Holy Intersections

“Wait, you’re Dr. Pomeroy?”

“Yes,” I said, pointing to the name on my white coat.

“How old are you?” he said, intently searching my face.

I paused… looking around to be sure no one else was in his hospital room to hear. My age isn’t something I like to share. But when I did, he asked me if I had gone to Shawnee Mission Northwest.

I looked at him more carefully. Was he one of my teachers? This guy was in really bad shape. Long gray hair and beard. Plus all of his medical problems.

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

He told me and I could instantly see it. He was the older brother of my best friend from elementary school. For three years we were inseparable at school. Every recess. Every lunch. Then at the end of fifth grade my family moved to a newer suburb, and I never saw him again.

Or had I?

This old man, three years older than me, remembered a lot more than I did. He said we all rode the bus to our elementary school every day. He listed kids’ names and where we picked them up. The names sounded familiar but I couldn’t put faces to them. I don’t even remember riding a bus. He said his family moved when mine did, not far away. And that we met up again at Trail Ridge and then at Northwest. So, my friend was still there, moving along in a forgotten parallel universe.

I have very few recollections of middle school or high school. I remember swimming. meets, friends, music, miles and miles in the SM West and Lenexa pools. But not home. And not school.

He told me that his brother had done construction, then started a church in Shawnee, and now cleans buildings.

Anyway, his condition seemed stable, and I went to the next patient but he definitely stirred up some things. Things I don’t like to visit.

The next day his labs looked stable. The nurse and wound care notes echoed that. I didn't need to see him and told myself I’d stop by the next day. But at 7pm, I began getting texts that his bleeding had started again and was much worse. They were holding pressure on his wounds, but his vitals were worsening and something needed to be done.

I ordered blood products as I raced to the hospital. The OR nurses were already in his room when I arrived, getting him ready to transport to surgery. He told me he was scared. And that his brother said hi. And he told the nurses that I was a great swimmer. And that I used to write a faith column for the KC Star.

He told me his brother had swam in my pool.

My mind stuttered at that point. Swam in my pool? That pool had been a sore spot for me. I went away to college and now my family suddenly had money to put in a pool? But the point was - it turns out that fifth grade wasn’t the last time I had seen or hung out with my friend. It was many years later?

We got him to surgery. And as he was getting ready for anesthesia, and as he drifted off, I told everyone about this man. About our connection. About his memories. I was able to stop the bleeding. It was a mess. He is a mess. He bled a lot. He still has a long road ahead.

Right before surgery he said one other thing. When I told him that I don’t remember much about my childhood he said that can be a blessing. When he had bypass surgery a few years ago, the surgeon warned him that he might lose some memory. He told the surgeon that if he can forget his ex-wife, it’ll all be worth it.

“So did you forget her?”

“No, but the memories are softer. They have less emotion attached to them now.”

Time. Our lives. Memories. Our plans. It’s all so mysterious. For the record, I do have a good memory, just not of my childhood. Ask me about mission trips. Or vacations with my kids. Or Peace Church!

One day we may know fully. Even as we are fully understood. But for today, I am so grateful for these holy intersections. Whether from people we knew decades ago- or a quick catch up in a doctor’s lounge- or after a worship service- or a weekly Indian buffet with my son. So grateful for the thousands of people that have impacted me, and I pray that I can positively impact many more.

Holy One, thank you for the flame that burns inside of us, that recognizes other flames, and that flashes brighter with that recognition. Amen

Brandon is a member of Peace Church and treasures his many wonderful memories.