Sweet Jane

I walked into Jane's room at the hospice today after work and she was awake. I was happy she was awake because she was sleeping yesterday when I stopped by to see her. She is the tiniest little thing you ever did see! I didn't know a human could be so terribly thin and still breathe. Her hair is short and white and she has soft, hazy blue eyes. She is 97 years old and one of the sweetest souls I've ever been blessed with knowing.
I don't know why I love this woman. I just do. I didn't plan on loving the patients I was assigned. When I signed up, I didn't know who I would be assigned but I was bound and determined that whoever they were would be loved and cared for.

Jane talked today for a solid hour. I found out she was one of 14 kids and that her mum passed away at 48 with cancer. And she lost her dad when he was 51. An uncle was pressed into service to try and raise all those kids. Two of Janes siblings went blind when they were little and had to be shipped off to a special school. Jane hereself, only got to go to school until she was 14, when her dad pulled her from school to help with the younger children.

Jane grew up on a farm and told me how she would swipe some of the cream that had risen to the top of the milk. She said, 'You know, when I was little, I didn't like the farm very much. It was drudgery. I had to get up so early to milk the cows! But I think if I was back on the farm, I would like it now."
She told me many little stories about what her life was like, and I was so honored that she shared them with me. She told me that at night, she lays there and thinks about her parents. I'm going to get her a stuffed animal to hold when she sleeps. For comfort.

I cried when I left there today but I'm not really sure why. Or why I still am. But these tears are different from tears in the past. Most of my tears from the past I could not escape. Not really. But all I have to do to stop these tears is walk away from hospice. And I have absolutely no plan on doing that. The comfort that Jane gets from my visits is worth a few tears. But the ironic things is, in some way that I can't quite figure out, Jane is doing more for me than I am for her. When I figure out exactly what that something is.............I'll blog about it.
gently,laura