Hi, sweet friend!
You’ve been on my mind a lot lately; here and there, from moment to moment, and I can’t help but wonder how you’re finding life in your new home.
When I think about the days we spent together last month in South Africa, I feel a heaviness in my heart that I can’t quite explain.
Leony, you changed me. You changed my heart.
The first moment I saw you, something in my heart quivered, but I didn’t understand why. I couldn’t understand why, because I had no idea the impact you would have on my life, nor the insane amount of time we would spend together over the next few weeks.
I had no way of knowing, but my spirit sensed something was special about you.
From your floral patterned shirt, and your fading pink pants, to the rubber-soled cane you depended so heavily on, to your piercing blue eyes that seemed so full of doubt and so pursued by fear, yet so full of quiet acceptance.
From your trembling voice that waffled back and forth between English and Afrikaans, to the fiery spunk I would soon discover as an irreplaceable part of your spirit.
Sweet Leony, you were so special to me already, and I didn’t even know you yet.
Our first day together was one I will never forget.
I will never forget the 6 hours that we spent in the waiting room of the free clinic together, because someone forgot to mention to the head nurse that Eden residents were waiting in the lobby. Residents that aren’t supposed to wait, because their capacity to spend hours on end in plastic chairs without the comforts of routine and the reliability of meal times, medication rounds, familiar bathrooms and round-the-clock assistance is limited. It’s okay that their capacity for such things is limited.
It’s not okay that they, and you, were made to wait for so many hours in an environment that was uncomfortable, alarming and so maligned to your normal routine.
I will never forget walking you to the exam room, one shaking step at a time, nor the way you groaned and hesitated with each step. You didn’t know me. You had no reason to trust me yet. Life had taught you not to trust help from those whom you didn’t recognize.
Slowly, I coaxed you into a wheelchair, but then we still had to wait. You cried for the caregiver, a familiar trustworthy face, but she was in another room with another resident, and we had to wait. And wait. And you cried and moaned and trembled uncontrollably.
You didn’t know me, but I rubbed your back and hummed praise songs over you, praying every minute to Jesus that He would comfort you because I clearly had nothing to offer you.
I will never forget when we finally got back to Eden that afternoon, and how we tried to walk the short path to the front-gate only to find it was long-since locked. I realized with deep horror that we would have to walk the long way around the entire facility to the rear entrance through the kitchen.
I’m sorry that walking that distance was so very difficult for you.
I’m sorry that you were forced to trust me, because no-one else was around.
So we walked, and it was too far, and I hated that you had to cover that distance one trembling, halting step at a time, because your body wasn’t meant for distances like that.
But you were so strong, Leony. I don’t know if you realized it at the time, but your strength forced me to be strong, too. You kept me going, Leony.
My body was tired from holding your body up, and my nerves were frazzled from the stress of the day, and I was wracking my brain looking for a different solution but there was none. We had to walk. Jesus, why are you making this woman walk a distance she shouldn’t have to walk?
Little did I know, He was setting a foundation. He often is.
The following week, we would pass each other in the hallways and you would look at me with a distant form of recognition. Before, you never acknowledged me. But now, I’d smile at you and tell you how beautiful you looked, and your hollow eyes wouldn’t just pass right over me. I could tell you heard, and received, me
Then one day, we found ourselves back at the hospital because you had fallen badly and everyone was afraid that you may have fractured your hip.
Oh, Leony.
I will never forget the 11 hours I spent with you, and Blair Grace, in the emergency room, and how excruciating they were for you.
I will never forget the way your breath rattled in your ribcage as you lightly snoozed in your wheelchair, or the quiver in your voice when you repeated over and over that your hip was hurting you so badly.
I will never forget the hopelessness I felt as I watched you sit there, suffering, and knowing there was nothing I could do to ease your pain.
I will never forget the way you motivated me to constantly barrage the nurses and press them for attention, for time, for acknowledgement.
I will never forget the way we struggled to lift your broken body out of the wheelchair and into the stall so you could use the bathroom.
I will never forget feeding you lunch that day, nor the way you tried to swindle your way into a bag of chips and a Fanta soda. Your inner spunky spirit was coming out despite the pain you were in, and your persistence in asking me to buy you a soda made me laugh. A tired, exhausted laugh, but sweet friend, your childlike attempts at trying to pull one over on me filled me with such a fierce love for you.
I will never forget the way we had to help the X-Ray technician lift you out of the chair and onto the table, because the hospital was so understaffed.
I will never forget the way you screamed, “No! NO!”” Because it hurt so much for you to lie down.
I will never forget rubbing your head and trying to calm you, and feeling all of my insides ripping to shreds as you reached out for me in a panic when they asked us to leave the room to perform the X-Ray in private.
You trusted me. You needed me.
I will never forget the way my heart swelled when you asked me to pray for your hip with you.
I will never forget the tenderness in Blair’s eyes when we looked at each other, exhausted, yet so alight with pride, when you insisted we be the ones to walk you to your room and put you to bed that night after we got back home.
You relied on us. You wanted us.
I will never forget tenderly removing the shoes from your swollen feet, and pulling the covers up to your neck as she and I literally tucked you in and prayed sweet dreams over you.
I will never forget the time we prayed in the courtyard a few days later, your hip was still hurting, but you looked so radiant in that blue shirt that you so rarely wore. We prayed and thanked the Lord for your gentleness, your trust in Him, the way you lived your life according to His will. We thanked Him for His beautiful daughter that was made in His image. I wondered how many times in your life you heard that He made you in His image… I don’t imagine it was many times.
I will never forget how I promised to come find you later that night to pray with you before bed.
Leony, it is my biggest regret, and another thing I will never forget, that I neglected to follow up on that promise to pray with you again that night.
I will never, ever forget the tone in her voice and the strained look on her face when Blair stole me from kitchen duty and slipped me around the corner to tell me in private that you had passed away from an unforeseen seizure that must have happened sometime overnight.
I will never forget the way she and I just held each other, both of our bodies in shock from the news that we would never get to talk with you or see your body buzzing with life again.
I will never forget the stinging realization that the last time I had spoken to you was when I told you I didn’t have time to walk you to your room, and so I asked the care giver to help you instead. I can’t explain the planet of regret on my shoulders for failing to realize how brief this life is, and how immediate needs should be met immediately, and neer put off for another time or place.
I will never forget the way it felt to grieve you and the time we spent together, even though I knew you for such a short time.
Leony, our journey together on this earth was not a lengthy one, but it was beautiful and poignant, raw and so extremely special.
You have opened my eyes to an entire world of hurting people that I would previously have overlooked.
Leony, you challenged me to be braver and bolder and to fight harder for those who cannot fight for themselves.
You taught me about what it looks like to depend utterly on the Lord, the way you had to utterly depend on other people to do everything for you.
Leony, watching you walk this journey from illicit distrust of us to overwhelming trust and reliance on myself, and Blair, was an experience that touched me in an unforgettable way.
Sweet friend, you were so very precious to me in that last month of your life.
I am so honored that the Lord saw fit to bring us together, even though I wish it could have been for far longer.
I don’t know what His purpose was for bringing us across each other’s path, but I know that it must have been very important, because you are very important to Him, and I am so blessed to have been able to meet you.
I’m so thankful that you’re no longer suffering. You deserve a dance party in Heaven with the legs He always wanted you to have, more than anyone else I know.
Thank you for trusting me.
Thank you for teaching me so very much.
Thank you for letting me in, even though it was hard for you to do. I will never forget you.
Give Jesus a great big hug for me, friend.
And drink all the orange-flavored Fanta bottles that you can, meanwhile, until I get there to share one with you.
All my love,
Hannah
