Good evening everyone, this post I dedicate to dear Armida, who died Monday, four days ago.
I'm grateful for the last moments spent with her. You see, Armida was one of the several friends
that I've been getting together with on Thursday nights, for the past five-and-half years. Her vivacious spot among the group will never be filled. There will not be another like her.
A week and a half before Armida's passing, I sang for my dying friend, in her bedroom. You can read about that, here. It was a Thursday. (I saw my friends after serenading Armida.) During a pause in my singing, she said she was going to show up the following Thursday, to see the friends we have in common.
She kept her word. From her death bed, she arose. With a walker, quilt and oxygen tank, Armida strode into the room with Paul, her son, and her husband, Gerard. She visited our mutual companions.
She greeted everyone and spoke. She talked about having an attitude of gratitude. (Really.) There wasn't a trace of negativity in her conversation. She didn't know that within four days, she would no longer be walking this earth.
She showed off a quilt made for her, by a group of women from a local church. There were obvious white knots throughout this brown quilt. (She proudly showed it the week before, when I serenaded Armida at her home.) Each knot represented a prayer said for her. Her body tottering, reeling from the effects of cancer and powerful medications; she said her final goodbyes----hugging those there.
I spoke with her son, Paul, since this day. He marveled at her fortitude, "how did she find that peace?" he asked me. "Most struggle, fighting death. My mom accepted it, she was at death's door and never complained. All I could say was, 'wow,' as I heard her speak to her group of friends. I will never forget that night, the rest of my life."
The day after vising our mutual friends, Friday, Armida was unconscious---never to awaken again. The toll of cancer, which had woven its way throughout her body, was doing its final vicious work. But, her final social engagement revealed the power of the human will and love. Her desire for community was such that, she used the last shreds of remaining strength to see friends, one final time and sing songs of praise.
Not being there, I regret. That evening, a work-related deadline prompted my absence. I stayed home working, a rare occasion for a Thursday evening. (But I did hug Armida, three days later, when I returned to sing a second time, the night before she died. Before I left that night, I spoke to her unconscious body reclining on the hospital bed in her bedroom. I prayed for her. Her husband---Gerard---joined me. One last embrace, I gave, before leaving that night at 11:45 p.m.)
This amazing diminutive woman's love for others overcame death's tyrannical powers. God bless you, dear Armida. Thank you, for the love you shared with all those who knew you. And we are richer for it. You now sleep with the angels.
*****************************************************
From the vantage point where I sit, this was a dramatic week. Sunday was special. A phone call by Armida's son, Paul, made a last minute request that I sing to her, for a second time. I knew this meant rearranging my day and driving an extra 100 miles, in order to make this to happen. I am glad I did. The time was urgent. The next day, she exhaled her last breath. Her passing, I rue. I'm grateful for the last moments spent with her. You see, Armida was one of the several friends
that I've been getting together with on Thursday nights, for the past five-and-half years. Her vivacious spot among the group will never be filled. There will not be another like her.
A week and a half before Armida's passing, I sang for my dying friend, in her bedroom. You can read about that, here. It was a Thursday. (I saw my friends after serenading Armida.) During a pause in my singing, she said she was going to show up the following Thursday, to see the friends we have in common.
She kept her word. From her death bed, she arose. With a walker, quilt and oxygen tank, Armida strode into the room with Paul, her son, and her husband, Gerard. She visited our mutual companions.
She greeted everyone and spoke. She talked about having an attitude of gratitude. (Really.) There wasn't a trace of negativity in her conversation. She didn't know that within four days, she would no longer be walking this earth.
She showed off a quilt made for her, by a group of women from a local church. There were obvious white knots throughout this brown quilt. (She proudly showed it the week before, when I serenaded Armida at her home.) Each knot represented a prayer said for her. Her body tottering, reeling from the effects of cancer and powerful medications; she said her final goodbyes----hugging those there.
I spoke with her son, Paul, since this day. He marveled at her fortitude, "how did she find that peace?" he asked me. "Most struggle, fighting death. My mom accepted it, she was at death's door and never complained. All I could say was, 'wow,' as I heard her speak to her group of friends. I will never forget that night, the rest of my life."
The day after vising our mutual friends, Friday, Armida was unconscious---never to awaken again. The toll of cancer, which had woven its way throughout her body, was doing its final vicious work. But, her final social engagement revealed the power of the human will and love. Her desire for community was such that, she used the last shreds of remaining strength to see friends, one final time and sing songs of praise.
Not being there, I regret. That evening, a work-related deadline prompted my absence. I stayed home working, a rare occasion for a Thursday evening. (But I did hug Armida, three days later, when I returned to sing a second time, the night before she died. Before I left that night, I spoke to her unconscious body reclining on the hospital bed in her bedroom. I prayed for her. Her husband---Gerard---joined me. One last embrace, I gave, before leaving that night at 11:45 p.m.)
This amazing diminutive woman's love for others overcame death's tyrannical powers. God bless you, dear Armida. Thank you, for the love you shared with all those who knew you. And we are richer for it. You now sleep with the angels.
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2 comments:
I was there. I was blessed to have been witness to what she needed to say. To make sure she was understood, she even removed her false teeth! It is amazing how our pride/vanity can sometimes stop us from being honest. There was a power greater then her giving her the strength to tell her story and I was guided to that room to her her speak.
Barbara,
Your name isn't Barbara Anne, is it? Can't help thinking of that Beach Boys song with that name in it; a bit catchy. Thank you for dropping by, reading and commenting! You and CindyR made my day, today: Friday, 8/12/11.
Wasn't Armida amazing? Now, removing her teeth---that would be a vivid visual illustration, for anyone who witnessed someone doing that, while talking to others. I'm glad you were there. Thanks for your comments and adding to the story. No one filled me in on that dental detail.
The fact that Armida, drew upon the last of her strength to get together with others, blows my mind and humbles me. How often we make excuses for why we don't visit others. This woman GOT OUT OF HER DEATH BED! The more I hear about her, the more I'm held in wonder about this fascinating, but loving woman.
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