By Linda Grupp Boutin
There are pivotal moments in lives that inform all events that come afterwards. In today's post I share one of those moments very early in my life that preceded all the trials that followed. It ignited a belief in my heart for God that I have never lost and my hope is that it shines a light into any darkness you may be experiencing. So return to me right now to Fort Wayne, Indiana in 1974...
Genesis 1: 3-4--And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he
separated the light from the darkness.
The sky stood black, tiny pricks of
light barely shining through the dark night.
I walked into the double doors beginning my first ever graveyard
shift. I wore a bright white uniform with brand new white shoes. The ad had read, “Opportunity Knocks.” I’d tried so many other want ads, but found
no opportunities. This little hospital
was willing to give one to me and I started the very next day.
Antiseptic
smells assaulted me as soon as I stepped inside. Other unidentifiable, not-so-good odors crept
in as well. I gave up my youth at the
door, never to be the same again. Dim
lights lit the corridor as I strode up to the nurse’s station, 19 years old,
ready to take on anything. A collection
of young women leaned on the desk watching the clock approaching 11 p.m.
“Oh, you’re
here. Let’s get going on bed check. Come with us,” the oldest one told me. I
followed meekly down the side hall wondering what exactly bed check was. It didn’t take long to find out. The nurses aides flicked the lights on in the
first room, walked to the two beds and verified the patients were fine and
needed nothing. After the first few
rooms, my shock faded since the elderly people barely stirred when the three of
us entered. One room was different,
however. A pale light glowed in Mrs. Johnson’s
room; there was no need to snap on the lamps.
A strange
sound, reminiscent of a percolator, filled the small space. I had never heard chain stokes before and
couldn’t identify the sound. I entered
last and the attitude of the experienced nurses aides changed. They whispered and walked more slowly. As I stood at the end of the bed, I realized
why they had a more reverent manner—Mrs. Johnson was dying. Her face told the story; each breath was a
huge labor. “I forgot to clock in,” I squeaked
barely able to speak.
I ran out of the room oblivious of
the girls behind me chuckling as I fled.
My pace slowed as I realized I’d been set up. I rounded the corner of the long hall and saw
the girls who were supposed to train me, sitting chatting in the dining room
sipping coffee or colas and waiting for the clock to begin the change of
shifts. I found the time clock with my
time card and clocked in. They called to
me to come and join them. The charge
nurse, Hankey, introduced me to the team of aides I’d be working with that
night. An older woman, Karen, would show
me the ropes on the easy hallway. I realized
with relief that Mrs. Johnson was down a different hall.
At eleven o’clock precisely we stood up and went back where
I’d just come from. Karen pushed a cart
laden with tall stacks of linens and we followed the evening shift aides from
room to room verifying they’d left their patients in good order for us. By midnight,
we’d finished our rounds, second shift had departed, and we sat in the lounge
getting up to answer patient’s lights when called. The registered nurses came out of their room
after receiving report. Hankey picked up
a flashlight and proceeded down all four hallways one by one. On the final hallway, I watched as she ran
back out to the nurse’s station and grabbed a stethoscope.
She walked back down where I’d
started that night, a resigned look on her face. Minutes later she reemerged, looked directly
at me and said, “You’re trouble. Your
first night and someone dies. You might as
well learn about it, so Karen, you and Linda go get Mrs. Johnson ready for the
mortuary. I must go and call her
daughter.” Only later did I learn that
Mrs. Johnson’s daughter was Hankey’s best friend.
Karen looked surprised. Normally aides didn’t have to do anything
down the hallways where they weren’t assigned.
She stood reluctantly and led the way back to Mrs. Johnson’s room. I followed behind not understanding, but
doing as I was told. My step was slow
and uncertain as we neared the room with the glowing light. I noticed it was very quiet as we entered the
door.
I stood amazed at the foot of the
bed. God had been gentle in taking Mrs.
Johnson home to Him. It was obvious she
had passed on, but the mask of pain I’d witnessed earlier had been replaced. Now she looked at peace, no more gasping for
breath or struggling with life. It was
like an electric switch had been turned off and all her suffering had ended. Carefully, Karen showed me the steps required
to prepare her remains for the mortuary.
As we worked, I realized that death had not been a horror, but a relief
for Mrs. Johnson. I lost my fear and
concentrated on doing the best job I could to follow Karen’s patient
instructions.
When we’d finished, we returned to
our seats in the lounge and tended to our own patients. During the lulls when we weren’t doing
anything, I thought about all I’d seen and heard so far that night. I learned many things. Most importantly I learned that utmost peace
could descend on a person at death and that God’s light is there with us every dark
step of the way. Mrs. Johnson could now
see His everlasting light and I knew this in my heart. Familiar words sang silently through my mind:
Psalm 23:4—Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will
fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.
 |
| Oil painting published with permission of Pamela Howett |
At 19, an invaluable lesson in my life, I had faced the
darkness of death for the first time and discovered the light at the end of
life would come from God alone, the source of all things both light and dark.
