During this process of “moving on,” occasionally something pops up that just really surprises me (other than random songs on the radio that disturb my breakfast taco eating time.)  The things to which I refer are typically done by folks who mean well and are meant to help but, instead, just make me laugh out loud out of, well, shock.  In today’s mail delivery was just one of those things.

The card reads “Please join us for Hospice Austin’s Biannual Memorial Service.  To commemorate the death of your loved one and honor their memory…..”  Wha?  You have got to be kidding me!  I can’t tell you exactly what I’ll be doing July 11, 2009 but I can definitely tell you where I WON’T be – at this memorial service!  Why would anyone attend such a thing?  Holy cow!  Now, maybe I’m just a little non-traditional (Ya think?  We had a memorial service on top of a parking garage) but going to a mass memorial service for those who have died in hospice care just seems like a sucker’s play.  What good can come of that?  But if anyone else wants to go, it’s at the Hyde Park Christian Church at 610 East 45th Street at 4:30PM.  I won’t judge.  Heck, I won’t even know you went because I won’t be there.

Today, after listening to Let the Day Begin 400 or so times, I gathered up the final 30 or so bottles of medication from Maggie’s side of the bathroom, tossed them in a bag and delivered them back to where they came from – the HEB Pharmacy.  I’ve been to the HEB Pharmacy a LOT over the last few years.  They all know me and Maggie (although they call her Ms. Weaver and me, Mr. Weaver, who ever that is.)  Typically, when I come they don’t even ask why I’m there.  Instead, they automatically just go grab our latest new prescriptions from the stack. We’ve got this pattern down.  This time, however, when it came my turn, she didn’t turn away because she knew I wasn’t there for more meds.  Instead, she came around and gave me a big ol’ hug, a warm smile and said “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you.  I’m so sorry to hear about Ms. Weaver.”  It was just tremendously touching and sweet.  I’m glad it’s been 46 days since It happened otherwise I might have just fallen apart right there in the middle of the pharmacy.  Of course, I was humming my new anthem, Let the Day Begin, so that had to have helped.

I handed her the bag o’ meds and, without a word from me, she said “We’ll take care of those for you.”  Again, she smiled very warmly and asked the question I hate “How are you doing?”  Of course, what else would she ask.  I retorted with my well-rehearsed “Sometimes good, sometimes not so good.”  After a little more small talk we parted ways.  It was just a great interaction.  The folks there at the HEB Pharmacy have really delivered through all this.  I’m just tremendously impressed by how they’ve treated us, all the way through to today.  They’ve definitely done us right but I’d be ok if I never saw them again, except in passing while I picked up more eggs and milk.

6 thoughts on “Well-Meaners

  1. I haven’t been on your site in a few weeks so this post is more about writing your book as opposed to well-meaners..

    I stumbled across your blog in December 2008, when my sister was diagnosed with stage 1VCC. What kept me reading your blog on a daily basis was the beauty of your story and yours and Maggie’s incredible strength. There was no denying the disease, you were both facing it head on and were so honest about it. Not everyone handles these situations the same. I have only ever commented anonymously because I was afraid of hurting my sisters children who are having such a hard time.

    I’m no stranger to grief, as I lost my Mom to cancer, many years ago as a young teen. The publisher was right, this story, as most of our stories, are way too sad to read. Make your book about emerging through grief, one small baby step at a time. As a reader, a fellow griever, I try to look forward. I know there’s a future out there somewhere and looking backwards is way too hard. I loved your Git R done posting and your comment about smiling through tears. Write your book, you have such a talent, inspire others to go on.

      1. Don’t ya just love cryptic messages posted by keyboard commandos who are afraid to leave their name?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *