Do Miracles Happen?

Recently, I had the privilege to witness joy at the passing of a patient. I got the call as I was on my way to dinner. I turned around and went to the address my triage nurse had given me. Let me preface by saying that I was not supposed to go to this house, it was my colleague's territory and she wasn't answering her phone. It turned out that she was home in bed and someone else was supposed to be covering her calls. That nurse didn't answer the phone either, so I went to do my duty in a place I wasn't supposed to be.

When I pulled up to the address, there was such joy and celebration going on in this home that it seemed more like a party atmosphere than the home where a death had just occurred. I thought this couldn't possibly be the right house. It was. It turns out that this patient was so labored in an effort to breathe that the family joined hands around the patient's bed and sang a traditional Catholic hymn. As they completed their singing, their loved one passed. The family was convinced that this soul had gone to heaven. Their celebration of joy was truly an affirmation of their faith.

With the anniversary of my own mother's passing, my heart and mind were heavy. Walking into this home made me feel that indeed, something special had happened here. Just like it had when my mother passed.

I know I've mentioned this story before, but at the anniversary of my mom's death, it bears repeating. My dad passed away in a local, small community hospital that has about 100 beds. Four years later, my mom passed away in the same hospital, in the same room and in the same bed. No person on earth can convince me that this was a coincidence. I know it wasn't. My Dad came that night to claim her back. The idea still brings me an overwhelming sense of peace. I miss both of my parents very much, but it's experiences like the ones I get to witness routinely as a hospice nurse, that convince me I'll see all of my loved ones again.

When all was said and done the other night and I'd pronounced my patient's death, I went home and pondered why it was me that this particular responsibility fell to. Was it a coincidence that nobody else answered their phones? I don't think so. And besides, I've never really cottoned to coincidence, I am of the belief that for every thing that happens, there is an explanation. Something greater was at work and recognizing my grief, had brought me solace at this, the anniversary of my mother's passing: I got to bear witness to another family's miracle and faith. Today, I give thanks for that.

I'm curious, have you experienced your own little miracles or signs? Do they bring you peace, or do you find these things unsettling?

Henri

Our mom, Henrietta, early 1940s

I've been thinking a lot about our Mom, Henrietta. September 7th marks two years since we lost her, but it's not just this anniversary of her death that causes me to reflect on her life. Recently, I had the privilege to attend a meeting in Brussels, Belgium, the land of our grandparents, Irma and Leon.

Brussels, Belgium, August, 2008

Brussels is a charming city of about 1 million people. Today it is the capitol of the European Union. You hear many languages spoken on the streets. I wandered many of the streets, visited the Grand Palace, built by the guilds in the late 17th century - the Renaissance and some magnificent cathedrals. Sidewalk cafes are everywhere serving a local favorite of mussels, fries and of course, Belgian beer. The shops are filled with Belgian lace and tapestry as well as Belgian waffles and chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. I took every opportunity to sit outdoors and enjoy the sights, the people and the mussels. I thought much about our mother and grandparents.

Irma and Leon relive their immigration

Irma and Leon immigrated to the United States following World War I. Our mother was born in her house in Detroit in 1926. Her brothers served the US in World War II. Flemish was the native tongue of Irma and Leon. Henrietta understood Flemish - but didn't speak it. Irma would frequently speak to Henrietta in Flemish which would upset Dad; Irma did speak English.

Brussels August, 2008

Catholicism was a major influence in their life. The main cathedral here is spectacular. I must admit, my meager knowledge of world history fails me here. This area was predominantly Flemish but I'm not sure what impact the Reformation had on this region. Food is hearty here just as it was in my grandmother's house. The locals say it is as good as the French but has the portions of the Germans. There were lots of stews in Irma's kitchen. Raisin bread was her specialty (kuka stuten); it was served at every holiday and at many other times of the year. I can still think about how good it tasted smothered with butter.

Augie, Henrietta and Rene- Mom and her brothers

Beer of course, was always present in their home. The Belgians know how to make beer. And now they own Anheuser-Busch (really????). They are cafe people who like to sit and talk while drinking beer or coffee. I have fond memories of our grandfather Leon sitting in his backyard, drinking beer and whistling for his birds to come home to roost. (He raced pigeons).

Irma and Leon-probably mid 1930s (Leon brewed "rootbeer" in the basement of their Detroit home during prohibition.)

I'm sure we kids all remember the brass ashtray of Mannekin Pis, Flemish for little man pee, that we had in our house. (Does anybody have that?) Mannekin Pis is a fountain in Brussels of a little boy peeing. This is probably the number one tourist attraction. It is a bit off the beaten path along the narrow streets. The story we were told growing up was that a merchant's son was missing, and a search party set out to find him. They did find him peeing in somebody's garden. The merchant was so grateful he decided to erect a statue. There are other stories dating from the 14-17 century. One is that the city was under seige and that the young boy peed on the fuse of a bomb and still another that he peed on soldiers entering the city (from a tree). I personally prefer the first story. People from this region don't take themselves too seriously. They enjoy a good time.

Mareseatoats and Mannekin Pis, August, 2008

Henrietta did enjoy a good time. I am sorry she didn't travel here to see the land of her heritage. I think she would have liked it.

Henrietta loved a photo op!

I hope you enjoy the pictures - I'm definitely going back to this region. It is rich in culture and without pretentiousness.

Today's post was brought to you by my sister Mareseatoats. Thank you Mares, I'm sending big hugs to you today.