As I approached the east wing of the PappaJohn Pavillion, the ball in my stomach slowly crept up through my chest until it decided to stop and hang out for a while in the back of my throat. That lump was not warmly welcomed. It evoked memories of fear, deep sadness and intense loss. Nine years ago, on Dec. 6th, my grandma died of cancer. I was a sophomore in high school and this was my first experience with death – let alone the first tragic incident in my life. Today was the first time since she passed away that I had returned to the hospital.
As I meandered through the twisted hallways, I remembered how my cousins and I would always get lost trying to find our way from the waiting room to my grandma’s private hospital room. I continued to walk and found myself peering into the dimly lit rooms. Some were empty, a few inhabited only by a patient and others filled with family and friends. Truly, my heart longed to see my grandma looking out at me from within one of the rooms. My grandma’s room was the place to be. Frequently, friends and family visited and camped out. The music of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” always played in the background. Maybe it was an attempt to bring some normalcy to this Christmas Season? Still, to this day, I can hear these songs echo in my head. They keep the memories alive.
As I approached the nurses’ station, my emotions told me to turn around. But that still, small voice from within coaxed me forward – “It’s going to be alright Stephanie. You can do this.” I scanned the counter and it was bare except for a single plant on the opposite side. “Can I help you?” came a voice from behind me. “Yes,” I replied as I turned around. “Nine years ago tomorrow, my grandma passed away from cancer. She spent her last few weeks in this wing. And I was wondering if I could give you guys a poinsettia in memory of her. I wanted to make sure that it was alright before I bought it, but I do see that you have plants in here.”
The nurse thanked me, “That would be great. We would love a poinsettia. What was your grandma’s name?” “Maxine Meinders,” I replied anxiously, hoping beyond all hope that this nurse would remember her. To my surprise, she said “I remember that name. I started here 10 years ago. So she would have been one of my first patients.” It was like music to my ears. Just to hear that someone remembered her made her come alive. “What is your name,” I asked, as I looked at her nametag. “Peggy Webber,” she answered.
I took the elevator down to the gift shop on first floor. At first I did not see a single poinsettia. My hopes of finding the perfect plant began to fade away. Then I spotted them. Three poinsettias remained – one pink, one white and one a brilliant, fiery red. The red one was perfect.
As I returned to the third floor, the fiery poinsettia grabbed everyones’ attention as they passed by it. I smiled and thought to myself, “grandma, you still got it!”
“Look at that beautiful poinsettia,” remarked Peggy as I set it on the nurses’ station counter. “That is my favorite color.” Just then an older gentleman and his grown son walked up beside me and asked Peggy if —– had been admitted yet? They looked worried and tired. I could feel those same emotions arise within myself. I felt restless and nervous for them. Selfishly, I was grateful my emotions were not tied to reality, but only to a memory.
After Peggy led them to the requested room, she returned and we chatted for a while. She asked how my grandpa was getting along and what I had been up to. As I was about to leave, she thanked me again, “Thank you so much for thinking of us. We really appreciate it.” I remarked, “I actually came to Iowa City because I am meeting a college friend here today. It wasn’t until yesterday that I realized that today was the 5th of Dec., the last day that I spent with my grandma. This was the first time since she died – 9 years ago – that I have been in this area – let alone on this exact day. I knew that it wasn’t just a coincidence. It was time that I returned to the hospital. So, thanks again for all you do and I hope you have a very Merry Christmas.”
I do not know exactly why I felt so compelled to return to the hospital today? But throughout this morning, a part of my heart was healed. I do not know if it was the giving of the poinsettia, coming face to face with a very real memory of death, or having a complete stranger remember my grandma’s name. It is probably a combination of all three. But I do thank God for healing. I also want to thank Peggy Webber for her commitment and dedication not only to her patients, but to their families as well.
