Revisiting a Love Affair

Against the wishes of her sisters, I would see her again. She was so special to me that my wife did not contest the relationship. Eight years passed since our last meeting. Now, responding to her last letter and an emotional juggernaut, I found myself on United Flight 410 flying eastward to Philadelphia.

On arrival, my phone call to her sister failed to elicit an enthusiastic welcome, but she assiduously directed me to a convenient pick-up point. Shortly she arrived. Our greeting was friendly then she reiterated her feelings about my presence. We drove. After a few minutes of polite chatter, my driver shot, "She has been in a coma for a week." Her face showed annoyance flashing two questions. "Who do you think you are?" and "Do you have supernatural powers?"

We arrived at St. Monica's Hospital and began to walk down a long dimly lit corridor to her room. A nurse - at the far end of the hall, recognized my polite but cautious guide, and conjectured that I was the man from California. My persistent phone inquiries to the hospital during the previous week apparently made me an item. Upon entering speaking distance, some of the nurse's colleagues had positioned themselves for a look. Each of their gazes was an embrace to comfort and to cheer. Hollywood could not have staged a better take for a conquering hero. Two doors away, lay the reason for my being in this strange land. Each of my steps towards her room dissipated a portion of the feeling lavished on me moments ago.

Finally we arrived. I was very uncomfortable. I paused in the doorway. Her sister entered the room, went to her bedside, and gazed sadly upon her. Then she turned towards me, frozen in the doorway and said in a soft inviting voice, "Come in. Please come in." Her demeanor had changed. I felt she now welcomed my visit. I entered. Suddenly the smells of the hospital became pronounced: the sterile air, the psychological smells of illness, suffering and death.

The patient lay perfectly still amid sounds from her respirator and micro-chipped I.V. Shhhhhhh, beep, beep, beep - they crooned in their effort to forestall the inevitable.

My heart fell!

This beautiful lady who had given me so much over my past 20 years lay motionlessly before me stripped of her dignity. Her sister said, "I'll leave you. Talk to her."

"But what does one say to a comatose person?"

Without hospice experience, I was bewildered. But quickly I regained awareness of the situation. Although the room had been melodiously massaged by a slow soft rendition of my alma mater, suddenly it became audible:

In a Mis-si-sip-pi Val- ley,

In the Crescent bend,

Stood our ...."

Then I saw her in my mind's eye. She was in her full glory: logical, cogent and so in control. Having quickly gasped, I began to tell her about our mutual friends.

I told her the latest news about Creighton Lewis who weighed only 120 pounds when she taught him. "You won't believe-ee it! Crey has ballooned to 259 pounds.", I blurted. Her left eye opened. Having always been thin, I proudly said, "I weigh 210 pounds!" Her right eye opened and a smile began to creep across her face.

A nurse entered the room to make a routine check on the patient. She saw the smile on her face and asked, "What is your relationship to her?" To which I responded, " She is the mother of my academic life."

This apparently pleased her, for her left eye seemed to twinkle and she pained to enlarge the smile on her face. Exhausted, she slowly closed her eyes. I promised her I would return at the next visiting hour. She died eleven hours after I departed.

Lying before me was Sister Mary Charles, my college mentor. Although her family heritage was Irish, she was concluding the last 44 years of her earthly sojourn having taught mathematics to African-Americans in Louisiana.

Her legacy was immense for she demonstrated the importance of spirituality in life. From her, I learned how to seek peace when chaos abounded. Further I learned that my prospective determines the outlook of my tomorrows, even when chaos reigns. Of course she taught me the fundamental skills of my field, but more importantly, by observing her, I saw acted out the truism that, "Teachers are more than a dispenser of knowledge."

A teacher is one, who endures patiently to kindle the best in her students: the spiritual best, the intellectual best, and the social best.

Rest in peace, faithful servant.