Gloria Ferris

I love this time of year.  I love summer. I love August, best of all, because it’s the month of my birth. A, I love it  for the shooting stars.  One year, my dad was out of work in August. A strange time of year for no work. No work, usually, appeared when the snow flew. There was no money for a birthday present. Luckily, Mom’s vegetable garden was fruitful, our freezer still had plenty of meat thanks to Dad’s butchering frenzy last November, and the hens were happily laying plenty of eggs, so, my request for corn on the cob, tomatoes, pork chops, and chocolate cake for my birthday feast would happen.  Mom outdid herself that summer with the best, most delicious birthday cake I ever tasted. Having had only eight, and remembering just four, it wasn’t hard for this cake to be “the bestest by far”.   Later that night, my dad took me for a walk.  We stopped on a hill that overlooked the creek that ran behind the house.  I was impatient wanting to know why we were stopping  He told me to sit down, and relax, count the fireflies. I did what he asked, but soon gave up, telling him that there were hundreds of fireflies, and they were moving way too fast for me to get any kind of count.  He laughed.   “Shhh! He said. “Listen to the silence, and watch watch the sky.”  Shortly, the sky filled with shooting stars. To say I was star struck is an understatement. I asked my dad" “How did that happen?”. Very seriously, he said, “I asked God to help me find a birthday present for you.  Those shooting stars are that present. Happy Birthday, Cat.” Years later, in high school, I found out that Dad and I had experienced the Perseid Meteor Shower.  Somehow, I still like my dad’s explanation.

Another year gone, added to our past.

Remember the laughter, the smiles, the bright sunny days.

Cherish the friends, the family, the time you spent together.

Reflect on the hopes, the dreams, the promise of a new tomorrow.

Be thankful for good health, for second chances, for all the good that came your way.

Another year waits to become our present, to create our future.

Bring the memories, the reflections, and the thanks with you.

Build a foundation of strengths within you and those around you.

Use each day to make the world a better place by being you.

Embrace your dreams by making them reality.

Dear Friends, on this New Year’s Eve, straddle the new and the old and make the future yours by living each day fully.

And as for me, I wish a New Year filled with health, prosperity, and happiness for each and every one of you.

your own, your doctor’s, the hospital’s, in my case, MetroHealth Medical Center, your family’s, your friends’. When I spent those two months in the hospital last December and January, I learned that you need to speak up when you want to know something or you need a change in treatment, environment, or information for peace of mind.

The first time I really employed this advocacy thing was during the incident of the Jumping Bean Bed.  Because of that bed, I was not getting rest and I told my nurses I didn’t know how I was supposed to heal if I could not sleep. They told me to ask my doctors when they had rounds that morning for a new bed. Dr. Shwee said he didn’t see why I couldn’t have a new bed if one was available.  When I arrived back to my room from my physical therapy session, there was my new “old” bed.  The nurses had found a bed and moved everything in and out when I was gone. 

Now, I could have continued to suffer in silence complaining to friends and family, but they could have only sympathized.  By telling my doctors directly,  my problem was fixed quickly and efficiently. It gave me the confidence to ask questions about the drugs I was taking, to discuss the progress of my rehabilitation with therapists, nurses, and doctors.  During my stay at MetroHealth, I learned that this hospital is an “unsung hero” of our county. I have vowed to promote this awesome place of “miracles and hope” whenever and wherever I can. I also ask others who I meet who have experienced the quality care and compassion at this tremendous hospital to join me in my advocacy.

Yesterday, was the Shearer Family Christmas, and I was reminded of my Uncle Gene who was our family advocate. My mother and father divorced after 25 years of marriage. I was an adult but divorce affects any child no matter their age.  Uncle Gene would seek me out each year and ask me “What’s new”? We would chat a few minutes, and then, he would tell me a short story about something he remembered about my dad.  It might be a hunting story or an incident at one of the County Fair horse pulls.  He never failed to mention my dad. This conversation was held at the get together for my mother’s side of the family. Without lecturing or making a big deal out of it, he  would remind a 25 year old woman  that there were good times to remember when we were all together. I’ve never forgotten how I appreciated his attention and his compassion.

I learned from my uncle that too often people simply stop talking about people important in their lives because it is painful or because we think it might make others uncomfortable.  Uncle Gene always considered what was important to the person with whom he was conversing.  I never turned away from him without feeling just a bit better and walking a bit taller.  I work each day to be an advocate for my family and friends as he was.  He is a fine example of how an advocate of others should live.    Be an advocate by accentuating the positive to family and friends. Share stories of loved ones who are no longer with us.  Use those stories to strengthen bonds between generations.  

I could say that today I lost my favorite aunt.  Or, I could say that I lost my favorite aunt in November.  Or I could say that I lost my favorite aunt January 3rd, 1999.  Or, I could say that I have two favorite aunts still with me.   You see each and every one of my aunts is my favorite because each one in her own way reminds me of my mother who left this world in 1990.

Today is my favorite Aunt Janice’s day.   She died late this afternoon when her family realized that she would not recover from the severe injuries she received in a car accident yesterday.  I have had the opportunity to talk to Aunt Janice once each week since I came home from the hospital in January.  She has faithfully called me to see how I am doing and to chat for an hour.  Now, this  in and of itself is an unusual event, my aunt is not a chatterer, but for the last six months she has changed her pattern.

We had many interesting talks about many things.  Recently, she was very concerned about her incredible back pain.  I asked her if she had told her doctors about her polio.  Silence—“no, I don’t believe I have.  I’m all better they don’t need to know that”.  I then tell her that my mom said that she just wished her doctor would listen to her that sometimes she felt like she had polio all over again.  Aunt Janice told me that she just really didn’t remember anything about polio because she was so young when she had it.  I told her that it certainly could be important to her medical history, and she should tell.  But. that was my Aunt Janice when it was over it was over, and wasn’t important any more. 

Another conversation we had was about my stay in the hospital and how hard it was for her to see me hooked up to so many I-Vs and machines.  She then told me that she hoped I understood what she was going to say.  She told me that she wanted to be as lucky as her sister Virginia and die like she did.  My mother died in a chair with a tall glass of ice water at her side after she had spent the morning running errands,  talking to her friends.  Aunt Janice  just about did it except her leaving was a bit more dramatic and a bit more tragic.  But no less sudden. 

These past few weeks my aunt had related that she was worried about her sisters, her brothers, me, her family.  I told her that she shouldn’t worry about any of us that she needed to take care of herself and then, we would all be fine.   Her sign off to me was always the same.   “Be good.  I’ll talk to you soon”.  At the end of our last conversation, her sign off change, she said “I love you”.

I love you, too, Aunt Janice.