Everybody

Last week I met a woman born at St. Luke’s Hospital on the same day as me. Delivered by the same doctor. She was born, and then I arrived exactly twelve hours later.

I was seeing her at Cherith Brook with Care Beyond the Boulevard. She has schizophrenia, is currently homeless and warned me her blood pressure might be high because she had used meth that day. She apologized for speaking so loudly, said her eardrums were perforated and therefore could never seem to regulate volume. She needed medicine and reassurance. Wondered if I heard the same voices that she did. Cried about never being married and her constant meth use and then laughed and smiled as she remembered happier times. Then she said that although she was frequently suicidal, she had only recently become homicidal. An email from a caseworker where she had recently been in rehab had set her off. She sent him thirteen emails over the course of two days describing how she was going to kill and eat the man’s dog and then kill the man and his family. She said it was liberating to be that angry- like she finally had a purpose. Her voice became even louder and her smile became larger as she recalled the feeling. She assured me she doesn't want to kill anyone right now.

It was an intense visit. And I did my best to help with what I could. And hopefully she’ll return in two weeks for medication refills.

But while she was speaking, and after she left, and for the past week I’ve been thinking about her. About our young moms in the 1960s. About the nurses who cared for us in the nursery. Surely we were both there for a week. And were held by the same nurses. Maybe one of them sang to us, wearing a white dress and a white hat, and we both listened and watched and tried to make sense of these new things. And I wondered what her childhood was like. When did things get so hard?

Her mother died five years ago this month. And my mother has no memory of her stay at the hospital. Dementia has taken nearly everything. So we’ll never know.

Yet I feel a strange connection to my nursery friend. Her sad colorful stories and our first day on earth connection remind me that everybody wants to love. And everybody wants to be loved.

Surely I could write about every patient I meet. Every friend. Every family member. Everyone I work with, at every location I work. Every nurse, waiter, retail worker, barber, dentist, barista. Everyone.

We all have different versions of the same story. All seeking love and a place to put love.

Holy One, Help us to see the fiery spirit spark in each other. Created and creative. Thank you for coming to us in so many ways. Amen

Brandon has been a member of Peace Church since the beginning. And can think of no better place to share his time, money and love.