SeNd f0R j@nE
touching story to share...enjoy... =)
Before I die, send for Jane. Send for her when I can't get into the tub anymore, and when I need someone to brush my white hair, and spray Chanel No. 5 above the collar of my flannel pajamas. When my breath is shallow and my old words few, send for Jane.
I was Jane's supervisor before I left that job, but I still look for her. Four days a week and every other weekend I'd see her at the bus stop, her gray winter coat and yellow sweater as much a part of her uniform as her white pants and oxfords. She's a home health aide. She cares for those unable to leave their homes or accomplish their own basic activities of living. Some are dying, some are disabled, and some are heavily laden with frailties of old age. Jane can change the bed linens with a patient still in bed. She listens to advice about growing tomatoes, setting a proper Seder dinner, and adjusting a carburetor on a 1927 Roadster.
Jane brings the beauty of the season with spring wildflowers tucked behind her ear. She pulls back the curtain so a warm summer ray can reach an isolated face. I've seen her carry scarlet maple leaves to share the beauty of a last autumn.
Once I watched her pack winter's first snowball into a plastic bag and carry it into a home. There she announced the season's arrival to a bed-bound man, and he told her of a long ago snowball fight that ended in his first kiss. She whistles while she mops and delivers a bedpan with a smile, as if to communicate it's a pleasure to scrub floors and wash their bottoms.
When Jane walks into homes for the first time, some don't see the gift she brings; they see only her sable skin. But she doesn't hate them for their ignorance. She smiles and says, "Learn something new every day. That's what my mama taught me, and that's what I teach my little girl."
Jane had married soon after high school, and the baby came just after her husband left. Because she was born under pressure, Jane named her baby girl Diamond. Her daughter was born with cystic fibrosis. At least once a year Jane takes a leave of absence from work because Diamond's lungs won't clear. Jane stays at the hospital, then carries on the treatments at home after discharge. For weeks and weeks she breathes each breath in unison with Diamond.When Jane is absent, her patients torture the replacement aides, wanting them to have the essence of Jane. Though family, friends and caregivers often visit with good intentions, some are unable to hide their burden of obligation and duty, so they fail to bring the joy that Jane does.
In a few weeks, after Diamond is again stable, Jane's back with a grin on her face and resilience in her step. She's always happy to go back to her patients who smile their biggest smiles when they see her. When she returns, she brings home-baked cookies or homemade soup in a used margarine container.
Sometimes only Jane and those she cares for understand and appreciate her skill and gifts. When she's asked what she does for a living, no one responds with envy or admiration. At the bank she notices the rude stares at her welfare checks, and at the supermarket she hears the sighs of disgust when patrons wait for the clerk to count out her food stamps. She knows the minivans, SUVs, and sedans that whiz by her bus stop aren't filled with respectful eyes.
Jane has not been seen at her bus stop lately. Does she have a new schedule? Is Diamond sick again? I see others with old coats, or sweaters, and I see the white shoes. They remind me to pray that those who wear them will find grace and strength and honor. I still look for Jane.
Before I die, send for Jane. Send for her when I can't get into the tub anymore, and when I need someone to brush my white hair, and spray Chanel No. 5 above the collar of my flannel pajamas. When my breath is shallow and my old words few, send for Jane.
I was Jane's supervisor before I left that job, but I still look for her. Four days a week and every other weekend I'd see her at the bus stop, her gray winter coat and yellow sweater as much a part of her uniform as her white pants and oxfords. She's a home health aide. She cares for those unable to leave their homes or accomplish their own basic activities of living. Some are dying, some are disabled, and some are heavily laden with frailties of old age. Jane can change the bed linens with a patient still in bed. She listens to advice about growing tomatoes, setting a proper Seder dinner, and adjusting a carburetor on a 1927 Roadster.
Jane brings the beauty of the season with spring wildflowers tucked behind her ear. She pulls back the curtain so a warm summer ray can reach an isolated face. I've seen her carry scarlet maple leaves to share the beauty of a last autumn.
Once I watched her pack winter's first snowball into a plastic bag and carry it into a home. There she announced the season's arrival to a bed-bound man, and he told her of a long ago snowball fight that ended in his first kiss. She whistles while she mops and delivers a bedpan with a smile, as if to communicate it's a pleasure to scrub floors and wash their bottoms.
When Jane walks into homes for the first time, some don't see the gift she brings; they see only her sable skin. But she doesn't hate them for their ignorance. She smiles and says, "Learn something new every day. That's what my mama taught me, and that's what I teach my little girl."
Jane had married soon after high school, and the baby came just after her husband left. Because she was born under pressure, Jane named her baby girl Diamond. Her daughter was born with cystic fibrosis. At least once a year Jane takes a leave of absence from work because Diamond's lungs won't clear. Jane stays at the hospital, then carries on the treatments at home after discharge. For weeks and weeks she breathes each breath in unison with Diamond.When Jane is absent, her patients torture the replacement aides, wanting them to have the essence of Jane. Though family, friends and caregivers often visit with good intentions, some are unable to hide their burden of obligation and duty, so they fail to bring the joy that Jane does.
In a few weeks, after Diamond is again stable, Jane's back with a grin on her face and resilience in her step. She's always happy to go back to her patients who smile their biggest smiles when they see her. When she returns, she brings home-baked cookies or homemade soup in a used margarine container.
Sometimes only Jane and those she cares for understand and appreciate her skill and gifts. When she's asked what she does for a living, no one responds with envy or admiration. At the bank she notices the rude stares at her welfare checks, and at the supermarket she hears the sighs of disgust when patrons wait for the clerk to count out her food stamps. She knows the minivans, SUVs, and sedans that whiz by her bus stop aren't filled with respectful eyes.
Jane has not been seen at her bus stop lately. Does she have a new schedule? Is Diamond sick again? I see others with old coats, or sweaters, and I see the white shoes. They remind me to pray that those who wear them will find grace and strength and honor. I still look for Jane.
posted by See Tho Zhang Jacob at
11:18 PM
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