked as a nurse much longer than those twelve growing up years. Like that though, it means closing one chapter and opening another one, yet unwritten with only an outline.

I have been mentally reviewing my career while looking forward to the changes that are to come. In the beginning, if someone had told me that I would have lasted this long in nursing, I would have laughed in disbelief. With all the fear and queasiness I had, I felt that I barely made it out of nursing school, and since I really didn’t want to be a nurse, I sometimes felt like a fraud. I was more comfortable with guys and was concerned how I could survive in a workplace with all women, but it worked out. God placed me in my niche, gave me the strength I needed, and I have remained to serve, with RN proudly behind my name.

Over the years each time I reached what I thought was the end of my rope, something, usually some kind words or a new perspective, called me back. I wondered how I would know when it would be time to leave for good. Would it be a slip knot in the rope and no new perspective? Would it be a big, scary event? It has been none of the above thankfully. It is simply time to hang it up. The government gives us that option.

I have measured the last quarter century by where I was working, and work I did. I think I was in the hospital when many big things happened in my life. It was where I got the calls about my children’s engagements or listened to happy news of expectant babies. I cried on the shoulder of another nurse when Peter called to tell me he was going in the Navy. And when he was in an accident and airlifted to a trauma center, there I was in the nurses station. Maybe it was all for a reason as I immediately had someone to share the good and the bad news.

For a while I may write some of my stories here in my little blog.

Comin fo to carry me

Languages are always changing. Each year old words are deleted from the dictionary and new ones are added. Sometimes cultures unofficially adopt phrases and words from other groups because they seem to work. Here in my part of the South many of us white folks now regularly use some expressions we picked up from our black neighbors such as the word “passed” when someone has died. Some of us used to say “pass away” but not just plain “pass.” I suppose when we die we do pass from one life to another. Another word I have heard often is “blessed” as in “Have a blessed day,” which is a sweet phrase. As a result of liking it, I now tend to think of my blessings and use the word more often. Years ago we picked up “Ain’t no big thing” from music and are used to hearing “dawg” thanks to Randy Jackson. “Dis” is a simple word for talking trash about somebody else. (Talking trash?) And I have started referring to my ex-husband as my "baby daddy.” What a rich collection of words we share.

The Greatest of These

I love Valentine’s Day. After all, is there anything worth celebrating more than love? Out of God’s “great love for us” we, who are created in His image, can love one another. That is something to celebrate.